Chapter 27 · The Master's Whistle

The ceiling came down in chunks.

I hit the floor with my arm over my head. Stone dust filled my mouth. It tasted like old iron and burnt powder.

Somewhere in the haze, Vane was breathing. Not like a man. Like a bellows with a hole in it.

"Vane." My voice cracked. "Look at me. Right now."

The fire in the hearth had blown flat. The only light was a gray smear from the new hole above us, and in it I saw his eyes.

No gold. No white. Pitch black, all the way across.

My stomach dropped through the floor.

"Well, well." Boots crunched on rubble. "Look at the great Alpha of Frostveil."

Garrick walked out of the dust like he owned the room. Silver-tipped crossbow in one hand. Six guards fanned out behind him, masks pulled up over their noses.

He was smiling. That was the worst part.

"Thorne." I got to my knees. Every bone in me rattled. "You blew the ward. You just killed half your own people."

"Half of the people who'd have talked." He shrugged. "Don't take it personal, Seraphina. I told you the elders wanted a clean ending.