The tension in the underground hall reached its peak. Kael, Girren, Kanzan—all of them froze, staring at one another. Every hope of escape seemed to be collapsing before their eyes.

  Kael involuntarily glanced toward the passage where, over Kanzan’s shoulder, the staircase was visible. Narrow. A service stairwell. The very one Girren had mentioned. Just a few dozen steps—and air, night, and a chance to dissolve into the chaos. Escape was absurdly close.

  And completely blocked.

  Kanzan stood exactly between them and the exit, confident, unhurried, like a man who did not doubt the outcome for a single moment. A seasoned Silver Mage who knew the prey wasn’t going anywhere.

  Gray mana began to coil around Kael. His thoughts thrashed, cycling frantically through options, but that one “saving” idea was nowhere to be found.

  Escape was impossible.

  Girren realized it almost at once. He grew even paler, and his lips trembled, and he quietly, without hysteria, as if stating a simple fact, murmured:

  “We’re done for, Kael… I’m sorry. I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

  Kael didn’t answer.

  He didn’t even look at him right away. His gaze remained fixed on Kanzan—on his stance, on the white lightning lazily coursing along his arm. Inside, a thought took shape, clear and brutal, without illusions:

  “If I catch him off guard… there might be a tiny chance.”

  Kael shot Girren a glance, and in that brief look there was far more than words. Anger, regret, and understanding fused into one. A bitter thought flared:

  “Damn it… but we won’t both make it out.”

  The gray mana around him thickened slightly, his body leaning forward by a barely perceptible fraction of a step.

  But Kael didn’t have time to do anything else before Kanzan said:

  “Games are over.”

  The next instant, his body flared with white lightning, and he lunged forward without warning, without a wind-up—aiming to seize Kael in a single strike. The space between them vanished in a fraction of a second.

  Kael’s mind snapped into absolute clarity.

  The hall, the walls, Girren—all of it receded into the background. Perception narrowed to a single point. He saw Kanzan’s hand rushing toward him, lightning wrapping the fist, the trajectory of the strike perfectly aligned—straight for the throat.

  “Fast…” flashed through his mind. “But if I use the mana impulse and the reduced body weight…”

  The thought was more sensation than reasoning—an instinct born at the edge. Kael didn’t retreat. He stepped forward.

  The Path of Silent Pillar activated on its own. And Libero reduced Kael’s weight to the limit.

  His body became almost weightless, the movement—razor-precise. Kael thrust his palm forward, directing the gray mana strictly along the vector of the strike.

  “Won’t cancel it completely…” followed immediately. “I’ll use the inertia.”

  And at the very instant before impact, Kael’s palm flared, and the mana impulse struck Kanzan’s arm head-on.

  CLAP!

  The white lightning on the fist faltered. Just a little—but it was enough. The speed of the strike blurred, the force bled sideways instead of into a single point. For the first time, surprise flickered across Kanzan’s face.

  But in the next second, part of the weakened strike still reached Kael.

  BAM!

  The clash of forces erupted in a dull impact that made the walls tremble. Kael was ripped from his position like a cannonball. He was hurled across the entire hall, his body spinning through the air, and he smashed into the stone wall with crushing force.

  But at that moment, something went wrong.

  There was no loud crash against the wall.

  Kael flew farther—much farther than he should have, even accounting for the weakened strike. It felt as if something was wrong with his body. Something unnatural for a normal exchange.

  Kanzan froze for a fraction of a second.

  “What kind of technique is that…” he muttered, almost soundlessly.

  That tiny pause was enough.

  Kael, already pushing himself up from the floor and feeling his arm paralyzed by lightning and pain, sucked in a sharp breath. His chest burned, his muscles refused to obey, but his mind remained crystal clear. He understood: he had to extract at least some benefit from this situation.

  “Girren!” he shouted, his voice breaking. “Run to the Hall of Ancient Research! Tell them you’ve seen me!”

  He could barely feel his left arm, his fingers hardly responded, but his gaze was sharp and hard. This wasn’t a cry of despair—it was calculation: “Girren. A witness. Pressure on the Council of Elders. Any thread of leverage might help me.”

  But Girren hadn’t even had time to come to his senses and dash forward when Kanzan roared:

  “What nonsense?!”

  White mana burst violently from his body, and a mark in the shape of a blue spiral flared on his forehead. The air around him hummed, and the pressure spiked sharply.

