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Roark nodded.

Darien turned and walked down the hallway. To the elevator. It wasn’t until he was inside the lift that Roark shut the door to the penthouse.

As the elevator slid into a smooth descent, Darien breathed deeply, preparing himself for what he was about to do. It would be challenging—he wouldn’t deny that. It also came with risks—lots of them. But he’d meant what he’d said to Ivy.

Losing Max and Travis was a far greater risk. That was part of his family that was trapped in Yveswich, and he would gladly face any threat that came his way head-on if it meant he could bring them home.

Roark Bright had just finished shuttingand locking the door, his chest sinking beneath the weight of what was happening in Yveswich—with his eldest daughter who was trapped there—when Taega called his name from the study.

“Roark!” Her voice was panicky and breathless. “Roark—get in here! Hurry.”

Quickly, he walked into the study and found her standing in front of the computer. On the monitor were dozens of different video feeds. Live footage from the security cameras that were interspersed throughout the building.

“Taega, what is it?”

“Look.” She gestured to camera five—the one that faced the front entrance to the apartment building.

When Roark beheld the figures on the screen, stark as silhouettes as the sun began to sink below the horizon, the blood drained from his head. “Oh my gods.”

When Darien exitedthe elevator on the ground floor of the apartment building, he felt lighter—happier—than he had in days. On the ride down, he’d taken some of the Stygian salts mixed with the bone powder, so they’d have a chance to take effect by the time he would need to start tracking.

He checked his watch. In about an hour, Travis and the others would arrive at Lucent Enterprises. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

With a deep breath, he walked through the front door?—

Pain like a lightning strike slammed into the back of his neck, causing his mind to short-circuit. Raw magic wove between his teeth and ripped through his muscles, his nerves.

His knees slammed into the ground.

Out of nowhere, he was being surrounded by cops, all shouting and pointing guns at his head.

And stepping out of a cop car—one of many that were parked along the curb, blue-and-red lights flashing—was Detective Glen, a pissed-off look on his face. The cops—there weredozensof them, all armed to the teeth.

Darien’s stomach and heart fell out of his body.

No.

Two cops came up behind him. Demanding he put his hands in the air.

Without thinking, he whirled, raw magic from the taser still ripping through him like electricity, and threw both officers through the front doors. The men screamed, glass smashing.

Another two came forward, guns raised. Darien kicked their feet out from under them. They crashed to the pavement?—

Warning shots were fired. He ducked as more glass shattered, a bullet zipping through the air, so close to his head it almost grazed him.

There were too many. Too many guns, too many officers, he hardly knew where to look?—

And there was a prisoner transport van parked by the curb. The words painted on the sides and back doors churned his stomach and pushed his heart into an unsteady rhythm.

BLACKWATER PENITENTIARY

“Darien Cassel,”barked Detective Glen.“You’re under arrest!”

Darien couldn’t breathe. Barely managed to squeeze out, “I don’t understand.” He could hardly speak, the raw magic in the taser muddying his mind and rendering his limbs practically useless?—

“Cuff him,” Glen said.

Cops swarmed him. A few were hellsehers—brought here today to match the strength of the person they were apprehending.