Page 31 of Elven Throne

Her willpower didn’t last long.

Try as she might to ignore them, the only coherent thoughts and images racing through her mind revolved around that unyielding urge to throw herself at Maxwell. To pull him close and never let go.

To finally give in to the unexplained connection that had been whittling away at both their resolve, bit by bit, and Blue Hells take all the rest.

And why not, when they were obviously this close to the end, with no obvious options remaining and nothing but rubble to protect and defend anymore?

Didn’t they all have nothing left to lose?

No, not quite. They were still alive—every member of this task force with zero casualties, however the hell that had happened. Shade was still Shade, with or without their Headquarters compound, or all their gear and supplies.

Rebecca was still Roth-Da’al. Maxwell was still Head of Security. Their operatives were still family.

And this was still business, wasn’t it? That had to come first.

Shadehad to come first.

She’d already risked so much to make that perfectly clear.

The second they rounded the corner, Maxwell whirled on her so quickly, she thought they were under attack again.

But only the crumbling remains of the outer wall existed here with her and the shifter looming over her again, his eyes strobing.

“You were right,” he said, suddenly breathless, like he’d run five miles in the second it took them to round the corner. “Eduardo wasn’t in this alone. When I found him, he was speaking with someone.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Do you know who?”

“No. I imagine he was too upset to have conjured his own name. I didn’t stop to ask.”

“Probably for the best,” she muttered, more concerned now than ever by what the shifterhadn’tyet told her; he grew more visibly agitated by the second. “At least we can confirm he had help.”

“And we have this.” Maxwell reached into his back pocket and whipped out what Rebecca first assumed was another piece of fried technology completely useless to them.

But no, that was just dirt and blood caked across the surface of a surprisingly small flip phone.

“Eduardo’s?” she asked.

Maxwell said nothing but handed her the phone.

“I didn’t know anyone even made these anymore,” she muttered, swiping at the thick crust of mixed blood and dirt that had now dried enough to be mostly wiped away.

“It’s still intact. No indication of the receiver’s identity, but Eduardo was the one who made the call. He was particularly frustrated. Spoke of promises and assurances given, which obviously did not produce their intended effect.”

“Hmm…” She glanced quickly up at him as she flipped up the phone. “Obviously.”

It took her two seconds to find the most recent call made from Eduardo’s phone—an unsaved number with an area code she didn’t recognize. But the time it had been made certainly matched the battle’s timeframe. Specifically, the moment of Zida’s army-obliterating explosion.

“There may be a way to retrace the call and identify the receiver,” Maxwell grumbled. “I would have gotten Whit started on it first, but our systems are buried under what remains of the garage.”

Shit.

No Security office, either. No more intel resources or any other means of gathering the information that otherwise would have taken Whit an hour. Two, tops.

Rebecca swallowed the lump hardening in her throat again and looked up from the phone. “The armory?”

Maxwell sighed heavily, his scowl deepening. “No different.”

“Dammit. We really havenothingleft.”

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