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As the entire room ignited into flames.

No one had walked down the sludge and mud of the alley concealing them. No one would want to venture out into the burst of storm clouds damning the ground with its relentless, frigid rain.

Lightning was their only source of light as Garrik leaned against the wooden wall of the tavern, arms crossed in disbelief as the sharp chill of rain sunk deep under his cloak and into his tunic.

“You are certain?”

Crimson eyes like blood blinked underneath the cloak. Even in the darkness, they glowed. “Yes.”

Garrik’s chin dropped low, staring at the puddles forming around his boots, half in shock while the rest bubbled in relief. “And you know a way in?”

The male nodded enough to shift his cloak. A lock of pin-straight black hair spilled out. “The wards?—”

Thunder rattled the ground, loud enough to drown him out.

Garrik’s attention drifted upward, scowling at the untimely crack of the skies when the stars seemed to pulse brighter. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes on the stars seen through the thunderstorm clouds.

They pulsed again, as if drawing energy from Elysian.

“High Prince?”

Garrik snapped his attention back to the male. “Yes, I—” The stars pulsed again. Brighter this time. “The wards. Yes.” His eyes flickered to a rolled parchment with a fading fox seal in the male’s hand. “Assuming it is detailed inside, have Thalon read the missive.”

Shifting from the wall, Garrik slid three rings from his fingers, leaving only one behind, and handed them to him.

The male simply nodded before pocketing them, along with the rolled parchment and a stack of letters.

“Wait a week’s time unless I come to you.”

The male nodded again. “If that is all?”

Garrik returned the gesture, dismissing him.

As crimson eyes retreated into the darkness until he faded, morphing as if the air itself, not even a lingering of his scent was left behind to tell a tale of his presence there tonight.

Garrik’s gaze fell to the mud below, his throat tightening as the rain soaked into his cloak. His gaze did not move, listening to the relentless pour of the rain. Not until something like a dagger stabbed into his chest, pulling the air from his lungs as the stars flared again.

Something tore through his magic—straight into his mind.

Please, someone, help me.

Garrik’s arms unfolded, dropping to the hilt of his sword.

Alora.That was pure terror in her voice, rippling deep into his heart.

His feet were moving before reason caught him, barely keeping his footing in the sliding mud as he rounded the corner of the tavern and reached for the door.

And before he could open it, the glass shattered around him in an explosion as bright as starlight.

Something blunt and hard hit the back of Alora’s head the instant her flames exploded, knocking her to the ground.

In clouds of ash and smoke and flames, she lifted away her arms that were shielding her face.

Through the smoke, glistening silver armor and purple fabric hovered above her until the hardened faces of Ravens baringtheir teeth stood over her. Each shape blurring until she couldn’t count how many were truly there. Only then did she realize…

Those footsteps she’d heard coming inside the tavern. They weren’t other patrons.

They weren’t Garrik.