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The Frenchman looked even worse than Viggo, the dark circles beneath his eyes lending him a gaunt look and his normally immaculate appearance somewhat dishevelled.

Leon acknowledged Viggo with a curt nod. His gaze lingered on their clasped fingers before he addressed Evander.

“Whitley and Chevalier are awake. They’re asking for us.”

Viggo reluctantly let go of Evander’s hand and rose to his feet. “I should go check on Katie and the others.”

“I’ll find you afterwards,” Evander promised, trying to mask the sense of loss he felt at not being able to touch Viggo.

Leon watched the Brute leave with an impassive expression.

“You should be more careful, mon cher,” he murmured as he led Evander across the ward.

Evander followed the Frenchman to a private room at the end of the infirmary.

Inside, Whitley and Chevalier reclined against pillows in adjacent beds.

Both men were alarmingly pale, their faces haggard and their eyes sunken.

Mrs. Scarborough stood between them. The curse-breaker was checking a complex arrangement of enchanted crystals that was monitoring their vital signs.

“Your Grace,” she acknowledged Evander with a slight bow. She frowned at Whitley and Chevalier. “They insisted on speaking with you, though I advised them against any undue exertion.”

“We’ve rested enough,” Whitley said weakly. His voice was rough, as though he hadn’t used it in some time. “There are things you need to know.” His expression grew haunted as he met Evander’s gaze squarely.

Mrs. Scarborough sensed the need for privacy and quietly left the room.

Evander approached Whitley’s bedside. “We have a lot of questions for you.” He looked over at Chevalier. “Both of you.”

“We shall answer them to the best of our abilities, your Grace,” Chevalier said solemnly, his French accent more pronounced in his feeble state.

Evander pulled up a chair between the beds. “How did you come to be involved in this research?”

The professors exchanged a weary glance.

“It began innocently enough,” Whitley explained. “A generous research grant from a group of anonymous benefactors, channelled through the Institute. We were to study the neurological structure of thralls and how it differed from those with magical abilities.”

“The aim was ostensibly to understand why some individuals are born with magic and others are not,” Chevalier added. “A question that has puzzled arcane researchers for centuries.”

“When did you realise the truth of what they wanted?” Leon asked from where he stood at the foot of Chevalier’s bed.

The French professor’s expression darkened. “When I recognised certain passages in Musgrave’s notes from my…previous association. He had somehow acquired research from Les Prophètes Illuminés —research I had believed destroyed years ago.”

“You confronted him?” Evander prompted.

Whitley nodded gravely. “We both did. We discovered he had been manipulating our findings and directing our research towards a specific goal without our knowledge. When we threatened to go to the authorities, he warned us that we would regret it.” He paused and swallowed hard before glancing at Chevalier.

“That was when Henri and I began gathering evidence to use against Musgrave. He invited us over to his home once, when Henri was visiting London. It was there that we came upon evidence of a secret facility beneath the Institute. We took precautionary measures to protect ourselves and were preparing to reveal our findings to the relevant authorities when Musgrave had us abducted and brought to that hellish place.”

Evander digested this for a moment. “Did you learn anything during your captivity that could help us find his associates?”

Whitley and Chevalier traded a wary glance.

“Only that his master was getting irritated at his lack of results,” Whitley confessed.

A muscle jumped in Chevalier’s jawline. “Musgrave didn’t care about the failures. He spoke of dead thralls as ‘acceptable losses’ in pursuit of what he called ‘the Great Transformation.’ He and his master—this ‘ I’ person—were convinced they could perfect the process with enough test subjects.”

Evander drummed his fingers on his knee. “Did he ever mention something called a Crimson Codex?”

Both professors visibly stiffened.

“Yes,” Whitley said. “He became quite agitated about it in the days before you rescued us. He received a message that led him to believe someone else was close to acquiring it.”

“What’s the Crimson Codex?” Leon asked with a puzzled frown.

Evander told him what they’d found at Musgrave’s residence that morning.

“The Crimson Codex is an ancient text,” Chevalier explained.

“Musgrave and his master believe it contains the complete theoretical framework for magical transference and more. Les Prophètes Illuminés were also aware of its rumoured existence. They theorised that it was written by the very first Archmage, centuries ago.”

Evander’s scalp prickled. “Do you know where it might be found?”

Both professors shook their heads.

“From what we deduced, Musgrave’s master has agents searching for it across Europe,” Whitley said. “Musgrave mentioned something about a collection in Vienna, but nothing more specific than that.”

Mrs. Scarborough stuck her head through the door. “Your Grace, I must insist these gentlemen get some rest. Their bodies are still recovering from significant trauma.”

Evander rose to his feet, chagrined. “Of course.” He gave the professors an apologetic look. “Thank you for your help.”

“Not at all, your Grace,” Whitley murmured.

“It is us who must thank you and your colleagues for getting us out of that place,” Chevalier added gratefully.

A commotion outside had them all tensing.

“Lady Whitley, if you could please wait a—” someone said in a strained voice.

Lady Whitley barged inside the room, her chest heaving. Her clothes were in disarray and strands of hair had escaped her polished coiffure.

