“We’ve...chatted.” Deacon sits in the chair across from us. “Someone update me.”

    “Clay is alive.” Killian relays the details he shared with me. “He’s bait, and he won’t be killed as long as Ten is alive.” He motions to the flash-scribe. “You need to listen.”

    Trembling, I press the center of the device. At first, there’s static and huffing, as if someone is running.

    “We have the boy?”

    “The speaker is the Prince of Ravens,” Killian informs us. “One of his assistants gave me the flash-scribe, said he heard I had a thing for a Troikan girl. I think he was told to give me the flash-scribe. I think this is a test to find out what I’ll do, maybe even an attempt to manipulate you through what you hear. But if what comes next is true, you need to know. You need to prepare.”

    The recording continues.

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Excellent. Spread the word. Make sure the Conduit learns of his capture.”

    Footsteps. The click of a door being opened and closed.

    The male who’d issued the orders speaks again. “Ready the troops. Every Messenger, Laborer and Leader. Keep the Conduit outside Troika. I want our people surrounding the realm by the end of the day. Block all Light. The weaker their people, the easier our victory.”

    The hate in his tone is just as clear as his words. This man...he taught Killian that victors are adored and failures abhorred, encouraged Killian to do anything—lie, steal and kill—to win a battle.

    No wonder he named one of his sons Victor.

    There’s a rush of pounding footsteps. The door being opened and closed again.

    “How many agents do we have inside Troika?”

    “Nine.”

    “Excellent. Have them—”

    The device goes quiet, revealing the hard rasp of my breathing.

    Killian rubs my arm up and down. “If this is true... I’m sorry.”

    Zero! There could be more monsters walking among us. Evil cloaked in righteousness.

    Overcome by urgency and uncertainty—a toxic mix—I fight the urge to curl into Killian’s arms and check out. We need to act, but action without clear direction will get us nowhere fast.

    “How do we know you aren’t part of this?” Deacon grates, his jaw clenched. “How do we know you aren’t setting us up for failure?”

    Killian gazes at me, his expression grave. “You don’t.”

    “I know,” I insist. “I trust you. Always. You and I will rescue Clay. Deacon, you go home and warn our king of a possible attack. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

    Killian shakes his head before I finish. “I told you, lass. There will be traps set specifically for you. I’ll look for Clay. I can sneak attack. You can’t. You are Light, and you can’t hide anywhere. Your presence is a beacon.”

    “I hate to say this but he’s right.” Deacon stands. “I’ll accompany Killian. You return to Troika. If we can’t stop the attack, the people will need your Light.”

    Logic I cannot refute, no matter how badly I want to.

    “I won’t let anything happen to Clay,” Killian vows, his arms tightening around me. “I will find him, and I will keep him safe.”

    During my Firstlife, Killian’s actions led to Clay’s Firstdeath. He attacked Archer while we were racing down a snow-covered mountain, and it caused the avalanche that tossed Clay over a ledge.

    Whether Killian admits it or not, he’s not doing this for me. Not entirely. He is atoning for a crime his king once praised him for committing.

    “I know you will.” My chest constricts. We’re both heading into dangerous situations. “If something happens to me—”

    “Nothing will happen to you.” He grips my shoulders to shake me. “You will fight, and you will survive. No other outcome is acceptable.”

    I kiss him hard, and I kiss him fast, Deacon momentarily forgotten. Killian kisses me back, his strength seeping into me, as if I’m drawing Light from him—because I am?

    Yes! I am, and the realization stuns me. Despite his tie to Myriad, there is Light in him.

    Light springing from his love for me?

    Love is always the answer. Love never fails. Love is life.

    I stop taking and start giving, fanning the flames. Just a little. Not too much. I don’t want to overwhelm him or cause Torchlight.

    When he hisses, I know I’ve pushed the boundaries as far as I can. I jump to my feet, ending the kiss, and punch in the code for Troika. I’m trembling.

    He stands, a tower of menace and aggression, ready to raze his own world to save my friend, just because I asked.

    Any wonder I love him? “You are amazing, Killian Flynn.” I hold his gaze until the cabin vanishes around me.

    I appear outside the Veil of Wings—and frown. The Light...where is the Light? Despite my urgency, I pause to gaze at the sky...and groan. There will be a battle. I’m too late to stop it. Dark shadows have fallen over the water. So many shadows, cast by Myriadian soldiers.

    Life can change in a blink, going from bad to good, or good to bad, or anything in between. With combat on the horizon, everything in Troika is about to change. Lifeblood will be spilled, and people will die. Innocents will die.

    Disregarding the burn of panic, I soar through the Veil. My necklaces bounce against my chest. I refuse to hide the one Killian gave me under my shirt any longer. We hide because we fear the opinions of others, the outcome or whatever big bad we think will happen. I’m done with that.