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His eyes were bloodshot, hair unkempt in a way I had never seen before. His typically perfectly creased black shirt bore wrinkles in the sleeves, and there was something gaunt about his features. I wanted to reach out, to touch him, but Mercer’s arm stayed maddeningly still.

“They took her,” he spat, a spark of rage flying across his eyes.

“No one survives a horde of shadows like that.”

“They leave. The bodies. Behind,” Laryk seethed, each word a calculated tick.

Mercer hesitated momentarily, bringing a glass with amber liquid up to his lips and taking a sip, the taste of whiskey invading my senses, burning my throat.

“If what you’re saying is true, then it opens up entirely new questions,” Mercer said softly, as if trying to make his rough voice as gentle as possible.

“And what exactly are you implying?” Laryk growled.

“You know how it looked, Laryk. Even you hesitated.”

“They weren’t coming from her. It was a trick of the night.” Laryk’s voice was strong, but there was a subtle crack in his tone.

I had never seen him like this. He had always been so poised, so collected and unreadable. So unbearably, infuriatingly confident—wearing that mask that kept his feelings unknown to all. I barely recognized the man before me, the man who looked like he was on the edge of a cliff.

“But that’s not why I hesitated. You know this. I’ve already told you,” Laryk murmured.

“The figure.” Mercer sighed, placing his glass on the desk ahead.

“I know what I saw. For a split second. It happened so quickly.” Laryk shook his head, squinting.

“The form of a man. Darkness rippled off of him. I’ve thought it this whole time, that there was more to them. That the shadows were a disguise.”

A haunting silence fell as Laryk’s eyes darted from Mercer to the window and down to a crate of glass jars, something dark flashing across his features.

“So what do you want to do?” Mercer simply asked.

“Employ everyone. Every single member of this Guard. Bring them here. To Stormshire.”

“Laryk, you’re acting from emotion?—”

“The King has given me full control of the Guard,” he countered.

“When they come, and they will, there will be no holding back. And we will be ready. They will finally feel exactly what we’re capable of,” Laryk continued, shooting up from the desk, turning to grip the windowsill, eyes fixed on something in the distance.

“We will rain destruction down on them. They will return what's mine.”

My eyes shotopen as the obsidian room closed in around me, my heart hammering against my chest. I threw the covers back, planting my feet on the ground and running to the door before slamming my fists into it over and over.

The lock slid open, and Aether's golden eyes narrowed at me.

"How unexpected," he drawled, taking in my wild-eyed state. "Finally reached your breaking point?"

"I’m ready to talk," I said quietly, meeting his gaze.

He merely crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, forehead creased in contemplation. But his eyes seemed to shift, something soft flashing across them in an instant, vanishing just as quickly as it arrived.

"Let's see if you truly mean it."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Three pairsof eyes pinned me in place from across a weathered table. We sat in what must have been a war room of sorts, though it felt more like a tomb. Dark walls stretched up into darkness, the ceiling lost in shadow despite the iron chandeliers that hung at intervals, their flames casting an unsteady light. The space was circular with curved benches built into the walls.

Rethlyn hovered near one of the arched windows, his focus not on me but somewhere just over my shoulder, his brows creased in thought. The gray light filtering through the clouded glass caught the shadows beneath his eyes, making them appear deeper, more stark against his skin. Vexa sprawled in her chair to my left, one leg draped casually over the ornate armrest, a dagger flipping lazily between her fingers. The blade caught the firelight with each turn, sending brief flashes across the ceiling.