Months after leaving Camp Regis, Jenne had returned with the same person who had freed him. This time, he was not alone. Among those with Renna were Gold Corps soldiers and a Gaverian Jenne would have preferred to avoid. Jay Arson. They roamed the island, running down narrow lanes, past homes and schools and through the empty marketplaces. Crimson officers watched them from their watchtowers.

  Schemel’s small convoy reached a fenced compound beyond any settlement. Inside the fence stood three semi-large structures, ridged and very grey. A stack of bullion vans rested at one end of the compound. Crimson guards stood watch on the flat roofs, armed with guns etched with crafter-hexes along their guns.

  Their driver stuck out a hand, forming a thumb-and-forefinger gesture. In no time at all, the gates opened for them. Guards on the ground struck a salute as they drove past, calling, “High Commander.” If that was an indication of what was to come, Jenne did not know. He would not be here to find out.

  They marched down an empty hallway to a single shaft. Schemel led the charge, flanked by Jenne and Jay. The three joined a few officers in the shaft, which lowered them to an underground chamber. There were few clues as to their purpose here. Given the steel doors and lack of windows, he concluded they had come to retrieve some secret weapon.

  They stood before a steel door as wide as ten regular doors combined. Whatever lay behind it was worth more than astaphite. Astaphite. Of course. Patterns began to emerge across the door and then fade—marker-hexes, from the look of them, and many of them. If the door were struck with enough force, everyone within a certain radius could be trapped in time.

  Schemel reached into her pocket and pulled out a certain key, one with a red ribbon tied to it. She walked up to the steel door, ran her hand over one of the three slits, and inserted the key. A click and a low croon followed, but the door did not open.

  “This is Camp Regis’ astaphite deposit. Along with the other depositories across the country, the Primus keep all three keys. No one aside from the six members knows who holds which key at any given time.”

  “How did you get this one?” Jenne asked.

  “I asked the banks to search their safety deposit boxes,” she said simply. “Ren Nexus is not aware I have his key. The rest do not keep theirs with the banks, so you would have to persuade the remaining five to give up the last two keys.”

  The House of Sentry never slept, especially on nights like this. Many desks in several offices stood empty. Goldies patrolled the halls, carrying boxes into which staff were required to place their phones. A scream pierced the walls. Soldiers were dragging another staff member to the detention centre.

  At the Intelligence Department, employees worked nonstop behind computers and telephones. Their labour was almost magical in its efficiency. In less time than seemed reasonable, they produced the current locations of each member of the Primus. This list was compiled from tips, intercepted calls and text messages. Jenne and Jay hunched over Schemel as she studied the list on a desk. She opened her palm and someone placed a pen in it. Crossing out Ren Nexus, there were five members left to question.

  Lady Mariel Sorel was currently at her office in the heart of Henrik City. Ren Talon had left about an hour earlier for his second home in Gillison, a residential area on the outskirts of the capital. Demettle was also at home, at the Home of Heroes. That left Ren Prudence and Ren Fester. The latter was at church with his wife, while the former was in a meeting at the House of Coin with Helen Sorel.

  “We need to be both discreet and fast,” Schemel said. “That’s why I’m relying on the two of you.”

  “The earthen is getting in my way,” Jay grumbled. “I don’t need his help.”

  “He’s coming with you.”

  “Fine.” Jay turned to Jenne. “You’ll take care of Prudence while I handle the rest.”

  “I want Talon,” said Jenne.

  Schemel perked up—not only her, but everyone within earshot. Jay was so shocked he hardly knew how to react.

  “Oh, you want Talon?” Jay asked in a mocking tone. “You are… alright then. You can have Talon.”

  Talon had moved from his regular home because the Green Chief suspected Schemel would come after him sooner or later. He likely had security in place, making him the hardest target. Jenne took on the task to prove himself. Everything he had learned so far should be enough to overcome any obstacle.

  He changed out of his regular green and into something more obscure: a long-sleeved black sweater, matching trousers, and sneakers. They left in two separate vehicles, with Schemel staying behind. If she had anything further to say, she would speak through the radios strapped to their belts.

