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All this talk of black eyes with lines around them reminded him of Paxton—the episode Roman had told him about.

“I have a twelve-year-old cousin who had an intense Surge a couple of days ago—his eyes turned black, and his brother said there were lines around them, too. He’s only twelve, though, and he never uses his magic—there’s no way he has the Tricking. Any thoughts on that?”

“Your cousin,” Roark mused. “Same magic as you?”

“Same magic as me,” he confirmed. Roark waited to see if he’d piece it together himself, and he did. “The wellsprings of magic,” he breathed.

Roark nodded. “All these years, the Veil has been acting as a barrier—a buffer. So more sensitive individuals with magic—especially shadow magic—are now susceptible to worse Surges. I suggest this cousin of yours gets on a high dose of suppressants to help keep his magic levels normal until the Veil is re-sealed. He won’t be able to control his power at his young age, so getting him on suppressants would be wise.”

“Yeah, I think his brother already has him on some.” Roman was supposed to get to town tonight; he’d talk to him then.

Darien looked in through the window at Loren, thinking back to when Jewels had suffered a seizure and gone into cardiac arrest when the portal was opening wider. She was only Stage Two, but her body must have been reacting to the portal poorly, the same way as Loren.

“Do you think this is the reason Erasmus and Helia are gone?” he asked Roark, tearing his focus off Loren. “If I estimated correctly, they left town around the same time the explosion happened.” The traces of color left behind by their auras backed up his suspicions.

“I think it’s very possible. They would know more than I do about the Veil and how to close it, and with them suddenly up and disappearing like this…well, I believe you could be right. They might have left if they know of something that could give us the upper hand here. Something that might have required they leave town in order to get.”

“Or they’re running,” Darien said with disgust. They’d run before. Why not run again?

Roark seemed to be weighing his response. “Something tells me they aren’t running. Not this time.”

They stood there in silence for several minutes, watching Loren through the window.

Darien’s thoughts drifted to Travis and Max. If they were stuck in Yveswich… If there were Tricking patients in there that were mutating and going on killing sprees… People who would soon mutate into monsters, the way the victims of the first Well replica had mutated…

As if reading his mind, Roark said, “Have you heard from those friends of yours?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Which reminds me—Arthur told me to ask you for the blueprints for those missiles.”

“Oh yes, that’s right.” He unzipped his jacket and reached into the inside pocket. “I have them right here.” He passed him two rolls of shiny paper. “If you’re planning on instructing your friends on how to make one of those, I must advise you that building one from scratch takes a long time.”

“How long are we talking?”

“Weeks.”

Darien cursed.

“But,” Roark began. “If they didn’t need to build one from scratch, and instead only had to charge a new warhead…”

“It’s doable?”

Roark nodded. “It’s doable. But charging the warhead would require raw magic from the anima mundi, and with the Control Tower currently stuck in a Battleshort…” He frowned. “I’ve been trying to think of a way around it, but in order to get magic from the anima mundi, it needs to be channeled by something like the Control Tower. Something designed to draw magicupfrom the earth.”

Darien leaned against the door and thought it through. “Magic from the anima mundi is just raw, unfiltered magic, right? In all different colors?”

Roark’s brow creased, but he confirmed, “Right.”

“Would you need every color, or would a few do?”

“Not every color, but most.”

Darien’s mind spun with ideas.

Solutions.

“I think I have an idea,” he breathed.

“How are you feeling?”Darien’s deep, rich voice echoed down the hallway as Loren stepped out of the chamber, her damp feet dripping water all over the floor. He reached for her hand, and she slid it into his, the feel of his warm, callused palm awakening the butterflies in her stomach.