Page 205 of Lana Pecherczyk

Proximity stones were still dull and lifeless on the stakes. A flash of Talo sharing drinks with Salvatore on the van’s deck hit him, adding to his dawning horror. It meant Talo had reconciled with the Cardonas enough to allow passage without triggering an alarm.

The nesting caravan door hung open, swinging in the night breeze.

“Blake?” River stumbled up the steps, heart hammering. “Sparkles?”

Silence.

Papers were scattered across the floor. The table where she’d fallen asleep was in disarray. Her ink pot had spilled, creating a black pool that soaked into half-finished sketches.

His boot crunched over something. A page. He bent to pick it up. Blake’s neat handwriting labeled diagrams she’d copied from Cloud’s trove. Not anatomy drawings. A map. A location.

There, in the corner, a circle around two points marked with an X. One labeled “Main Trove,” the other, “Second location or fake?”

Blake’s crumpled drawings lay everywhere, sheets spattered with ink as if someone had swiped them from the table in anger. But what froze his blood was the overturned eucalyptus. It had survived despite all odds. Blake’s restorative magic had repaired it, just as she’d fixed his wings. Now it lay broken, soil scattered across the floorboards, pot cracked clean through, a familiar black, glossy feather amongst the debris.

“No.” The denial tore from his lungs, hoarse and desperate.

Boots scuffed the caravan steps. Ash appeared in the doorway, fury finally showing itself on his face.

No words. No thoughts. River’s body seized and went silent. Shock.

“No blood,” Ash muttered. “She must be alive.”

Alive.

“I can’t feel her.”

“She’s probably disconnected from the Well.”

Hope flared. Alive. Alive.She’s alive.Must be. River’s gaze darted about the room, desperate for answers, ending on what was in his clenched fist. The map. He thrust it forward, hand trembling. “Look.”

Ash crossed the caravan in two strides and took the paper. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the marked locations. “This isn’t…”

“He took her!” River slammed his fist into the wall, wood splintering. “That bastard took my mate.”

“But why?” Ash’s question cut through River’s panic.

“Why the fuck does everyone take so long to point blame? Who gives a fuck why? No wait. I have a why for you.” River grabbed Ash’s feathered collar and shoved him against the kitchenette. “Why didn’t your wind warn you about this?”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t.” Ash knocked River away. “I don’t control it.”

“Are you in on this?” he accused, eyes manic. “Was this why you two were so friendly during the game?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions.” Ash scrubbed his face. When his hand dropped, he leveled his stare on River. “Why would Cloud want to take Blake alive? At the market, what was the last thing he said to you after I left?”

River’s mind whirled, traveling back.

“Fuck me.” Bile rose up his throat. “I’m going to be sick.”

He launched toward the kitchenette, braced himself, and breathed heavily as the truth settled.

“Cloud asked about her restoration power,” he mumbled.

Sound of shuffling behind him. Ash picked up another of Blake’s drawings—a detailed nuke component, but one part looked damaged, incomplete. “Maybe he thinks she can bring something back.”