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Floor twelve passed me by. Thirteen. Fourteen. On the end of my last text, I added “Floor 15” to my messages with Razai and then turned it on silent as the lift slowed, shuddered, and stopped at the highest floor.
Even still, the thread led me upward.
Frowning as the doors opened, I could see why that would be the case. The entire top floor was a huge, sprawling conference room. Well, the only conference thing about it was the long table bisecting the center and the projection board at the head. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling. Old-fashioned mahogany furniture guarded the walls and the the contents of their cabinets.
“Damn. Full bar,” I said, whistling low. The mirrored bar had been lined with the most expensive brands in the fanciest bottles.
An exit sign blinked at the back, and I didn’t let myself think. I just barreled straight for it. The thread led me here. This was it. I knew it.
My hands barely shook as I eased the door open and climbed the stairs toward the rooftop. A loud thump shocked me to my core and froze me on the spot. Silence followed, and then the muffled sound of someone protesting.
Not protesting. Yelling. Calling for help.
Cold sweat coated my neck. The killer was here. And they were attacking someone already.
But that didn’t make sense. This wasn’t the night. The first of the month was several days out. Why in the fuck would they be staging an attack now?
By the voice pitch, I guessed the victim was a woman. By the sound of the struggle, she was losing.
I stormed up the last few steps, not caring about waiting for Razai. Not wondering whether I’d be another body found in the morning. Not fucking worrying about whether this was smart for the first time in my life.
Someone was about to die. Hell would freeze over before I’d stand by while it happened.
Pushing the door open soundlessly, the cold air rushed around my body as I walked into the open. A delicate pavilion poised at the edge of the roof, the scene empty except for two figures standing in the dark.
Well, one was standing.
The victim hung in a slump, held only by the man’s arm. And yes, he was definitely a man. The victim’s silhouette was twisted, elbows bent awkwardly and legs buckled. Her long, full hair made a mess of my ability to see her body.
The sudden urge to vomit threatened my position. Had the killer broken her joints? Please tell me it just looked that way in the darkness.
That brought me to the killer…
He was tall and imposing, facing the opposite direction and cloaked in shadows. The dark blue thread pierced his form and illuminated the center of his back with cyan magic.
It’s him. It’s really him. This is the moment.
I didn’t have any real fighting skills to go up against someone with strong magic. Winning could be in the cards once Razai got here to help. Did I have time for that? Would he come for me?
The killer cocked his head to the side as if listening. Likely, he sensed he wasn’t alone. Nothing about his body language changed. No tensing or even the slightest sign of surprise.
Alarm bells grew louder and louder.
Something was wrong.
Well, no shit—but beyond the obvious, I mean. Why wasn’t he surprised to see me?
The killer turned, and his victim swung to the side, her long hair catching the faint orange glow of the single rooftop light—
Dark hair.
A curl pattern that I’ve memorized at this point. I could pick it out of a crowd of millions.
The orange nighttime light caught the side of her face, and a scream lodged itself in my throat.
The killer had Azra.
I felt everything at once. Panic. Anger. Fear. The terrible roar swallowed me. Yet, to anyone watching, I’d simply stopped moving.
