She felt what he felt—ambush, multiple attackers, his magic scattering, suppressants burning against his skin?—
Then—nothing. The bond went dark.
There was now only cold and silence where Brandon’s magic had been. The connection that had become as natural as breathing just... stopped.
No, she realized, it hadn’t stopped. It was still there but concealed. Dormant, not dead.
Muriel clutched her chest, confusion flooding through her. Had he shut her out? Changed his mind about waiting for her to talk to him?
No. Brandon wouldn't?—
Realization dawned. He'd cloaked the bond. On purpose. To keep her from feeling whatever was happening to him.
Which meant something was very, very wrong.
TheCodexerupted beside her.
Magic poured from the ancient grimoire in waves, demanding, urgent, filling the room with green-gold light. Branches extended and reached in through the open windows. New shoots with tiny leaves sprouted from natural wood furniture. The air crackled with power that Muriel had never felt before—not a surge, but controlled fury.
TheCodexknew Brandon was in trouble too, and it was telling her exactly what she needed to do.
Barefoot, wearing her pajamas, Muriel tore throughthe halls of the Masterson estate toward Armand’s library. The marble was cold under her feet. She didn't care.
Armand would be awake. He barely slept.
She didn't knock, just slammed the door open.
Armand looked up from his book, already rising. His ancient eyes took in her wild appearance, the flowers blooming in her wake, theCodexblazing in her arms.
“Something's happened to Brandon,” Muriel said. “They have him.”
Armand's expression shifted instantly. His eyes went distant for a heartbeat.
A moment later, the study door opened and Vlane entered, looking as meticulous as always despite the hour. His dark eyes assessed the situation as Ana glided in behind him, concern etched on her face. “What's wrong?”
“Brandon's been taken,” Armand said.
“By whom?” Vlane's voice was sharp.
“Collectors,” Muriel said. She knew it in her bones. “They must have ambushed him.”
“When?” Vlane demanded.
“Just now. Minutes ago.” Muriel's hands tightened on theCodex. “He was on his way back to The Glas Tann. He never made it.”
Ana's hand went to her mouth.
“This is my fault. He was giving me space,” Murielsaid, the guilt cutting deep. “I asked for it and he—” Her voice broke.
She'd been angry. Hurt. And now he might die because of it.
Because of her. Because she was here licking her wounds and feeling sorry for herself and he was out there alone, dealing with the mess she’d brought to him.
“No,” Ana said firmly, crossing to Muriel and gripping her shoulders. “This is not your fault. The Collectors would have found an opening eventually.”
“But—”
“No.” Ana's green eyes were fierce. “You are not responsible for the actions of mercenaries. Do you understand me?”