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Silence.

“Someone who will help you pot your precious plants and restore the earth to its original splendor.”

He felt like he was cracking up, but he needed to say the words if there was even a single chance she might hear them.

“You are beautiful, Dalli. Not just physically—which you are—but deep down where it matters. Truly lovely.”

Trevor rolled on his side and stared at the white cinderblock wall. The Authority’s reprogramming crew would be coming for him soon. When they tied him to their table, and their specialists took turns frying his brain, they’d withdraw his memories for good. A handful of Death Dealers, like his father, had been able to regenerate what was damaged in the frontal lobes, eventually recalling their past. But with Trevor’s magic gone, it was unlikely he could.

He frowned into the void.

Why alter his mind if he was powerless? What could they possibly gain?

It begged the question:would they even bother?

Surelythey’d have come for him by now.

Were they setting up for his demise? Why not just send another Death Dealer to get the job done?

“I’m driving myself fucking crazy,” he muttered as he gripped his hair and tugged. “What the fuck does any of this shit matter?”

An outer doorclanged, and the Aether entered, followed by Alexander Castor and Alastair Thorne. The latter of which seemed green around his elegantly clad gills. He’d heard somewhere Alastair hated enclosed spaces due to capture and confinement by his greatest enemies during the Witches’ War years before. His entering what equated to the Authority’s dungeon spoke volumes of his commitment to Damian Dethridge and their bond of friendship.

The courteous thing would be standing and greeting them, but he couldn’t. Their grim expressions indicatedbadnews, and the only reason for their presence would be to inform Trev of Soleil’s passing. He shook his head and covered his face with his arms.

“Please don’t tell me you couldn’t save her,” he rasped. “Please, no.”

“We’re here to escort you to the continuation of your trial, Blane,” Damian said. There was no inflection in his voice.Nothingto indicate what he thought of Trevor’s fate or if he even cared if there should be one.

“Why do I need to be there? What the fuck difference does it make?”

“Why are all the Blane men so quick to give up? Are they genetically defective or something?” Castor asked in a loud aside. “You’d think they’d have a little more gumption.”

A murderous rage consumed Trevor, and he surged off the rock-like mattress toward the opening of his cell. The glass partition was the only thing saving the Traveler’s life. “You never quit, do you, Castor?”

“I never do. Not like some.”

“I wasn’t referring to life. I was referring to your smartass mouth.”

That mouth quirked mockingly. “Some say it’s my greatest asset, next to my stunning good looks.”

“I say it’s going to get you killed one day, asshole.”

Alastair snorted and shot a dry look toward Castor before returning his focus to Trevor. “You wouldn’t be wrong, son. I’ve thought the same manya’time.”

“Stuff it, Al,” Alexander replied without heat. To Trevor, he said, “Well, pull up your big-girl diapers, Baby Blane, and join the winner’s circle.”

“I’ve got your big-girl diapers right here, ass?—”

“Enough!”

Damian’s voice was akin to God’s, echoing around the prison yet causing stillness with the command. Even his two best buddies took heed and straightened.

“You look like roadkill, Mr. Blane,” he said. “Al will assist you in making yourself presentable. You have exactly five minutes.” Like a king making a decree and expecting it tobe obeyedto the last letter, the Aether nodded and pivoted to leave.

“Wait! Why do I have to enter that bloody cell?” Alastair demanded.

Trev would swear the man's voice held an edge of panic.