  Once they passed through the portal, the road smoothed out and the driver sped up. Streets teemed with people still singing their hearts out for Jacqolin. Some watched that day’s gathering from public televisions while others strolled beneath the bright night sky. This left smaller neighbourhoods deserted, their lights out and homes empty.

  They entered the residential community where Talon was suspected to be. Aside from the driver, one armed soldier sat in the front while Jenne occupied the back. They cocked their pistols and stifled their breaths. Jenne leaned forward, eyes fixed on the mansion at the end of the street.

  Talon’s safe house drew far more attention than the neighbouring homes. Its wall was tall, but the building behind it was grander still. On the second floor, lights danced across the walls, reflected from the swimming pool. Long balconies lined with exotic plants stretched outward. Even from a distance, Jenne could make out the security guards patrolling the courtyards on different levels.

  “Make a left here,” Jenne instructed. To his surprise, the driver turned without question—taking them in the opposite direction at a slow pace.

  “There are guards all over the neighbourhood,” Jenne explained. “If we got any closer, they would’ve opened fire.” He opened the door and stepped out onto the road. “I’ll pave the way for you.”

  He climbed onto the bonnet, gripped a railing above, and hauled himself onto a balcony. The windows were blacked out. Moving quickly, he balanced on the parapet and leapt to the roof. Jenne crouched low, scouting the area.

  Two guards slipped out of an alley, assault rifles in hand. They crept forward in sharp, precise motions, heading for the vehicle. Jenne steadied himself, preparing a hand sign and timing their steps. A shootout would be disastrous.

  He sprang from the edge of the roof and cast his spell. A string of light shot out, latching onto each guard’s leg. He yanked the first one off his feet—his skull cracking against the road. With force, Jenne swung the second guard upward, slamming him against the balcony above.

  Darting across the roof, Jenne leapt the street and slid through an open window. He dashed inside, catching a gunman off guard. A rope wound swiftly around the man’s neck, choking his windpipe. At the same time, Jenne cast another string, binding it around a second guard’s head and blinding his eyes. With a hard pull, he slammed the man face-first to the ground. The one in his chokehold gagged and collapsed soon after.

  A radio crackled—the guards’ associates were demanding to know what was happening. Jenne slipped back out the window and onto the balcony, scanning for Talon’s men. Two were visible along the mansion walls, ready to tear him apart if he rushed them head-on. If only he’d mastered his ripper powers, he could’ve teleported behind them.

  Strings? No—they were too far. He’d waste his ascension and achieve nothing. A distraction, then. Jenne slapped his palms together, forming a hand sign. Golden fireworks exploded above the guards’ heads. As they glanced skyward, he dashed across the road. Running up the wall, he swung and drove a kick into the first guard, splitting his jaw, then rammed into the second with full force.

  Plasma charged and fired. Jenne spun from the wall, rebounded off it, and cast strings that lashed out—snatching a guard behind a thorn bush, another on the stairs, one on the balcony, and another near the fountain statue. Snatch, snatch, snatch. He twisted, yanked, and they all crashed down.

  An engine roared. Goldies stormed through the gates, guns blazing. A guard on the roof levelled his plasma rifle. Jenne caught him before he fired, dragging him to the ground. Sprinting up the car, Jenne used the falling man as a stepping stone and vaulted onto the balcony.

  Three more guards advanced, plasma bolts ripping through the air. Chips of stone sprayed as Jenne ducked behind a pillar. They pressed closer. Windows. He crafted a ball of light and hurled it behind him. It smashed through the glass and exploded. Shards scattered, each edge reflecting sharp rays of light. Screams followed.

  He listened—pulses racing. One man was pinned against the wall, impaled through the collar and belly. Another writhed on his knees, a beam of light skewering his hand. The last staggered forward, a spear of light jutting from his thigh. He still managed to raise his plasma gun. He fired.

