Korac crossed the Sterlings’ open-concept home in four strides. The earth-toned walls, once smeared in blood, washed clean. Bloodstains scarred the deep brown sectional, but it smelled of a fresh coat of leather conditioner. All the dishes in the kitchen washed and returned to the cabinet. The counter-tops shone with a polished gleam. Warmth pervaded the living space, and beneath all the cleansers, her sweet scent lingered. Missed her by mere minutes. An hour at the most.

Sagan cleaned the crime scene he came to investigate quite thoroughly. He didn’t blame her. Unsure how the interlopers disposed of the remains, this was the best way to honor her family. He understood.

Still. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and leaned against an empty wall. His head tilted back. This was a fucking mess. Stress. So long since he experienced the irritation, he barely recognized it for what it was. Tension in his neck and shoulders. Insomnia. Not that he was afforded much sleep, what with checking on Rayne every hour. He snarled and pushed off the wall.

Korac feared what he might find in this house. The reminder of Sagan’s suffering, assumed at his hands, agitated him. The entire framing operation went deep into CoN and The Brethren, alike. Someone dipped their hands into both jars.

He didn’t like it. It wasn’t just the murders or blaming Nox. No. Something about this brand of blight felt familiar. A real “misery loves company” adversary. Clenching and releasing his jaw, he tried to mull it over. His only suspect was presumed dead. Her death witnessed and reported by her maker. What if—

Boots on hardwood alerted Korac to Sagan’s presence at the same time her scent hit him. He hopped into the spare bedroom off the living space. This was not the time or place to approach her. He was intrusive, true. But he wasn’t tacky. She came to mourn her parents. The ones she thought he helped murder. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. This was a fucking mess.

He peered through the crack he left in the doorway. She walked from her bedroom down the hall to the kitchen. Purple bikini and cut-off denim shorts with hiking boots. Her blond short hair made natural by her nacre braided back from her face. With so little of her covered, he got to admire how the summer sun kissed her skin with freckles. Everywhere. He wanted to trace patterns on them with his fingers. Check to see where else—

Sagan set a bouquet of wildflowers on the counter and searched a cabinet. She retrieved a vase and filled it with water. As her bare shoulders shook, a faint sniffle followed. The scent of salt rode on the air.

Korac should leave. He’d give anything to allow her this moment alone. Stepping away from the door, he granted her what privacy he could manage. The room smelled stuffy, shut-in. He looked over the exercise bike, the bed with a fine layer of dust, and a painting near the front-facing window.

The water colors swirled and blended into lush cranberry colored trees, pools of ruby water swirling around the cities with gondola’s pitching through, parks filled with blazing orange grass soft and lush for enjoying a lie down and a read. It was Cinder before Li consumed it. The signature in the left corner unmistakably Sagan’s—

An imperfection in the window casing caught his eye. Icarean script carved into the drywall.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Imminent

It couldn’t be.

To hell with respect. Korac barged out of the guest room. “You have to leave.”

Sagan startled and spun on him. After a brief moment, she moved beyond the surprise and into the fury. “How dare you—”

He put his face right in hers. “It’s not safe here. Never come here alone, again. Now go.”

She slapped him. Hard enough to turn his head and leave a sting. The last person to slap Korac died a slow, miserable death at his own hands over four million years ago.

When he turned back to her, she possessed enough grace to look surprised with herself. He straightened back to their eleven-inch height difference, but Sagan refused to back down. “You are not my General, and I am not your soldier. The last time I saw you, you collected my best friend for your King as if she were dry-cleaning. Now, you’re loitering about my parents’ home and the scene of their murders as if you had any right. Don’t you ever order me around like that again. Do I make myself clear?” Her eyes hardened into amethyst, her chin held high, and her shoulders squared back.

Korac loved Sagan. With his jaw stinging, he gave a slow nod.

“Good.” She swept her hands behind her neck and pulled as she blew the air from her cheeks. “God, I knew you were close. How else could I smell snow in the heat of summer? Mind telling me what you’re doing here? And why isn’t it safe?” She sat down on a barstool and turned her back on him. She looked tired.

He made to reach for her, thought better of it, and sat down beside her. “I’m gathering evidence to find out who committed the patricide crimes.”

She nodded. “I wondered why so many of your guards turned up here, recently.”

“You don’t seem surprised. I thought the Progeny believed we committed the crimes.”

“I spent all day here scrubbing worse than blood out of the furniture and off the stove. It’s hard for me to separate you from this, but I knew it wasn’t you. Poor strategy and it lacked artistry. Why would you eliminate perfectly good”—she choked on the next word—“hostages?” She took a deep breath and wiped her face with the heels of her palms.

Sagan understood Korac at his core: pragmatic and ruthless. She understood war. It was… comforting. He hid his wince caused by the pang in his chest. “I can’t explain everything right now because the lead I just found puts you in danger and marks this place unsafe. They’ll come back. For you.” He turned in the stool to face her, and she mirrored him. Her intelligent gaze measured his sincerity. For the second time today, he begged. “Please. Don’t come back here, preferably at all, but never alone.”

“What is ‘Imminent’?”

He recoiled. “How—”

“It’s carved into all the windows.”

Abandoning the stool, he examined the windows in the kitchen. “It’s a syndicate of sorts. Established to manipulate the Probability Matrix. The Progeny qualify as a legitimate target.” He turned back to her and admired the concentration on her face as she connected the dots. He wished she appreciated her own brilliance more. “This was the beginning.”

“I’ll leave, but I want to know more.”

Relief washed over him. On an impulse, he reached to embrace her, but she stepped away. A chasm formed between them after Cinder. He frowned. “I can’t explain more now. I must return to the castle.”

He walked outside. The beautiful summer day offered sunshine and blue skies beyond Nox’s sphere. Over his shoulder, he said, “If you ever—I don’t care what it’s for, take from me what you need.”

He stepped off her porch and opened his wings.

Sagan called after him, “Korac.”

He turned back and drank in the sight of her to satisfy him until the next time.

“Is Rayne all right?”

Korac cursed. No straightforward way to answer that. The more he searched for an answer, the more Rayne’s joyous expression returned to him. “She sleeps. I believe she grows stronger every day. Promise me you won’t go there to rescue her? She doesn’t want you near the castle.” Near Nox.

“Sometimes… sometimes I think I hear her in my dreams.”

Korac would not put it past the sprite to find a way to communicate with her people. “What does she tell you?”

“Be ready.”