Page 17 of Above Cursed Winds

“Come on, Elemental.”

Zia’s voice beckoned him from up ahead, and his feet found their way into an office on the western side of the structure. Nero’s customary grin welcomed him.

“Made it in without loss of limb,” the sovereign said, then sobered. “We appreciate you coming, Jeremiah. Having an unbiased opinion and a third pair of eyes might help us figure out what went wrong.”

“I live to serve.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Zia muttered.

“You wound me, Z.” Feigning hurt, Jeremiah clasped a hand to his chest. “You know what they say about words.”

“What do they say about words?”

It wasn’t a question; it was a challenge. Zia’s violet eyes daring him into a response.

“Words have the power to hurt or heal, help or hinder, humiliate, humble, or harm.” Jeremiah searched her eyes as the meaning sunk in, his face a blank mask, devoid of any emotion. “They are the single most powerful force available to humanity.”

For a moment, she only blinked back at him. “That’s … surprisingly insightful.”

“I read it in a fortune cookie.”

Once again, the lie rolled easily off his tongue. Though he kept the knowledge under lock and key, he was an avid reader, consuming books on topics ranging from philosophy and sociology to photography and technology. No subject was boring to him. While he’d read as many psychology books as he could get his hands on, none of them had prepared him for watching his best friend executed in front of him.

He watched Zia’s features pinch before she schooled away the emotion. “Can we get on with this, please?”

Nero nodded, looking amused. “What’ve you found, Jeremiah?”

Collapsing into one of the armchairs in front of Nero’s desk, he confirmed their previous assessment. The investigation would shift to securing the clan lands like Jeremiah had in Paracel, and he’d work with Zia to account for Raeth gifts and to track down where the gap might have been.

Jeremiah still wasn’t convinced that it hadn’t been an inside job. Both immortals had deemed a physical breach impossible. Something wasn’t adding up. He kept his suspicion—and his spite—to himself. If there was a rat in Nero’s house, he’d find it.

They had just confirmed the plan when Key and a male Raeth entered the space.

Ignoring them, he continued, “I’ll use what resources I have to track where the information might’ve ended up. If it’s on a computer somewhere, in the exact same format it was listed here, we might be able to locate it.”

Key caught his eye. “With your contact at the CIA?”

Frowning, Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably in his chair, scrutinizing the woman who knew things she shouldn’t have. Very few people were aware of the breadth of his connections.

“What?”

As if on cue, Key’s eyes frosted an eerie white while she regarded him, but her lips quirked as if she found something humorous. “Your friend at the CIA. Michael?”

“How do you know that?”

Nothing had been written down or documented, and there was no way to connect Michael to him. The fact that she knew his association and the fact Jeremiah considered him a friend was mystifying.

“Key is our resident futurist,” answered a voice from beside him. Jeremiah acknowledged the new arrival with the customary chin dip and shook hands when the other man extended his. “I’m Nolan.”

Nolan’s warm brown eyes were kind. Everything about him looked buttoned up, tidy and welcoming, from the smile to the subtle tilt of his head.

“I’m Jeremiah.” His focus shifted back to Key. “What does he mean, resident futurist?”

Key studied him. “I have the gift of foresight.”

As the ramifications of such a gift began tallying in his mind, rage built below his skin, his vision narrowing.

“You see visions of the future?” He paused for a furious beat while she nodded. “Did you know Gideon was going to be shot?”

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