  Jenne darted aside, vaulted over him, and spun him into the pool.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Shouting and gunfire followed from within the house. Jenne got into the house to see two Goldies chasing Talon up the stairs. They grabbed him by the waist and pulled him to the ground. Talon screamed and kicked, grabbing the hair of one soldier and tugging. Jenne arrived in time, pulled Talon away, and they managed to snap a collar around his neck. Blue triangles lit up on the device as it hummed. Talon’s screams cut short, replaced by a wail as the collar sent volts of electricity through the Green Chief’s throat. He lay on his back, gasping for air.

  “You’ll die,” Talon groaned. “You’ll die for this.”

  “Please, sir,” said Jenne. “We’re not here to harm you. We came for the key to the Regis Astaphite Depository.”

  “I don’t have it,” Talon snarled.

  Jenne was about to repeat himself when he heard something—an engine sparking. He pounced out the door, ran up the wall, shot across the roof and flung himself back onto the balcony on the other side of the mansion. A burst of light exploded in front of a car leaving the compound. Jenne threw a light spear and struck the rear wheel. He landed, grabbed the driver and drove his elbow into the man’s nose. Bang! The pistol shattered the windscreen. The door opened and a guard crawled out. Jenne found him, slapped his gun away, and knocked him unconscious.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. Green officers were coming. They had to move fast. He was about to rush back into the building when a sniffle caught his attention. He spotted a little girl at the back of the vehicle, phone pressed to her ear and tears beneath her violet eyes. She wore a pink princess costume, a flowery skirt and large black boots.

  “Hey,” Jenne croaked. “You must be Talon’s daughter.” She whimpered and shrank back, pressing further into the corner of the car.

  Jenne braced for a screaming match. Back at Blackwood, whenever he and Lesley volunteered at the kindergarten, they’d get into fights with toddlers who refused to follow the rules. They would grab and carry them out. This felt the same. The girl screamed when she dropped the phone.

  Inside, Talon knelt on the living-room floor, his face battered. Jenne kept a careful distance, his little girl, Yurisa, whimpering in his grip. He listened for anyone else in the room. The soldiers asked where his wife was; he told them she was at their first home. She’d refused to come with them to the safe house because she believed he was being paranoid.

  “Why in the world would you protect yourself if you’ve got nothing to hide?” one Goldie demanded.

  “I don’t have the key,” Talon wheezed.

  “Well, who does?”

  “I don’t know.” The soldier struck him across the face. Sirens grew louder. Time was running out.

  Jenne’s radio screeched. He picked it up. “Jenne.” Schemel’s voice. “Do you have Talon?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t have the key.”

  “Is that so?”

  Yurisa stomped on Jenne’s foot and wriggled free of his grip. She ran from the guards.

  “Hey!” Jenne yelled, right before a Goldie snatched her.

  “Is that his daughter?” Schemel asked.

  “Yes, Renna.”

  “Repeat everything I tell you.”

  “Renna?”

  “Put the girl on the ground.”

  Jenne frowned, biting his tongue. The silence pressed in until he couldn’t stand it. “Renna says, put the girl on the ground.”

  The soldiers obeyed without hesitation. Yurisa was forced to the carpet, a boot planted on her back. She screamed, the sound muffled by the floor. Talon stopped struggling, his battered face wet with sweat and tears, eyes pleading with Jenne.

  “Stretch out her hand and fingers. Aim a gun at it,” Schemel instructed.

  “Renna says… Renna…” Jenne forced the words out. A guard yanked Yurisa’s small hand free and pressed the muzzle against it.

  Talon’s mouth moved. He wasn’t speaking to them but to God.

  “Ask Talon one more time,” Schemel said.

  “Ren Talon, do you have a key to the Depository?” Jenne asked.

  Talon closed his eyes and shook his head, bracing for the bang. It never came.

  “Well, you can move on now,” Schemel said. “Jay has cleared Fester and Prudence. Neither had the key. That leaves Mariel and Demettle. Jay is heading to Mariel’s place, so you’ll take the lead at the Home of Heroes.”