Her face crumpled at the sight of her husband. “Walter!” She covered her mouth with her hands, tears slipping down her pale cheeks.

Whitley’s chin trembled, emotion painting red flags across his cheeks. “Elizabeth.”

Lady Whitley ran across the room and launched herself into her husband’s arms, her sobs muffled against his chest.

Evander and Leon left quietly.

The Frenchman stopped in the corridor outside and ran a hand through his hair. “You realise what this means, don’t you?” He studied Evander with a troubled expression. “If this Crimson Codex exists and if it does contain the knowledge they seek…”

“Then we need to get our hands on it first,” Evander finished grimly.

“Your Grace,” a voice called out behind them.

They turned to see Shaw approaching briskly.

“Commander Winterbourne requests our presence,” the forensic mage informed them.

Evander and Leon exchanged a frown.

Winterbourne welcomed them with a distracted expression when they entered his office moments later. Rufus was already there.

The commander’s desk was covered in the reports they’d compiled and there were several empty cups of coffee next to his hand. He ordered his secretary to bring them refreshments nonetheless before settling back down in his chair with a heavy sigh.

“Never in my career have I seen such an unholy mess,” Winterbourne muttered.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Ministry of Arcane Affairs and the War Office are already up in arms about this. They are planning to petition Parliament for an emergency legislation that would allow them to regulate the affairs of the Royal Institute.”

A chill danced through Evander at his words. “That’s a preposterous idea! Rigley and the board will never stand for it.”

“They may not have a say, Ravenwood,” Winterbourne said thinly.

He grimaced at Evander’s frown. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly agree with you. Academia and government should never mix.” He passed a report over to them.

“I’ve just received confirmations from our counterparts in Paris, Berlin, and Vienna.

The mages recovered from the facility have been identified as having gone missing from various academic institutions across the Continent over the past seven weeks. ”

Shaw and Rufus gathered around Evander and Leon.

Evander’s heart sank as he read the paperwork. It appeared Musgrave and his master had decided abducting mages solely in England posed too high a risk of exposure.

“This suggests a coordinated effort spanning multiple countries,” Leon said worriedly.

“Precisely.” Winterbourne rose from his chair and moved to the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Which is why I’m going to propose the formation of an international coalition to investigate these kinds of activities.

One that cuts through red tape and allows officers of the law to cooperate and mobilise fluidly.

The Empire cannot handle this threat and others like it alone. ”

A fraught silence descended upon the room.

“You believe your proposal will be well received, Commander?” Rufus asked dubiously.

“We have no choice in the matter, Grayson.” Winterbourne turned back to face them, his brow furrowed.

He glanced at Leon. “As it is, the French Ministry of Arcane Affairs floated the same idea a short while back. I don’t believe we will have any trouble bringing the German and Austrian authorities around.

Even the Russians have expressed interest.”

“And the thralls who were abducted?” Evander asked stiffly. “What will become of them?”

“They will continue to receive the best care we can provide,” Winterbourne assured him. “In fact, a group of your peers have insisted on helping too.”

Evander gave him a puzzled look.

“Lady Hartley and Lord Fairfax paid me a visit this morning,” Winterbourne explained. “Despite my reassurances, Lord Fairfax and his associates feel a certain responsibility for what happened to the thralls in their service. They will spare no expense to make sure they are looked after.”

A warm feeling blossomed inside Evander’s chest. He felt relieved at this news. It was something he’d been considering doing himself, albeit anonymously.

“It’s the bloody Institute who should be sparing no expense,” Shaw muttered.

Winterbourne’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “Indeed, Miss Shaw,” he said drily. His expression grew serious once more. “What concerns me most is this Crimson Codex Grayson mentioned.”

“I’m afraid Leon and I have some regrettable news about that,” Evander said.

He updated Winterbourne, Rufus, and Shaw about Whitley and Chevalier’s most recent revelations.

Winterbourne scowled. “So it’s an arcane text this ‘I ’ is after? And if he gets his hands on it, he may be in a position to complete whatever ghastly plans he has?”

“Yes,” Evander said grimly. “By the sounds of it, we’re now officially in a race against time to try and locate this book before he does.”

Winterbourne sighed wearily and sat down again.

“Alright. For now, our priority is to track down that arcane text. Inspector Grayson, I want you and Miss Shaw to continue investigating the evidence recovered from Musgrave’s residence and the Institute.

Comte Beaulieu, I understand your superiors are eager for your return to Paris? ”

Leon nodded. “Yes, Commander. Though I’ve requested permission to remain in London a while longer to complete my reports for the Met and tie up any loose ends.”

“You have my gratitude and that of Scotland Yard.” Winterbourne finally turned to Evander.

“Ravenwood, I’d like you to focus on finding the Crimson Codex and liaising with the international representatives who will be assisting us on this matter.

As both a peer of the realm and one of the few people in England who understands the full scope of this threat, you’re uniquely positioned to facilitate cooperation between our countries. ”

Evander nodded. “Of course, Commander.”

The gravity of the role Winterbourne had entrusted him with was not lost on Evander. He swallowed a sigh at the thought of what the Queen would have to say about it when word reached her ears.