As Leanor reached for the device that allowed him to control Civitas’s minions, he caught sight of his fingers—weak, trembling, not quite obeying him. The first signs that the elixir of life was running dry had begun to show. It wasn’t just a shake anymore. It was a creeping instability that had started in his hands and was working its way up his arms, down into his legs, turning stillness into effort.

  Still, he hadn’t topped up. He knew that if he did, the effects would burn out sooner, and he only had enough for one more dose. After that, he would have to trade for it, steal it, or wait for it to be offered again.

  He didn’t like relying on any of those options when it came to his mental fortitude. It felt like a leash around his mind, one he could feel even when it wasn’t pulled, controlled by the one person he feared: his father.

  He clicked the device. It answered with a soft hiss, and dark mist began to pour from it in ribbons, curling and thickening until a figure took shape. One of Civitas’s minions. It bowed its head the moment it could.

  Leanor spoke quickly, forcing confidence into his voice as if speed could outrun the tremor creeping through him. “Report!” The word hit like a key in a lock that hadn’t been turned in far too long.

  The creature’s eyes widened. Light flared from within them, and a projection snapped into existence, a feedback loop of everything it or its siblings had seen. Each eye cast something different.

  Six eyes. Six feeds. Grakor. Tristana. The Glitch.

  They danced across the ceiling like stars in a night sky, cold and watchful. A soft buzz threaded through it all—beneath the screams, beneath the voices—steady enough to make his teeth itch. The subtle flaw in Civitas’s minions. The part that didn’t belong.

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  As the feed stopped, the information settled over him like a new weight around his neck. He sent the minion back and returned the device to his storage. For what came next he needed—needed—his mind sharp. Instead, his thoughts lagged, as if they had snagged on something jagged. He pressed his hands to his temples. They trembled, shaking his vision slightly.

  He couldn’t work like this.

  He stood from his chair and immediately his head went light. Black speckles swam across his sight and he nearly tumbled sideways, only barely managing to catch the edge of the table. He headed for his vault. Each step was laboured, his feet barely leaving the ground, his breath growing ragged. Then his legs gave out, the floor rushing up as the world tilted toward black.

  The ferocity of the onslaught, the speed at which the effects came on, surprised him. He knew he needed to get to the vault, or it would be over before it had even begun. He tried to force his legs to move, but they didn’t respond, unmoving, despite the commands now screaming from within him.

  He clung to the ground, fingers digging in as if the stone might anchor him. He dragged himself forward, inch by inch. The vault slid open as he neared, still recognising his signature. But when he reached the shelf, he lay there out of breath and confused. It had started to affect his mind, poison running deep. He couldn’t reach.

  He felt his will snap, like a rubber band stretched too far. The magic within him burst out in flying ribbons. Strength washed over him, his legs firming beneath him. The elixir didn’t matter. This was better. He felt alive, for the first time in eons. His heart pounded so loudly he could hear it in his ears.

  He pushed off the ground too hard, too strong. He flew upward, cracking his head against the vault ceiling. Pain flashed—then the surge swallowed it, a mere splash in an ocean. The room rumbled and items rattled. When he landed on his feet, his mind was made up. A smile widened cruel, delusional. All restraint vanished in a moment.

  He held out a hand, his spear crystallising into his grip. The light-blue hilt pulsed warm against his palm, lending itself to him. He was about to slam it into the ground, to teleport to the heart—to his father—when a familiar breath touched his neck. He barely turned before something hard connected with the back of his head, and he collapsed to the floor.