  Lightning burst from his hand again.

  But this was no short discharge.

  The white light stretched out, bending without breaking apart, as if obeying its master’s will, coalescing into a long, predatory whip. It lashed the air with a sharp crack, leaving a trail of sparks behind it.

  The white lightning lunged forward and, in the blink of an eye, coiled around Girren. He barely managed to jerk his hand, instinctively summoning mana, but it was too late. The discharge ripped his clothes open across the chest, biting into his body like a living thing.

  “Kgaaah!” he roared, arching in pain.

  The lightning struck his entire body at once. His muscles locked, his breath broke, his legs buckled, and Girren collapsed onto the stone floor—helpless, twitching, unable even to scream again.

  Kael’s face twisted at the sight.

  He clenched his teeth until his temples ached and muttered dully, almost viciously:

  “Flexible lightning… the Spirit of the Sparking Vine?”

  Kanzan lifted an eyebrow in brief surprise, clearly not expecting to hear that name.

  “Clever,” he said coldly. “But it won’t help you.”

  The whip twitched, tracing an arc through the air, and then lunged toward Kael.

  “Damn it…” Kael cursed through clenched teeth.

  He poured all available mana into his legs, sharply shifting to the side. Libero responded instantly, lightening his body, allowing him to evade at the very edge of what was possible. Kael launched himself aside, and in that same instant the whip sliced through the space where his chest had been a heartbeat earlier.

  WHAP!

  A sharp crack split the air right beside him.

  “Kgaah!” tore from Kael as his chest seized from a blow that hadn’t even touched him.

  The whip hadn’t struck him directly, but even that was enough. Paralyzing mana slid through the air, seeped into his body, slammed into his chest, and made his heart skip a beat. The world jolted, dimming for a fraction of a second.

  Kael sucked in a sharp breath and immediately poured in his own mana, forcing the foreign mana and paralysis out of his muscles.

  “Now I have even fewer options,” he noted coldly to himself as he landed and skidded across the floor. “There has to be something! I need to dull his vigilance somehow. Provoke an emotional reaction.”

  Kanzan followed Kael’s maneuver closely. The white whip slowly retracted back into his palm, lightning still lazily coursing between his fingers. He frowned, not hiding his irritated interest, and muttered quietly, more to himself than to his opponent:

  “Strong…” His gaze sharpened. “And your techniques are very strange.”

  He took a step forward, the pressure of his mana intensifying, filling the hall with a viscous, electric hum.

  “Which spirit are you bound to, boy?” Kanzan asked directly.

  Kael straightened despite the pain in his chest. He spat blood onto the stones and replied with a vicious grin:

  “With your mother’s spirit.”

  He laughed, and without letting the silence settle, added, staring Kanzan straight in the eyes:

  “Want me to pass along a message?”

  Kanzan’s face twitched at once. Just for a moment—but it was enough. His gaze hardened, the lightning around his hand flared brighter, the air cracked with restrained fury. Yet when he spoke, his voice remained icy:

  “Pity I can’t kill you, bastard.”

  Kael caught it instantly. Clung to the words like a hook and, without looking away, threw back with even greater contempt:

  “Right. Chained dogs don’t get to make their own choices.”

  The words hadn’t even finished settling in the air when Kanzan exploded into motion.

  White lightning flared around his body and he lunged forward. The whip swept behind him, bending and coiling for a strike, while his left hand shot straight in—fast, brutal, without the slightest hesitation. Kanzan’s face twisted with rage, no longer restrained by discipline or cold calculation.

  “You’re finished,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  Kael saw the strike before it was thrown. At the last instant, he thrust his palm forward again, repeating the earlier technique, gathering gray mana into a narrow, perfectly focused point.

  And somewhere deep in Kanzan’s mind, a confident thought flashed: “It won’t work on me a second time.”

  BAAM!

  Kanzan’s arm slammed into Kael’s mana impulse again. The blow was heavier, angrier, harsher—and this time Kael was hurled away even harder than before. His body was knocked off its trajectory, the air blasted from his lungs, and the world jolted, losing clarity for a heartbeat.

  But Kanzan had no intention of letting him go.

  The whip rose almost simultaneously with the strike, white lightning stretching in an arc, surging after him, aiming for Kael’s leg—to bind him and end it here and now.

  And at the very moment the whip should have struck Kael, something went wrong.

