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He settled back against his seat. He felt like such a dick for waking her up. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you on the weekend.”

“Are you picking me up on Thursday?”

“Friday.”

“Why Friday?” The disappointment in her question pulled on Darien’s heart, like there was a rock tied to it.

“I want you at the house less. I don’t want you there by yourself, so it’s best if we make your stays involve Friday through Sunday for the next little while, so that someone can always be at the house with you. Until I…figure some things out.” The thought of her being at Hell’s Gate, now that Gaven knew where the house was…

The thumping in his chest turned into a sprint again.

“Okay.” Sheets rustled, and another click told him she’d turned the lamp off. “Should I be scared?”

“No, sweetheart. I’ll kill anyone who comes near you, I promise. You just have to listen to me. Alright?”

“’Kay. I love you.”

“Sweet dreams, love.”

He ended the call and threw his phone onto the console, where it clattered against the windshield. Propping an elbow up on his door, he cupped a hand to his mouth and watched the headlights passing outside his window, Loren’s question echoing through his mind.

Should she be scared? Fuck, he didn’t know. After how poorly he’d handled his Surge tonight, barely managing to hide it from Gaven and his men, and then completely failing to hide it from Malakai and his Reapers, could he even do this? The uncertainty was driving him mad.

But even if he failed, even if all this went to shit, there was one thing he would never let happen, and that was Loren getting hurt. He would always protect her, even if it cost him his life.

—

When Darien ended the call, Loren kept watching the screen. It went black after a couple minutes, leaving her alone with her reflection, her own empty face staring back at her through the glass.

She had spent her evening in the academy library, flipping through countless grimoires and text books in search of anything that might give her information about the spell stilling her tongue—the spell she had attempted to speak around just now, when Darien had asked her if she was okay. But none of the books had anything to say about it.

The conclusion she’d drawn was that the spell was either new or rare. After all, she had never heard of it before, not in all her years of schooling. No doubt it was hard to master as well, but the imperator had ties that stretched across land and sea. As the ruler of every bit of land in the world, there likely wasn’t a lot he didn’t know about. And if there was anyone in Terra who could learn how to manipulate a person this badly, it was Quinton Lucent.

But she wouldn’t give up. She might be powerless right now, but that didn’t mean she would be this way forever. For every spell that existed, there was one that countered it, and she was determined to figure out what it was.

20

Saturday had arrived. Days had passed since Loren had seen the imperator. Days. Nothing new had come of his threats, though Klay had watched her during every school day, the stupid ass. She had debated testing out her right hook on his nose, but she had resisted.

Loren knew better than to think the imperator would forget about their agreement and decide to leave her alone, so she knew it was only a matter of time before she would be forced to face him again.

She tried not to think about it as she carried on with her life, using every spare moment to attempt to speak around the spell, only to fail horribly. She tried writing it out, typing it out. She tried speaking in another language, tried visual gestures and signs. She even resorted to asking Singer if he could alert Bandit, but the Familiar was bound by the same spell. Nothing worked. Every attempt, no matter how subtle, numbed her tongue and voice box. Even her hands turned stiff and immobile whenever she tried sign languages.

There must be a way around it, and if there was, she had to find it.

Loren was completing her paperwork at the end of her shift at the Mortar and Pestle when the bells hanging above the door to the apothecary clanged. The sign in the window said they were closed, but she must’ve forgot to lock the door before coming up here.

She wheeled the chair away from the desk and got to her feet, hoping whoever had wandered in here was friendlier than the last person, a witch who’d clucked orders at her like she was a servant. Fanning the sweat on her forehead with a hand, she walked to the top of the stairs overlooking the bottom floor of the apothecary, white sundress swishing around her legs. Singer trailed behind her, panting in the humidity.

The air conditioner was definitely broken. Loren had told Mordred and Penny about it last weekend, but they hadn’t fixed it yet. She didn’t blame them; the weather had been very unpredictable lately. For every sunny day, there had been at least two or three rainy ones.

Loren was about to inform the late customer that they were closed for the evening when she froze.

On the bottom floor, her father was shutting the door behind him, sealing off the warm golden light of the late afternoon. Unaware that she was watching him, he took off his bucket hat and fanned it in the air, catching his breath. Sweat glinted on his face, and his button-up shirt was damp, the plaid fabric clinging to his lower back.

Loren propped a hand on the doorframe and drummed her sharp nails on the worn wood.

His eyes found her face. He appeared startled to see her, regardless of the fact that he’d just walked into her place of work. She raised a brow, and he scratched at the back of his neck.