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Viggo retracted his hand and stared moodily at the floor. He could not deny the truth of his friend’s words. But he also knew Evander would never abandon him. Abandon thralls.

The mage had made it his lifelong mission to bring equality and justice to his kind, after all. And Viggo was determined to help him in any capacity to achieve his nigh-impossible dream. Not just because he loved Evander, but because he trusted the man behind the name.

Solomon’s words interrupted his troubled thoughts. “You should know that I’m not the only one in our guild who thinks this.”

Viggo gave him a wry look. “Do I hear murmurs of a revolution?”

Solomon rolled his eyes. “Like any of us would stand a chance against you.”

They shared a small smile. One borne of decades of friendship and built upon the sweat, blood, and tears they’d shed as children trying to survive the horrors of growing up in the slums of the capital.

“Have you heard from your source at the Ministry of Arcane Affairs?” Viggo asked quietly.

“Not a squeak,” Solomon confessed with a grimace. “The one at the War Office is being similarly tight-lipped.”

Viggo grunted, unsurprised. In the weeks since Renwick’s death, their efforts to uncover the identity of the mysterious “ I ” had yielded frustratingly little results.

It was as if the puppet master who had been controlling the dark mage and his lackeys had vanished into the ether, leaving no trace for even Nightshade ’s extensive network to follow.

“What about the Noctis Bloom trade?”

Solomon’s expression darkened. “There’s been a surge in demand across the city. Local sources report several large purchases in the past fortnight, all by different buyers, but with similar descriptions—hooded figures, speaking with educated accents.”

Viggo’s jaw tightened. “Mages.”

Solomon drummed his fingers on his knee. “Most likely those affiliated with dark magic. And they’re paying well above market rate, which suggests urgency.”

Viggo furrowed his brow. “Whatever they’re planning, they need it soon. Are we any closer to identifying who’s supplying the vendors?”

“Not yet,” Solomon said in a hard voice. “He’s a crafty bastard, whoever he is. Our agents haven’t been able to identify even a hint of his shadow.”

Viggo clenched his jaw. It had become clear to them that someone influential was behind the sudden influx of Noctis Bloom in the London underground market, where illegal substances and objects traded hands after dark.

He wondered if the Met had unearthed any clues yet as to their nemesis’s future scheme. Viggo frowned.

Evander would have told me if they had.

Though the mage abided by the strict rules that prevented him from sharing confidential police information with people outside the Met, he would have put Viggo and Nightshade on the right path if he and his colleagues had stumbled upon information concerning their common target.

The Brute’s grim musings were interrupted by Finn Callaghan’s arrival, the Irishman’s usual swagger absent as he knocked cursorily and strode inside the room. His expression was steely, his sea-green eyes lacking their customary mischievous glint.

“Boss, we’ve got a visitor. Says it’s urgent.”

Viggo exchanged a puzzled glance with Solomon. “Who?”

“A woman from Whitechapel. A thrall. Her brother’s gone missing.”

Solomon lowered his brows. “We’re hardly a missing person’s agency, Razor.”

“You’ll want to hear her out.” Finn’s voice hardened as he met Viggo’s gaze. “Her brother works for a nobleman. An alchemist by the name of Lord Fairfax.”

Viggo stiffened. Lord Aldous Fairfax was Ginny Hartley’s new business partner and a man known to be generous to thralls and charities supporting the magicless. Viggo had met the man for the first time when he’d attended an intimate dinner party at Ginny’s home a few days ago.

He could tell from Solomon and Finn’s tense expressions that the same troubling thought going through his mind had crossed theirs too.

Their friend and fellow Brute Magnus Graveoak had been a recent victim of dark mages.

He too had vanished under mysterious circumstances two years ago, only to reappear and attack Evander and Ginny’s carriage as they’d returned from a ball.

Viggo came to a decision, rose, and took his seat behind the desk. “Bring her in.”

Finn disappeared and returned moments later with a young woman whose threadbare shawl and calloused hands spoke of a life of hard labour. She clutched her worn bonnet nervously, her eyes darting around the chamber with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

“This is Emma Simmons,” Finn introduced. His voice grew kind. “Emma, this is Viggo Stonewall.”

The woman curtseyed awkwardly. “Thank you for seeing me, sir. I—I didn’t know where else to turn.” She swallowed heavily.

Viggo gestured to the empty chair next to Solomon. “Please, sit.”

Emma perched on the edge of the seat, her back ramrod straight.

“Tell us about your brother,” Viggo said.

She blinked and took a shaky breath.

“His name is Tom, sir. Tom Simmons,” she said in a rush. “He works—worked—as a footman for Lord Fairfax, in Belgravia. Two nights ago, he didn’t come home.” Her voice caught. “He always comes home, sir, even when his Lordship keeps him late.” She gazed pleadingly at Viggo.