  Jenne’s chest tightened. That was where Hamis lived.

  “But Renna…”

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Great,” she said. “See you soon.”

  The Goldies piled into the car and sped off. Jenne kept Yurisa close, gripping her wrists as she struggled to break free. None of the soldiers so much as glanced at the girl; their eyes stayed fixed ahead, as cold and black as their uniforms.

  “I saw my brother get shot in front of me,” Jenne murmured to her. “I know it doesn’t help much, but your night could’ve been worse.”

  “Let me go,” the girl muttered.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I wish we didn’t have to be here. But we are.”

  Two Green Officers stood at the dashboard near the nearest ring. The one time they were supposed to be out of office—and here they were. Their vehicle screamed suspicion: men in black clothing, shadowed figures crowded in the back.

  “Home of Heroes,” the driver said.

  One officer stepped to the window. His gaze met Jenne’s golden eyes, and he stiffened before doubling back to his partner with a nod. The ring flared hot, and the portal to the Home of Heroes opened.

  Hamis.

  Hamis.

  Hamis.

  Hamis.

  The name thrummed through Jenne’s head like a war drum. He was going to be a problem. So why had he agreed to come? Was it because he wanted to face Hamis? Their last bout had been unfair—Jenne hadn’t been ready. Was this finally the confidence he needed to face Franka too?

  “Solitte,” the soldier beside the driver murmured. “Discreet like earlier. You’re nimble—that’s good. Avoid the ascenders if you can.”

  “We saw you go against the little Deus,” the driver said. “Didn’t look good.”

  “I’ll avoid him,” Jenne replied, confidence slipping away. That was for the best. Facing Hamis and finding the key was too much. He would use his advantage—stealth. Hamis slept heavily, unaware of his surroundings. Jenne had tested that back in Se Fina, slipping away many nights to visit Verimae without Hamis ever stirring. To this day, his marker friend never knew.

  The car rolled to a stop. Jenne’s gaze flicked to Yurisa, her body coiled, ready to bolt the moment she could. Another soldier slid in beside her, dragging her onto his lap and pressing a finger to his lips. The acrid smell hit Jenne—urine. The girl had wet herself. No one spoke of it.

  Jenne climbed out of the vehicle and filled his lungs, knowing he might not breathe easy again for a long while. The road leading up was paved with neat stones, a straight, unforgiving path. If Hamis—or anyone from home—caught him, it would be here.

  Above, Isse’s floating house revolved slowly around the property like a silent, watchful moon. No alarms, no spells triggered. Jenne’s pulse steadied. Perhaps the house was asleep.

  Crafting two daggers, Jenne staked them into the wall and began his climb. The soldiers remained at the roadside, their car glaringly out of place against the quiet street. He wondered how they’d even gotten this far unnoticed.

  He landed lightly in the courtyard and listened. Somewhere on the bottom floor, a light burned—someone was awake. But there were no footsteps, no sharp senses prying for intruders. Whoever it was, they weren’t alert.

  Jenne darted across the grass, nose guiding him.

  A shadow rolled over him. He dropped flat against the wall, heart pounding—only to glance up and see the floating house drifting past.

  The last time he’d come here, Isse had led him toward the west side. That had been her bedroom. If this house mirrored Renna Sorel’s design, then Demettle’s chamber would be on the east. He scaled upward, window sill after window sill, moving like a shadow himself.

  At one kitchen window, a dossi yawned, poured herself a glass of water, then shuffled back out of sight. Jenne pressed flat to the stone until she vanished, then continued his climb.

  Finally, he reached a bedroom window. Inside: a vast bed, an old man bundled in sheets, snoring softly. The window stood ajar as though inviting him in. It was too easy. Far too easy.

  Still, Jenne slid over the sill and landed soundlessly on the carpet. A faint line of light glowed under the bedroom door, but no footsteps approached. He scanned the room, mapping hiding spots if he needed to vanish quickly. He crafted a blade in his palm, debating. A weapon to the Chancellor’s throat? No. Too crude. Too much.