  Kanzan felt it instantly—a strange, unnatural shift. His body’s balance jolted, as if the ground beneath his feet had suddenly slid sideways. His left arm suddenly grew heavy, dragging his torso, shifting the point of attack by a negligible margin—but it was enough.

  WHAP!

  The lash sliced through the air, missing its target.

  Kanzan’s eyes widened in shock—brief, almost imperceptible, but real. He realized it too late.

  Kael was already twisting through the air. Using the inertia of the blow, he snapped into a sharp flip, planted his feet against the wall, and without wasting a single moment drove every last scrap of strength into his legs and spine. Libero responded, lightening Kael’s body to the maximum, amplifying the push.

  And in the same instant—WHOOSH!—Kael shot forward like an arrow.

  Straight for the exit!

  But Kanzan reacted instantly.

  He flooded his arm with mana, forcibly expelling the foreign influence, and cursed viciously, clenching his fingers until lightning lashed the air.

  “What kind of filthy tricks are those?!” he roared, twisting his whole body.

  At that very moment, Kael was already flying over Girren. His gaze flicked downward—to the sprawled body, to the clenched fingers, to the face twisted in pain. A thought flared painfully and sharply, without warning: “Am I really going to leave him behind?”

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  His heart clenched, as if talons had sunk into his chest.

  “If I get out… I have to find a way to save him. But how?”

  From that realization rose a vile, clinging feeling inside him, as though he had already made the choice. As if he had already become a traitor, even if nothing had yet happened.

  But that feeling was never given the chance to deepen.

  Dozens of thin threads of thunder suddenly burst from Girren’s body. They flared almost silently, as if they had always been there, and in the next instant shot upward, wrapping around Kael mid-flight.

  “W-what…” escaped him.

  His trajectory warped instantly. Kael’s body was yanked sideways and spun in an arc, and slammed into the stone floor with a dull crash. He was dragged across it for a dozen steps, skin tearing, air blasted from his lungs, until he struck the wall back-first and went still.

  Lightning cinched around his body, clamping down on his muscles, leaving him unable to breathe properly or move.

  And at that same moment, Girren jerked.

  He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes flew open, and he lifted his head as if suddenly breaking the surface after being submerged in deep water. The paralysis vanished the instant Kanzan’s lightning left his body.

  Kael realized immediately what had happened.

  “Damn it…” The thought was cold and crystal clear. “He seeded his mana in Girren’s body. In advance. And waited for the moment.”

  He clenched his teeth, feeling discharges race through him, forcing his muscles into violent spasms.

  “I screwed up.”

  Kanzan merely snorted, watching him from a distance. White lightning lazily drained from his hand, and there was neither haste nor anger on his face—only cold, fastidious satisfaction.

  “You amused me, boy,” he said almost calmly. “For a Steel Mage, you’re far too strong.”

  Kael struggled against the bindings as another discharge tore through his chest and hissed through clenched teeth:

  “Posturing…” He gave a hoarse chuckle. “Is arrogance a family trait?”

  Kanzan didn’t bother with any more words.

  White lightning flared around his body, and in the next instant he was beside Kael. The movement was sharp, almost casual—like someone who no longer questioned the outcome. He crouched, effortlessly grabbed Kael by the scruff, and lifted him up like a puppy whose resistance wasn’t even worth acknowledging.

  “Enough games,” he said evenly.

  Kanzan’s face was very close. Cold. Calm. Devoid of hatred—and all the more terrifying for it.

  Kael’s thoughts raced at a horrifying speed. Options, fragments of ideas, instinctive attempts at escape—everything collapsed one after another. No matter how he searched, no matter how stubbornly he pushed, there was nothing ahead of him but emptiness.

  There was no way out.

  And yet something inside him bucked, refusing to surrender.

  “Don’t give up, Kael!” he snarled inwardly, clinging to the thought like a last anchor.

  And in that same instant, he issued a command to Libero.

  The response was immediate.

  Kael’s body suddenly became impossibly heavy, as if molten metal had been poured into it. Kanzan’s hand jerked unexpectedly, his fingers slipped, and the grip broke.

  “What the—” tore from him.

  BAAAM!

  Kael slammed into the stone floor with a bone-jarring crash.

  “Gkhah!” he gasped as pain exploded in his chest and a hot mouthful of blood spilled from his lips.

  The world lurched, darkened at the edges. His breathing turned ragged and shallow. Somewhere inside, something cracked distinctly, and the thought came on its own, without panic, almost distantly: “Damn… looks like I cracked a few ribs.”

