“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“Can I sleep here tonight?” I hold my breath. “Just tonight.” I don’t care what happens after this. Because this moment sealed my fate. I’m already over the cliff, whether he catches me or not.
“Sure.” He smiles against my hair. “Just tonight.”
“The Rise of Rafael Grimm: An Exploration of the Rise and Fall of One of the Greatest Mages Draterra Has Known”
THE DAILY MAGE, ISSUE 1939.291
thirty-six | sylas
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1939
This morning, even though he’s summoned me, I avoid Paltro like the plague. Maybe, by the time I inevitably run into him, I’ll have perfected my lie.
Midday is nearly upon us, and I stare at the clock, once more wishing for time to run. Viola left for classes two hours ago with my sister, and I have half a mind to show up at the House of Death. Because now that the taste of her lips is forever seared on mine, any minute away from her feels like torture.
“Your death stares at the clock won’t alter the fabric of time.” Beau takes a sip of my tea, grimaces, then pushes it toward me. “This is gross. I can’t believe you drink this willingly.”
I sip on my tea, frowning. Nothing’s wrong with it.
“What did you find?” I set my teacup down on the kitchen counter and shuffle through the papers scribbled with clues, dates, and timelines.
“I’ll tell you, but first…” Beau leans forward, his eyes narrowing on the bruise on the side of my eye. “Where were you yesterday?”
My jaw clenches, and I debate walking away for a moment. I was hoping no one would ask about yesterday, but they’ll find out eventually. I bring the cup to my lips, and nod. “DOTS requested reassessment for Firstline, because Viv Rowan filed a motion to dismiss me.”
Beau’s gaze clashes with mine. His face sours. “Haal, Sylas… how many?”
“Fourteen, in less than half a day.” My gut wrenches when I think of DOTS’s reassessment trial. They drove four other mages and me to a poacher cell on the border of Bale and Iserine and left us to fend for ourselves. Our assessment was to dismantle the cell without losing a single member of our small unit.
“Five of us against about twenty of them.” I breathe out. Memories of ripped flesh and gouged eyes hurl up my stomach, memories that Viola’s touch pushed away even when she wasn’t aware.
“That’s…” Beau pauses. “That’s a lot…”
Even my brother can’t bring himself to say the words. That’s a lot of bodies—especially when I killed fourteen of them. Poacher or not, I am not the God of Death to take lives at the whim of DOTS. And even when later on, they told me half of those poachers were the ones responsible for the murder of my unit, I still felt deplorable. No amount of revenge brings back the dead—Iwould know this.
DOTS and Firstline thought retaliation was a way to redeem myself. Perhaps in their eyes, it was, but in mine, I had become the very enemies I hunted. In the end, how different are we from poachers if we all kill to further the dogma of the institutions we believe in?
Beau walks around the counter and throws his arms around me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Did they reassign you?”
“Premier Intelligence Division, headquarters,” I reply. Being assigned to the same division as my father means nothing to me anymore. Three weeks ago, it would’ve been an honor; now it’s just a reminder of my mistakes.
“What did you find?” I nod at the black pass with St. Fabian’s logo, still hanging around his neck.
“Nothing we don’t already know,” he says uncomfortably.
“You went all the way to St. Fabian this morning, took a reader to our only lead, and came back with nothing.” I love my brother’s dedication, but I’m not in the mood for games. Viola’s life—whatever is left of it— depends on how fast we work.
“I couldn’t push it, Sy.” He levels my gaze. “You should’ve seen Victor’s mother. It’s heartbreaking. She stares out a window all day. No reaction, no movement. The only time her eyes moved was when I told her Victor wasn’t dead.”
“Take another reader.” I glare at him.
“I took one of the best.”
“Sierra doesn’t have the rank to untangle memories—”
“Grayson.” Beau interrupts me, and my head snaps toward him. Grayson is Gryff’s brother, and he is one of DOTS’s primary readers, a memory detangler. If he couldn’t read Mrs. Carver’s memories, that avenue is a dead end.