The call barely lasted a minute, but by the time Nikhail hung up, it was like he’d been encased in ice.
“How many died?”Nikhail asked, folding his arms across his chest. A frown tugged at his features as he stared at the charredremains of what had once been Representative Gaveston’s garage.
Now, it was nothing but a smoky pile of ash. Bright spotlights shone on the crime scene, illuminating it against the starry night.
“Two.” Commander Root was next to Nikhail, the Earth Elf’s position mirroring his own.
“And their son?” Even as the words left Nikhail’s lips, he dreaded the answer.
Root ran a hand through his hair. “In the hospital, along with his nanny. The doctors think they’ll live. They were building a snowman at the side of the house when the bomb went off.”
Killing the boy’s parents instantly.
Nikhail exhaled, grateful that the child had survived. Death had always bothered him, but there was something especially nauseating about children whose lives were cut short before they could truly live.
Nikhail slowly turned, scanning his surroundings. Snow had been steadily falling for a day, a layer of white that coated everything in sight. It would’ve been scenic, before the blast.
Now, snow mingled with ash, a reminder that even the most stunning sights could be disrupted by death.
A crew was picking apart the destroyed garage, collecting evidence and fragmented bomb pieces for analysis. They’d be here all night. Others had already come and taken the bodies, transporting them for autopsy.
As awful as the destroyed home and the deaths were, it was the house a few doors down that had caught Nikhail’s attention as soon as he heard the address of the attack. Waterborn House stood tall and untouched, but it was close to the scene. Far too fucking close, as far as Nikhail was concerned.
Representative Gaveston and his wife had been the targets this time, but what if next time, the rebels went after the Waterborns?
Chills cascaded down Nikhail’s spine, and his nostrils flared at the thought of someone trying to hurt his water fae. The thought was unacceptable.
Nikhail reached within himself and gathered his magic. Power unspooled from his palm with a whisper of his will, and the unseen force swept across the area in a wave.
Everything else quieted around Nikhail. The noise of the investigation. The phone call someone was taking on his right. Even the faint sounds of traffic from outside the neighborhood. It was just him and his magic.
This was what he’d missed in the Hub.
It wasn’t long before the wind brushed his cheeks. The gentle caress was a mere whisper compared to the breeze that had been his companion for years.
Over there, the wind breathed in his ear.On your right.
Following the call of his magic, Nikhail turned his back on Waterborn House.
Commander Root was conversing with a fellow soldier, their murmurs a backdrop. Nikhail moved away from them, towards the bushes that lined the front of the Gavestons’ mansion. The path to the front door was well-trodden, but no one had ventured past it. Or so it seemed.
From afar, the snow appeared untouched. But as Nikhail approached, flicking on a flashlight and illuminating the path in front of him, he noticed a dip in the snow.
Yes, the wind whispered.See?
Nikhail crouched and angled his flashlight into the snow. His breath caught, excitement flickering to life inside him as he reached into the snow and curled his fingers around the hardshell of a cell phone. The device was wet, and it didn’t turn on when Nikhail tried, but that didn’t dampen his excitement.
The rebels were notorious for using old-fashioned forms of communication, which was one of the reasons they persisted in being so problematic. But this was a potential lead. If a rebel had slipped up, and if Nikhail and his team were able to turn on the phone and access the information it potentially contained, then they could use it to track the Black Night’s movements.
There were a lot of “ifs” in that sentence, but a possible clue was better than nothing.
For the first time since he learned about how close this attack had been to Waterborn House, Nikhail inhaled deeply. He stood, slipping the phone into an evidence baggie before placing it in his pocket, and straightened his shoulders.
His spirits lifted. Purpose filled his veins.
Not long after that, Nikhail took his leave of the crime scene. He grabbed a coffee on his way back to the office, preparing to pull an all-nighter. He didn’t mind staying up—his brain was already moving ten steps ahead.
He got to work right away, gathering equipment. Contacting the trusted members of his team, he updated them on the day’s events while the phone started to dry out.