  He coughed, spitting blood, yet still managed to lift his head. His lips stretched into a crooked, bloody smile, and his gaze remained stubborn.

  “Even as I’m dying,” Kael rasped, “I’ll make as much trouble for you as I can.”

  Kanzan looked down at him, his lips curling.

  “Naturally,” he replied without emotion.

  He slowly raised his fist overhead, white lightning coiling tightly around his arm, gathering for the blow.

  “Once you’re unconscious,” Kanzan added coldly, “you won’t be using your contracted spirit’s abilities.”

  Kanzan’s fist came crashing down.

  WHOOSH!

  The air split as if cleaved by a blade. White lightning compressed into a single point, hurtling straight for Kael’s head, and in that brief, stretched-out instant there was no anger left in Kael, no fear—only weary, almost warm regret.

  “I’m sorry, Libero…” The thought surfaced softly, with unexpected clarity. “I really wanted to show you the world.”

  Somewhere deep inside him, the silver ant seemed to respond. Kael almost physically felt Libero lift his head, felt that within the tiny creature there was neither doubt nor reproach—only calm, proud acceptance of meeting the end together.

  And at that very instant, when the fist was about to come crashing down—

  WHOOSH!

  BAAM!

  A black flash tore through space from the side—an explosion of darkness. The air collapsed with a dull impact, and Kanzan was literally blasted aside. His body was hurled away and slammed into the wall with crushing force, leaving a web of cracks in the stone.

  Silence crashed down over the hall.

  Kael’s eyes flew open in shock.

  Before him stood a figure clad in black, a deep hood shadowing his face. Black mana billowed around him like smoke or mist, wrapping his body and blurring his outline, as if the man were not entirely here. The air near him trembled, and even the light seemed dimmer.

  Kael had no time to ask or even comprehend what was happening.

  The figure merely waved a hand.

  The thunderous bindings that had shackled Kael’s body shattered into sparks, scattering as if they had never existed. The pain remained; the paralysis was gone.

  “Can you run?” came a calm male voice.

  Kael coughed, blood filling his mouth again. He planted a hand against the floor and forced himself up. Broken ribs answered with dull, stabbing pain; his breath hitched, his vision swam, but his gaze stayed stubborn.

  He spat blood, clenched his teeth, and gave a hoarse grin.

  “Of course,” he forced out. “Even if I have to… crawl on my hands.”

  At that moment, he had a chance again. And he had no intention of wasting it.

  But in that same instant, the air was split once more by a sharp crack.

  WHIP-CRACK!

  Kanzan was already on his feet. White lightning lashed around his body, his face twisted with fury, and his voice cut through the hall like a blade strike:

  “Who the hell are you?!” he roared. “How dare you trespass into the estate of the Vengeful Thunder Family?!”

  Without waiting for an answer, he lunged forward.

  The man in black did not retreat.

  He stepped forward to meet him—and in the next moment his silhouette seemed to split apart. The space around him quivered, and instead of one figure there were two, both moving toward Kanzan at once, closing in from opposite angles.

  Girren, lying by the wall, involuntarily held his breath.

  “Out of my way!” Kanzan roared.

  His second hand flared with white lightning, the energy stretching and transforming into a second whip. He swung both arms in a wide arc, sealing off all space before him.

  WHIP-CRACK!

  The strike landed dead on—from Girren’s angle it was clear how both whips cleaved through the stranger’s two figures, tearing them apart.

  But instead of blood and flesh—darkness.

  The two figures dispersed like smoke, dissolving into the air.

  “Damn it…” slipped from Kanzan.

  The real enemy appeared behind him.

  Black mana condensed into a narrow wedge, and the blow slammed straight between Kanzan’s shoulder blades. But he reacted in time—twisting sharply, yanking the whips back, and one of them wrapped around his own torso, forming a rough but effective shield.

  BAAM!

  A brutal collision erupted. A shockwave rolled through the hall, shaking the walls. Kanzan was thrown forward, skidded across the floor, and slammed into a column—but he sprang back to his feet at once, without having suffered any serious injuries.

  Sweeping his gaze across the hall, he spat and cursed viciously:

  “Bastard…”

  Kanzan instantly understood what had happened. His eyes darted toward the service staircase—and then snapped back to the black-clad figure standing between him and the exit.

