Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
He steps forward, spinning the knife in his hand, visibly threatening the corpse. It moves with impressive speed for a dead guy, but Antonio is faster.
He takes off, leading it away from the warehouse.
I pause, listening for anything that might give away what’s happening inside, then move closer, ducking behind the semi for cover.
Voices echo faintly from inside the warehouse but are too distant, too distorted to make out.
The mark on my palm begins to burn. If the demon knows I’m here… it’s too late. Silently, I move around the truck, mapping the area as I go. I need a way in that keeps me out of sight and away from the jagged metal edges left behind from the fire.
One of the things the fire marshal couldn’t explain was how contained the fire had been. Because it wasn’t a normal fire. The damage stayed localized to the center of the building, not spreading the way it should have. The rest of the structure only burned because it was deliberately lit.
I move forward with practiced, careful steps, slipping silently toward a second-story window. Climbing up, I pull myself inside and land softly on the balcony that overlooks the warehouse floor below.
The door behind me is burned through. The office beyond it is destroyed—charred furniture, collapsed ceiling, debris scattered everywhere. It makes moving difficult, but it also gives me cover. It’s dark and suffocating, with the smell of smoke still clinging to everything.
I can hear Vivian and Marco below, out of sight but unmistakably there. They’re trying to call for Vaelric. I hold my hand out in front of me, testing to see if I can use magic. A small ball of energy flickers to life in my palm before I close my fingers, extinguishing it. Good.
I move forward, peering through a break in the ceiling, trying to get a visual on them. My foot catches on something and I nearly trip. I catch myself at the last second, looking down. A satchel. A vial of blood rolls free, and I throw my hand out, using magic to stop it from clattering against a metal beam. Even though I know old blood won’t work for the ritual, I don’t want the Order having mine ever again.
Glancing behind me, making sure I’m still alone, I crouch and pick up the vial. I’m about to shove it into my pocket when I see the name.
It’s not mine.
My stomach drops and I open the bag, finding more vials. Each labeled with a different name and they’re much more recent than the vial of my blood they used. Some are from just weeks ago. There’s a notebook inside the satchel along with the vials. I pull it out slowly, my chest tightening as I flip it open and see names. Dozens of them with notes scribbled beside each one.
My heart climbs into my throat as I flip back to the beginning, scanning. Experiments. Failures. Half the names are crossed out, which can only mean one thing.
They didn’t survive.
I keep flipping pages, knowing my name will be in here but still feeling like I’m going to throw up when I see it. My name, but it’s underlined three times with a star drawn beside it, indicating to look at the note written at the bottom on the page.
Most promising subject. High resilience.
I stare at it, reading it over and over again, but it doesn’t fully sink in. I wasn’t the only one the Order kidnapped and ran tests on. I’m just the only one who survived. Blinking, I look up and realize the whole room has fallen silent.
Oh, shit.
Silently putting the notebook down, I tell myself it’s now or never and I move fast before I can think twice. I emerge at the top of the stairs that lead down into the warehouse. Marco is crouched near the cracked concrete, reaching into the crevice left behind when the door was broken open.
Vivian snaps her head up and her eyes go wide when she sees me. She’s holding something—and immediately pulls it tight to her chest.
The key.
“Here a little earlier than we expected,” Marco says, pushing up onto his feet.
“Stop,” I say, holding my hands out at my sides. “You have no idea what you’re about to do.”
“Yes,” Vivian says coldly. “We do.”
“There’s no coming back from this,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can still stop. You can still choose to do the right thing.”
“This is the right thing,” Marco snaps. “It should have been done years ago. Things have gotten out of hand. It’s time we take the power back.”
“You’re not taking anything back,” I say, my heart pounding. I step closer, scanning them for weapons. Vivian looks unarmed. Marco has a pistol at his waist, along with knives and throwing stars strapped to his belt.