  Another shadow swept the room—the floating house again. Jenne’s nerves prickled.

  He forced himself forward and laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder. Demettle stirred, coughed, and blinked at the stranger in his room. No panic. Only weary curiosity. His hand stretched to the side table.

  Jenne poured him a glass of water from the jug, placing it in his frail grip.

  “What are you doing here, boy?” Demettle rasped.

  “I’m here for the key, Sir,” Jenne said.

  “Key?” the Chancellor echoed, his baggy eyes unfocused.

  “The one for the Depository. The Regis Astaphite Depository.”

  “Ah.” The old man coughed again, lips twitching in a tired smile. “That key. I keep it in my last drawer.”

  Jenne turned, spotting the drawer pressed against the wall. As he stepped toward it, the floating house’s shadow passed over the room once more. This time it lingered.

  Demettle had once been a great Marker. His time was before the Great Oppression, when Henrikia fought different wars than the ones raging now. Everyone knew him for one thing: he was the Gaverian who killed the mad Varmel Sorel.

  Even now, frail as he looked, Demettle was still capable of casting. Jenne reminded himself of this as he crouched in front of the drawer.

  “You’re angry,” Demettle rasped.

  “Sir?”

  “You hate Schemel that much. Well…” His cough rattled. “I cannot blame you. She’s not easy to love.” He shifted in the sheets, voice low but steady. “I know her behaviour. It is a pattern that has reared its ugly head too many times. I am ashamed—of her, of this country. And I know my apology is worth nothing. I am no better.”

  Jenne pulled out the drawer. Inside lay the key, a single piece of iron with a red ribbon tied to it. He reached—

  “Mari Shepherd,” Demettle said.

  The name struck him harder than any spell. The old man hadn’t bound him, yet Jenne froze as if snared.

  “I saw that name,” Demettle continued, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dark. “When Talon brought me a list of women my son was bothering on the Farm.”

  “They turned to Master Deus for money,” Jenne said, his voice sharp. “My mother knew what she was doing.”

  “Does Hamis know?” Demettle asked. “I worried it would be a hindrance to your friendship—if he discovered his father disrespected your mother that way.”

  “We’re fine,” Jenne forced out. “No one is in the wrong.”

  “Then why,” Demettle whispered, “are you so angry?”

  The floating house drifted past. In the sudden gloom, silver and gold eyes glowed at one another—Demettle’s calm, Jenne’s burning.

  Jenne shook himself free of the old man’s words. He stretched for the key—

  Footsteps. Rapid, closing in.

  Jenne spun, bolting for the door. A Marker’s nightmare is an opponent who closes the distance, who never yields space on the field.

  Lights flared around him, a spiral of raw craft igniting in his rage. He smashed his shoulder through the door—

  —and collided with Hamis.

  The Marker was hurled back, crashing to the floorboards.

  Time to get the key.

  Jenne froze mid-step. Behind him, Sirios stormed up the stairs, demanding to know what was hidden above. Then Jenne saw him—another Hamis, standing at the end of the hallway. The real Hamis.

  Sweat ran down Hamis’ twitching hands as his nails scraped his palms. Behind them, Demettle coughed and lifted another glass. And then the shadow came. The floating house passed over, blotting out the light. This time it did not drift away. It stopped. And dropped.

  The crash shook the walls. Splinters and dust tore through the hallway.

  Sirios turned and bolted back down the stairs. Hamis forced his eyes shut and took a single step forward. The rumble of his ascension pulsed through the house, crawling across Jenne’s skin. The closer Hamis came, the weaker the power felt, as if it were collapsing in on itself.

  Jenne could not move. He only watched as Hamis knelt by his sister and shook her shoulder.

  “Isse,” Hamis whispered. “Are you okay?”

  Blood pooled beneath her head, the wound refusing to close.

  “Please, don’t do this.”

  They both listened for a heartbeat they already knew was gone. Tears slid down Hamis’ face. Jenne had never seen him cry before.