  He had been deliberately drawn away from his quarry, his escape route swiftly cut off.

  And Kael understood that just as clearly.

  He lunged for Girren, almost dropping to his knees beside him, and yanked him sharply by the shoulder, hauling him up from the floor.

  “Move! Get out of here!” he shouted, not hiding the panic and fury in his voice. “Now!”

  Girren was disoriented, his gaze unfocused, his body barely obeying him, but Kael’s words broke through the pain and the noise in his head. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to understand—he simply gave in to the pull, let himself be hauled to his feet, and, staggering, ran after him.

  “Stop!” Kanzan roared when he noticed the movement and surged forward, lightning raging around his body.

  But his path was instantly blocked by the man in black.

  Black mana flared into a dense curtain, and Kanzan slammed into it with a furious snarl, forced to engage again. A lightning strike and a countering surge of darkness collided with a thunderous crash, filling the hall with crackling force and pressure.

  Kael and Girren burst onto the staircase.

  “Run to the pavilion!” a voice shouted behind them. “There’s a breach behind it!”

  Kael didn’t even look back.

  “Thanks!” he yelled over his shoulder, his voice breaking, but the words were sincere.

  Behind them, the fight thundered anew—blows, flashes, the crackle of mana. But for Kael and Girren, the world was already narrowing to the steps beneath their feet and the searing pain in Kael’s chest.

  They sprinted upward, skipping steps two at a time.

  “Who was that?!” Girren gasped.

  “Hell if I know!” Kael threw back without slowing down. “But he looks like an ally!”

  The next moment, two guards emerged ahead of them. Ordinary Steel Mages, drawn by the noise from below. They clearly hadn’t expected to see people running straight at them.

  “Slug?” One of them stared at Girren, confused. “What are you do—”

  “Out of the way!” Kael roared.

  He didn’t even slow down. Pouring all the strength he had left into his arm, making it impossibly heavy and ignoring the risk of injury, he smashed his fist straight into the guard’s chest.

  BAAM!

  The guard was crushed and thrown aside, slamming into the wall with a crash and going limp.

  Almost at the same instant, another blow rang out. Girren, his face twisted with fury, lunged at the second guard. His palm flared with thunderous mana, and without hesitation he hurled the guard away, snarling through clenched teeth:

  “I’m not Slug, you bastards!”

  Seeing that, Kael didn’t even notice a nervous smile spreading across his face. Whether from the burning will to survive, the absurdity of it all, or simply because they were still running, still alive.

  “Girren…” he breathed on the run, not slowing. “If we get out of this, I’ll owe you for the rest of my life.”

  He gave a hoarse chuckle and immediately added, with stubborn, almost angry certainty:

  “And I promise you—this filthy nickname stays in this place forever.”

  Girren ran beside him, breathing hard, but his steps were already steadier. He didn’t even turn his head, just tossed back shortly, as if drawing a line:

  “Already did.”

  In the next instant, fresh night air slammed into their faces.

  The corridor ended abruptly, and they burst through an open door—the very one the guards had apparently used. Beyond it lay night, the garden, and the faint glow of torches.

  Girren immediately surged forward without breaking stride.

  “Follow me,” he said. “I know which pavilion our rescuer meant.”

  They ran out into the garden.

  It was unexpectedly quiet here. The main chaos—shouts and flashes of mana—came from the other side of the mansion, where the last pockets of fire were dying out. Here, there was only the rustle of leaves and the hum of the night wind.

  Girren quickly led Kael along a garden path toward a small wooden structure by a tall stone wall. It was a neat pavilion—almost decorative, lost among the trees.

  They rounded it—and immediately saw the opening.

  A round breach in the wall, wide enough for a grown man to squeeze through. The stone around it was broken, the edges fresh, as if the hole had been made not long ago.

  Kael stopped for just a second, taking in the exit, then spoke quickly, already pulling his thoughts into order:

  “We need to get to the central market.” He caught his breath. “There’ll be a crowd. We’ll blend into it and immediately find someone from the Hall of Ancient Research.”

  Kael slipped through first, without hesitating for a second. The stone scraped his shoulder, his ribs answered with a dull, throbbing ache, but he tumbled outside and immediately pressed himself against the wall. Girren squeezed through right after him, right on his heels.

