“Find me that kid,” I said quietly. “And since we know this guy’s MO, look for any other innocents they might be using. Anyone they could treat as expendable assets. I need locations, and I need them now.”

  Bonnie’s reply came strained, her words tight with effort. “I’m pushing as hard as I can. I don’t know how much deeper I can probe their Lattice without them noticing. If they flag me, they’re going to know we’re inside—and they’re going to send a batch of fanatical Speedbound Aura swords, a Force Arcanum caster, and a group of Gravebound straight at you.”

  She paused. “And let’s not forget the psycho who likes to start wars.”

  “Sounds difficult.”

  “Yeah, think?”

  I narrowed my eyes as I moved. “I’m not afraid of hard. Just find the kids so I can get there.”

  “What if they’re spread out?” she asked.

  “Then I go to each location,” I said. “And I kill everything in my way.”

  I didn’t slow.

  “Sarien,” I said, switching channels. “We’re going to need help. Get the city guard on alert. No—hold that. Go straight to the Valecis Isle Knight Garrison.”

  There was no hesitation on her end. “On what authority?”

  “Tell them this is a potential mass-casualty event,” I said. “Give them the exact coordinates. Tell them to move now, with specialized units and full readiness. There’s too much hostile presence here for this to be anything else.”

  “And if they don’t believe me?”

  “Tell them that if they don’t come immediately, the Ghost of the Wastes is going to introduce himself.”

  I kept moving. “And they won’t like the result.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “Did you just say the Ghost of the Wastes?” Sarien asked, sounding like she might be sick.

  “That is exactly what I said.”

  “You want me to threaten the Knight Garrison with a figure that parents use to scare disobedient children?”

  “I want you to threaten the Knight Garrison for me,” I said. “And people don’t really talk about the Ghost like that. He isn’t a demon.”

  Sarien snorted. “Right. Not a demon. Sure.”

  “Get them here, Sarien,” I added. “Threaten a Firestorm response at the Chief Magistrate’s residence if they don’t deploy specialty Knight units within the hour.”

  I switched my focus.

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  “Bonnie, patch through to Captain Vanta. Tell him what’s happening. Give him a tactical breakdown and let him know I’m already engaging.”

  “I’m on it,” she said immediately. “Patching now.”

  I cut the channel before she could add anything else.

  I ditched the servant clothes, pulled the mask back into place, and brought the Technica pistol up into my hand. I didn’t know how good their surveillance really was. At this point, I didn’t care. I just needed to get through the gas lane, find the kids, and start dismantling this before it went critical.

  Bonnie’s voice snapped back in. “Cale, I’m relaying everything to the Captain’s residence now. He’s attending some kind of gala.”

  “Of course he is,” I muttered.

  “That’s the bad news,” she continued. “The good news is I’ve got her. All indicators point to the west guest wing, like we suspected. Fifth floor. End of the corridor. Three guards minimum.”

  A pause.

  “And I think one of them is another dark operative. Codename Sala. Sanatio user.”

  I stopped.

  Sanatio specialists who fell into dark guilds were never subtle. Healing, purification, restoration—those arts twisted into something cruel. Advanced Expressions built to keep people alive long enough to suffer.

  “I can deal with it,” I said. “I’m moving.”

  “You’ve got movement inbound,” Bonnie warned. “Contact in ten… nine—duck into the next room or get caught. Now.”

  I veered left, voices spilling down the corridor ahead. I dropped reinforcement, cycled my breath, pressed two fingers to a door panel, and cast a lesser null just long enough to break the latch. The door popped open. I slipped inside as footsteps rushed past.

  I could have taken them.

  I didn’t.

  Not yet.

  There would be time for noise later.

  When they moved on, I stepped back into the hall and took a secondary staircase—empty, blessedly so. Fifth floor. Two branching paths. I pushed my pace.

  “Left,” Bonnie said. “Left, right, then left again. End of the hall. Hostiles confirmed.”

  “Perfect,” I replied. “What kind of distraction can you pull on their Lattice?”

  I could hear the smile in her voice this time.

  “Oh,” Bonnie said, fingers already flying, “I can make it look like their entire west wing just started arguing with itself.”

  “Good. Make them think a large-scale attack is coming.”

  “In theory, a large-scale attack is coming. Is that wise?”

  “Absolutely. They’ll know it’s coming, but they’ll be distract soon enough.”

  I turned the corner and came face-to-face with two Gravebound.

  I didn’t hide.

  Four shots to the chest and one to the head of each. The contact was clean. Both dropped before they could register me as a threat. The pistol bucked slightly in my hand, more physical than I was used to, and I realized with distant irony that it felt closer to the powder weapons I’d used in games with my friends at the Academy.

  If Rade could see me now.

  I kept moving. Two more mercenary guards followed by four more shots. The alarm was probably screaming by now. I didn’t care.

  The guest wing halls seemed bigger the deeper I moved toward my destination. That might have been magic or perception. I wasn’t sure which, or why it mattered at this point.

  I stopped at the door, a little surprised no one was posted outside.

  There would be surveillance inside. The moment I crossed the threshold, they’d know exactly where I was.

  Stealth was over.

  I dropped the pistol, pulled power inward, and cast a lesser Null Flare. The blast tore a chunk out of the defensive layering—not enough to collapse the ward network, but enough to scramble anything inside relying on precision.

  I cycled my mana, enhanced my Aura, and reinforced my body. I hit the door.

  It shattered inward.

  I pushed my senses wide as I entered.

  There was space. Too much of it.

  Bodies on the floor. Three adults outside the main room. One smaller shape near the center.

  I stepped inside.

  The room was obscene in its luxury—oak paneling, polished stone, golden light spilling from hidden fixtures. The kind of space designed for indulgence and privacy. The kind you only saw in old films or castles.

  Two figures in black turned toward me.

  Dark mercenaries. Faces painted, lips blackened, eyes hollow with devotion to something rotten.

  Between them—

  A girl.

  No older than ten.

  She lay on the floor, blood spreading beneath her.

  Someone had already cut her throat.

  Something inside me went cold and then very, very hot.