Tharion nodded to the wolves in front of the lab and took in the enormous, low building. It hadn’t been built for beauty, but for function and storage.
Smokestacks billowed behind the lab, which seemed to be at least half a mile long and perhaps twice as wide. “Look at this place,” Tharion murmured as Cormac pulled up to the steel front doors. They opened as if by invisible hands—another guard must have pressed the security button to allow them in. Tharion whispered, “You think Pippa’s going to come?” How the Hel would she get in?
Cormac cut the engine and threw open his door, stepping crisply into the morning sun. “She’s already here.”
Tharion blinked, but followed Cormac’s military-precise motions as he climbed from the car. Cormac turned toward the open doors to the lab. “They’re in the trees.”
Declan had spent the previous day covertly planting information on rebel networks: the anti-Ophion rebels who’d destroyed the base on Ydra were making a move on this lab before Pippa and her agents could do so. She must have had Lightfall hauling ass to get here in time.
Tharion suppressed the urge to peer into the trees. “What about the dreadwolves?”
“This place reeks of humans, can’t you smell it?”
“No.”
Cormac stalked toward the open doors, black boots shining. “They’re using human labor. Carted in and out every dawn and dusk. Pippa would have timed their arrival with it, so their scents are hidden from the dreadwolves below.”
Solas. “So why wait for us to arrive, then?”
Cormac growled, “Because Pippa has a score to settle.”
Bryce had no idea why anyone would want to live in the Eternal City. Not simply because it lay in the shadow of the crystal palace of the Asteri, but because it was … old. Dusty. Worn. No skyscrapers, no neon lights, no music blasting from passing cars. It seemed to have been trapped in time, stuck in another century, its masters unwilling to bring it forward.
As she, Hunt, and Ruhn lurked in the shadows of an olive grove a mile to the west of the palace, she steadied her nerves by imagining the Asteri as a bunch of cranky old people, shouting for everyone to keep the noise down, complaining that the lights were too bright and the youngsters too whippersnappery.
It definitely helped. Just a little.
Bryce glanced at Hunt, who kept his attention on the olive grove, the skies. He’d worn his black battle-suit, along with the Umbra Mortis helmet, to her shock. A warrior going back into battle.
Was this the right move? This risk, this danger they were plunging into? Maybe they’d have been better off staying in Lunathion, keeping their heads down.
Maybe she was a coward for thinking that.
She flicked her attention to Ruhn, her brother’s face tight as he monitored the olive grove as well. He’d worn his Aux battle-suit, too, his black hair tied back in a braid that flowed down his spine, along the length of the Starsword strapped there. He clutched the comm-crystal in a fist, occasionally opening his fingers to study it. As if it might offer some hint about Day’s welfare. He’d said he hadn’t used it since that first contact with her, but he’d grabbed it before they left in case it could help locate her, if she had its twin on her.
Ruhn shifted from foot to foot, black boots crunching on the rocky, dry earth. “Cormac should be here by now.”
She knew every second since Agent Daybright had gone dark pressed on her brother. Bryce didn’t want to think about what was probably happening to the agent Ruhn seemed to care so much for. If they were lucky, she’d be alive. If they were luckier, there would be enough of her to salvage. Any attempts Ruhn had made to contact her—even going so far as to use the crystal—had been futile.
“Give him a minute,” Bryce said. “It’s a long jump.” Too far for her to make—or attempt. Especially with others in tow. She needed all her strength for what was to come.
“You’re a teleporting expert now?” Ruhn asked, brows high. The ring in his bottom lip glinted in the hot morning light. “Dec’s on standby. I don’t want to throw off his calculations. Even by a minute.”
Bryce opened her mouth, but Cormac appeared in the small clearing ahead. They’d studied a satellite map of the grove yesterday and Cormac had committed the location to memory, plotting out the jumps he’d need to make to get here from the lab. And the jumps he’d need to make from this grove into the palace itself.
Cormac announced, “We’re in. Tharion’s in the waiting room. I slipped off to the bathroom. All plans are a go. Ready, Athalar?” Hunt, then Bryce, then Ruhn. That had been the order they’d settled on, after an hour of arguing.