Georgia was running out of ideas, and time. She had tried calling Kain what felt like a million times, but every attempt met the same cold silence. Then it struck her:

He wasn’t asleep.

So where was he?

She was turning down the corridor, ready to search the council chambers, when she nearly collided with Falcon’s lapdog—Larson. He moved like a man on a mission, shoulders tight, jaw locked, a walking testament to Falcon’s orders and the blind obedience he carried out with disturbing enthusiasm.

There was something about the way he walked: purposeful, rigid, almost vibrating with tension that tugged at her curiosity. Whatever mission he was on, it...