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Then he's back.

"Rowan." His voice is lower now, controlled, and somehow that scares me more. "Talk to me, baby. What do you see?"

The band around my wrist flashes brighter amber as I swallow hard and start moving again, taking the stairs two at a time before shoving through the first access door I find at the top.

I force myself to look around even while panic keeps climbing. "I don't know. There's a portrait here. Some old guy in a black suit. Stained-glass windows. I think I'm in one of the upper corridors."

Behind me, footsteps echo somewhere lower in the stairwell. The sound makes my pulse jump so hard my vision swims.

"Ciaran," I whisper. "It's getting closer."

An engine roars to life on his end.

"Stay on the line," he orders. "I'm on my way."

The call stays connected as I keep moving through the upper corridors, my breathing echoing too loudly through the dark stone hallways while somewhere below me another door opens and shuts.

Then silence settles over the hall again, thick enough to make the panic crawling beneath my skin feel horribly justified.

"Rowan." Ciaran's voice breaks through the panic rising in my chest. "Talk to me."

"I can't hear them anymore."

"Yeah?" His voice turns even colder. "That doesn't mean they're gone."

My pulse jumps harder.

I shove through another corridor lined with old portraits and towering stained-glass windows gone black with night, the ancient walls of Caervast feeling too narrow around me, too full of blind corners and hidden stairwells and places for someone to stand without being seen.

"Fuck," I whisper, gripping the edge of my multi-slate tighter against my wrist. "I hate this."

"I know." His voice roughens through the speaker, turning darker, and something wrenches in my chest. "Keep moving, little mouse. Don't stop for anyone."

Somewhere far below, an engine roars through the night.

Relief hits so hard it almost makes my knees weak, and what terrifies me most is how fast my body recognizes the sound as his before my mind even catches up, like some part of me already knew Ciaran would come for me if I called.

A minute later, heavy footsteps thunder through the lower corridor beneath me, followed by sharp voices and the metallic crackle of comms echoing up through the stairwell. Then someone shouts my name.

"Rowan!"

Ciaran.

I nearly stumble as I turn toward the sound of him.

He appears at the end of the corridor a second later, Rafe beside him and two Virel security guards spreading out behind them through the shadows of the hall. Dark coats move sharply against the old stone walls as they split off toward the adjoining corridors without waiting for instructions.

Ciaran reaches me fast enough that I barely have time to breathe before his hands are on me, one against the back of my neck, the other gripping my jaw.

His eyes drag over my face with frightening intensity before dropping to the medical band flashing red against my wrist. "Did they touch you?"

"No."

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

He keeps staring at me anyway like he doesn't believe a word coming out of my mouth.