  They found themselves in a narrow, dark alley. Stone buildings loomed on both sides, a sharp, frosty smell stung his nose, and at the end of the passage a turn was already visible—leading to one of the main streets of the central market. From there came the hum of voices, the noise of footsteps, and the excited murmur of a crowd. People were streaming in that direction, looking toward the mansion of the Vengeful Thunder Family, discussing the fire, the flashes of mana, and rumors spreading faster than the flames.

  Kael didn’t waste time. Without slowing, he pulled two dark cloaks from his spatial ring—simple, inconspicuous ones, the kind worn by dozens of townsfolk.

  “Here,” he said, tossing one at Girren.

  They dressed while running, pulling the fabric over torn clothes, hiding the traces of the fight and blood. A few seconds later, they emerged from the alley and merged into the crowd, dissolving among silhouettes and excited faces. Kael lowered his head, hunched his shoulders, forced his breathing to even out, and forced his steps to slow—as if he were just another curious onlooker.

  They moved forward, step by step, farther and farther from the mansion.

  And then Kael stopped abruptly.

  Right in front of him, as if he had risen from the ground, stood an old man. In worn clothes, far too thin for the winter cold, with a shaggy beard. At first glance—an ordinary beggar loitering around the market.

  But Kael recognized him instantly.

  A relieved, almost disbelieving smile spread across his face on its own.

  The old man snorted, squinted, then smirked back—crookedly, with undisguised satisfaction.

  “Because of you,” he said quietly, “we dared to pull off something on this scale.” He nodded toward the mansion. “Look how those bastards are scrambling…”

  Then, turning his gaze back to Kael, he added with renewed interest:

  “I’m starting to like you.”

  The next moment, the old man turned as if about to leave, and a bluish-white mana almost imperceptibly flared around him. It was soft, cold, like fine snow, and it didn’t press down—on the contrary, it concealed, muffled their presence, blurred sensations.

  “That kid with you?” he tossed over his shoulder, barely nodding toward Girren.

  “If not for him,” Kael replied immediately, “I wouldn’t have made it out of there.”

  The old man gave a short nod, accepting the answer without further words, and stepped toward a narrow side alley, beckoning them with a gesture. The bluish-white mana expanded, covering all three of them, muffling their auras, erasing them from the crowd’s general background.

  “Come,” he said quietly. “You can’t afford to stand out here anymore.”

  Within seconds, they vanished into the shadows of the alley, leaving behind the market, the noise, and the burning mansion.

  ? ? ?

  At that same moment, in another part of the market, Riada and the Black Rat were still standing amid the crowd.

  They did not move and did not exchange glances, remaining part of the ambient noise—two figures lost among onlookers excitedly discussing the fire, the Elders, and the brazen attack on the house of one of the Three Families. From the outside, they looked just like everyone else: mere onlookers.

  The shift was not noticeable at first.

  A vagrant drifted past the Black Rat almost imperceptibly—stooped, in a filthy cloak, with the empty gaze of someone no one ever notices. He did not stop beside her, did not look at her. He simply passed by, as if accidentally brushing past her shoulder, and quietly, almost without moving his lips, said:

  “The boy really was there.” A pause, barely noticeable. “He’s already on his way to our shelter.”

  And he kept walking, melting back into the crowd.

  Neither Riada nor the Black Rat reacted outwardly.

  But internally, everything shifted. As if an invisible force that had been clenching their muscles finally receded, bringing an overwhelming sense of relief.

  Riada slowly exhaled, allowing herself that release for the first time all evening. The tension that had kept her back straight and her gaze sharp eased. She turned her head and looked at the Black Rat.

  She met her gaze and gave a short nod.

  “We should hurry,” she said quietly. Without emotion, but with unmistakable relief.

  They turned almost simultaneously.

  Without breaking stride, Riada took two small green stones from her spatial ring. They were smooth, with thin veins inside—signal artifacts attuned to a single, predefined response. She closed her fingers around them and crushed them without hesitation.

  The stones crumbled into dust.

  At the same instant, identical green stones cracked in two other locations within the mansion of the Vengeful Thunder Family.

  Priscilla received the signal.

  Malas did as well.

  They might have been busy, might have been at the very heart of the battle, but the message was crystal clear and required no words: a green signal stone had shattered, not a red one—meaning Kael was alive—saved. The primary objective was complete.

  Everything else—fires, accusations, investigations, and the wrath of the Elders—would become tomorrow’s problem.

  But today, they had made it in time. Their mad, brazen gambit had succeeded.