Solomon frowned. “His Lordship keeps him late?”

Emma blinked. “Oh. Oh, it’s not what you think, sir!” she protested, some colour returning to her cheeks. “Lord Fairfax is nothing but kind to the thralls in his service. It’s just, he’s a busy man and sometimes his work does not finish until the dark hours.”

Viggo kept his face impassive as he observed the young woman. It reassured him that his first impression of Aldous Fairfax had been correct.

“Has your brother been in Lord Fairfax’s service for a while?”

Emma nodded jerkily. “Yes, sir. It will be a year come the spring.”

“Why did you not report this to the police?” Solomon asked gently.

Emma’s fingers clenched on her bonnet.

“I did. I reported it to a couple of bobbies who work our neighbourhood,” she said stiffly.

“They wouldn’t even take down his name.” Her tone turned bitter.

“Said he probably found himself a girl or got drunk in some tavern.” Her hands twisted in her lap.

“But Tom’s not like that. He’s steady. Responsible-like. ”

Viggo frowned at the mention of the coppers’ reaction. Although he’d met and liked many of Evander’s work colleagues, there was no denying that contempt for thralls still ran high within the halls of the Met.

“Has Lord Fairfax enquired about your brother’s absence?” he pressed.

“That’s the strange thing, sir. When I went to the house to ask after him this morning, the butler claimed Tom had sent them a note yesterday to give his notice.

The butler was surprised by his sudden resignation.

He told me Tom was a well-liked member of the staff.

” Emma’s voice trembled as she stared wide-eyed at them, her desperation clear.

“But Tom would never— He wouldn’t leave without telling me, without making sure our family was provided for.

I fear something terrible may have happened to him. ”

Viggo exchanged a guarded look with Solomon and Finn.

“You did right to come to us, Miss Simmons,” he told the young woman quietly. “Rest assured, we shall look into your brother’s disappearance.”

Relief flooded Emma’s face. She sagged in the chair. “Thank you, sir.”

The police carriage turned onto a broad, tree-lined avenue in Bloomsbury. Elegant townhouses and shops gave way to the imposing collection of buildings that housed the Royal Institute for the Arcane as they neared the end of the cul-de-sac.

Evander gazed at the familiar frontage as the carriage pulled to a stop before the impressive wrought-iron gates.

Unlike the more modern University College nearby, the Institute wholly embraced its medieval origins, its gothic spires and buttresses rising as if to pierce the very sky and the stone eyes of the enchanted gargoyles perched along its rooflines and gutters following visitors and students with unsettling attentiveness.

Evander’s chest tightened a little. He had fond memories of the place that had witnessed his formative years as a mage.

But he also recollected many instances that had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

And they’d had everything to do with the complex politics that simmered beneath the Institute’s venerable facade, including the elitism that had seen too many who aspired to gain entrance to the prestigious establishment quietly leaving after getting a taste of the unfavourable treatment it bestowed to those whose only fault lay in coming from the wrong lineage.

“I should warn you,” Evander told Rufus as they prepared to disembark, “the Institute can be challenging for outsiders to navigate. The faculty not only guard its secrets jealously, they are not welcoming to those they deem beneath them.”

Rufus frowned. “I’m well acquainted with their arrogance, Evander. Least you forget, I visited the premises when I was investigating Renwick’s origins.”

“This is different,” Evander insisted. “Renwick was a dark horse who had already been proven to be a criminal. They were duty bound to assist us.” He hesitated.

“The Institute isn’t merely a school—it’s the oldest magical institution in Britain.

Some of the professors trace their lineage back to the founding families.

They consider themselves above the law in many respects. ”

Rufus’s face hardened. “No one is above the law.”

Evander gave him a sad smile. “I’m not disagreeing with you, old friend. Just be aware that what you see and what you hear inside these hallowed walls is often a game of smoke and mirrors that hides a much deeper truth.”

“Consider me warned,” Rufus grunted.

They stepped out of the carriage and instructed the two constables to wait for them. Rufus eyed the gargoyles along the roofline warily as they entered the premises. A familiar tingle washed over Evander, the Institute’s ancient wards brushing against the magic that lived under his skin.

The courtyard was immaculate, the perfectly manicured lawns enclosed by hedges trimmed with arcane symbols. Students in dark blue robes hurried across the grounds, their arms laden with books and magical implements. Several paused to stare when they spotted Evander.

“It seems your reputation precedes you here as well,” Rufus observed drily as they whispered urgently behind their hands.

Evander sighed. “So it would seem.”

They were heading for the stone steps rising to a portico guarded by a pair of stone statues depicting mages holding grimoires and firing off spells, when a commotion reached their ears. Evander stiffened.

A familiar figure in a Metropolitan Police-issued coat was being forcibly escorted out of the main entrance.