Page 128 of First Offense

I shook my head. “The one I saw the other day is no longer there, and whatever they were using from inside the prison to ferry in more Noir is gone as well.” Because that part had been obvious.

We’d faced far more Noir than were kept in this reformatory. Some of the inmates were still piling bodies out in the field—another job Novak had assigned. It seemed his little lethal dance had crowned him king.

I didn’t argue.

But I would never bow, and he knew it.

He had about two dozen inmates who now worshipped the ground he walked on. That would have to be enough.

“So what do we do now?” Raven asked as she took her hand away from Layla’s wing. The dark-haired female hadn’t been injured at all during the fight, but she certainly looked a bit haggard now after healing her cousin. Which meant Layla had been in a lot more pain than she’d let on.

I kissed the top of her head, my way of showing respect for her courage. She possessed a warrior’s heart beneath all that fancy exterior. “You fought well today,” I whispered to her as the others started talking about next steps around us. “I’m sorry about your wing.”

She extended it slowly, then drew it back in. “I’m okay.”

“I know,” I said, holding out my hand to help her stand. “But I mean it, Lay. You fought well.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am,” I admitted. “The last time we sparred, you kept tripping over your feet.”

“I was still training then,” she returned, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve learned a lot in the last few years.”

“Clearly.” I drew my thumb along her jaw. “But there’s more I can teach you.” I allowed her to hear the double meaning in my words.In the arena and in the bedroom.

She shivered. “I would like that.”

“I know,” I said, grinning. “I suspect we’re just getting started.”

She reached out to stroke a cleaner section of my wings, her gaze darkening. “It’s not going to be an easy path.”

I glanced at my white feathers, then back at her. “We’ll find a way forward, Layla.”

“Doing what?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “Fighting for eternity?” She shook her head. “I don’t want to kill or hurt others. I want to live. I want to be free. I want to… tolead.” A fierce quality entered her gaze. “What’s happening here is wrong. Those Noir were zombified by some sort of drug, turning them into violent monsters. And those wings… how did they turn to ash?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I intend to find out.”

“How?” she asked incredulously.

“By taking it one day, or hour, at a time.” I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “There are answers somewhere, Lay. Likely with the Reformer.”

“So we need to find him,” she said.

“I think he’ll come to us,” Novak interjected, having joined our conversation. “This was a game. He’s not done yet.”

On that, we agreed. “He’ll be back.”

“We should prepare a welcome party,” Zian suggested, a smile in his voice.

“Or we should use this opportunity to run,” Sorin muttered.

“And go where?” Zian replied. “We’re in the middle of the human world, with no portals, black wings—except for Auric—and nowhere to hide.”

Sorin folded his arms, the scratches up his left side suggesting he’d suffered a bit of a scuffle with one of the insane inmates. Probably when he went after Raven. “We won’t know that until we try it.”

“We should prepare for both,” Raven said, moving to stand between Sorin and Zian. “Scout potential escape routes and expect the Reformer to return.”

Novak shook his head. “This is about survival.” He cocked his chin at the tree line, the mountains, and then the hole blown into the side of the prison. “A test.”