Blake glared at her a few more seconds before his brown gaze flicked over the rest of the office. He looked in my direction, and I stayed absolutely still in the shadows behind the bar, hoping that Devon and Felix would do the same behind the couch.

Finally, Blake turned back toward the front of the office. He didn’t even glance at the closed laptop, crystal paperweights, or gold fountain pens on the desk to make sure that nothing was missing or out of place. Instead, his gaze locked onto the dragon chiseled into the white stone wall behind Victor’s desk. His eyes narrowed, and he stared and stared at the dragon, examining every single inch of the carving, looking for the smallest sign that it had been tampered with or disturbed in any way. Shock zipped through me.

He knew.

Blake knew about Victor’s secret room and all the black blades hidden inside it. That was the only reason he would bother to stare so long and hard at the dragon carving. He was making sure that Deah hadn’t discovered the room and the weapons, that nothing was going to derail his dad’s plan to massacre all the other Families.

I shouldn’t have been so shocked. As the Draconi bruiser, Blake was Victor’s second-in-command, and I’d suspected that he might be helping Victor at least trap the monsters he’d killed. More than that, Blake was just as cruel as his father was, something he’d proven by helping Victor cut my mom to pieces. But I was surprised all the same. I wouldn’t have thought that Victor would have told anyone what he was really up to, how he wanted to use his collection of black blades to give his guards extra boosts of magic so they could attack and kill all the other Families.

But he’d obviously told Blake, and I wondered why. Because Blake was his son and right-hand man? Or was there another, more sinister reason? Was Victor putting his plan into action sometime soon?

That terrifying thought made my hand clench tight around my sword, the five-pointed star carved into the hilt pressing against my skin like a cold brand.

Blake finally turned away from the dragon carving and secret room and faced Deah again. “Okay, so the door was open and you came in here to check on things. That still doesn’t explain why you stayed in here so long.”

Deah chewed her lip again, her gaze flicking around as she searched for another excuse. Blake’s back was to me now, so I sidled forward so that she could see me again. Deah looked at me, and I pointed over to the shelves that took up one of the walls. She turned her head the tiniest bit, and her mouth flattened out as she realized what I was pointing at. She didn’t like my idea, but she decided to go along with it.

“I was looking at my trophies,” she said in a soft voice.

Blake snorted and stomped past her. He grabbed a solid gold cup, also stamped with the Draconi dragon crest, off one of the shelves and held it up.

“Oh, you mean this trophy? The one that Lila Merriweather let you win during the Tournament of Blades?” he sneered. “I told Dad that he should throw it out with the rest of the garbage, but he didn’t listen to me.”

Tears gleamed in Deah’s eyes at his mean taunt, but she ruthlessly blinked them back, crossed her arms over her chest, and lifted her chin. “Well, at least I got further in the tournament than you did. Then again, I always do. Poppy Ito knocked you out of the competition in less than a minute this year.” She laughed, but it was a harsh, mocking sound. “And she only has speed magic.”

Blake’s hand tightened around the trophy, and his arm lifted like he was going to rear back and throw the gold cup at Deah. But she held her ground and glared right back at him, daring him to do something stupid.

Blake studied her, and he slowly lowered the trophy to his side. He might have a strength Talent, but Deah’s mimic magic made her the far better fighter and Blake knew that she would mop the floor with him. Plus, he must have realized how angry Victor would be if he messed up the office because he whipped around and shoved the gold cup back onto the shelf.

“Yeah, well, you’re still not supposed to be in here,” Blake growled. “So let’s both leave before Dad finds us. I’m not getting in trouble because of you.”

He gestured at Deah, who had no choice but to turn around and head for the double doors. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, and I flashed her a thumbs up, telling her that everything was okay. As long as Blake left with her, I could still get Devon, Felix, and myself out of the mansion and off the grounds without any of the guards spotting us or realizing that we’d ever been here.

Deah nodded back at me, relief filling her face.

A second later, she stepped out into the hallway, and Blake shut the doors behind the two of them. The lock clicking into place sounded as loud as a clap of thunder in the absolute quiet of the office, but I welcomed the noise because it meant that we were safe.

For now.

I waited several seconds to make sure that Blake wasn’t coming back in here, then slowly got to my feet. Behind the couch, Devon and Felix did the same, both of them clutching their swords in their hands.

“That was close,” Devon muttered.

“Yeah,” Felix chimed in. “Too close.”

“Too close is right. Now, come on,” I whispered, heading toward the glass door on the far side of the office. “Let’s get out of here while we still can.”

Devon and Felix grabbed the two duffel bags full of black blades, and we slipped out of the glass door and onto a balcony before sneaking down some stone steps and back across the yard. We made it to the woods without any of the Draconi guards spotting us, and we all sighed with relief as the trees, shadows, and growing clouds of mist swallowed us up.

It took us almost an hour to hike through the forest back over to the Sinclair Family compound, and I was happy to see the mansion loom up out of the darkness before us. Unlike the white, airy elegance of the Draconi castle, the Sinclair mansion was made out of black, blocky stone that looked as if it had been chiseled out of the mountain itself. The mansion rose up seven stories in places, with towers that soared even higher into the night sky, each one topped with a black flag bearing the Sinclair Family crest—a hand holding a sword aloft, all of it outlined in white. The same symbol was stamped into the silver cuffs that Devon, Felix, and I wore on our right wrists.

“Home, sweet home,” Felix said in a relieved voice.

“Absolutely,” Devon agreed, hefting his bag of weapons a little higher on his shoulder. “I’m glad this mission is over. Aren’t you, Lila?”