Page 42 of Elven Throne

“Those are civilian networks,” Burke added, shaking his head. “I’d be surprised if any of them were remotely equipped to handle what even a quarter of us would need.”

Whatever the others said next as the conversation continued, Rebecca didn’t hear.

Acute pain, like fiery blades stabbing through her chest and pulling out again in a single direction, made it impossible to focus on anything else.

The pain of Maxwell leaving her side and slipping away.

Gritting her teeth and trying not to draw attention to her discomfort, she turned in the direction of that sharp, bitter pain and searched for him.

For the first time she could remember, she couldn’t immediately find him among the others.

As if he were intentionally hiding from her…

But he wouldn’t, would he? He had no viable reason to do so, and she had no viable reason to suspect that of him now.

She’d literally just confirmed he reallywason her side.

So why did she feel like another devastating bomb was about to drop at any second, with Rebecca as the primary target?

“Knocks?”

She turned back toward the three operatives who’d clearly assumed she’d been actively engaged in the conversation.

They all stared at her with varying degrees of concern.

“You good?” Diego asked, his crimson-glowing eyes narrowing. “I mean, besides the obvious.”

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Yeah.”

“Well?” Shell asked. “What do you think?”

“Canvassing magical non-profits?” Rebecca muttered absently. “Still not an option. That’ll put us backonthe map, not take us off it.”

Apparently, a part of her stillhadbeen listening, but the bulk of her focus and conscious awareness went right back into searching for Maxwell.

The pain of him walking away from her had settled into a dull, background ache, so at least he wasn’t trying to sneak farther away. But why wouldn’t he have said anything to her about it first if he—

There.

She found him again, on the other side of their scattered operatives, between the far end of the compound’s entrance and the edge of the enormous crater in the asphalt, standing alone.

No, not alone. He gazed downward at something she couldn’t see until Titus lumbered unknowingly out of the way and gave her a clear view.

Bor stood there with Maxwell, off to the side for a private conversation. The giveldi swept a constant, scrutinizing gaze across the parking lot, as if he’d been assigned to keep an eye on everyone from afar. His mouth moved in the longest speech Rebecca had ever seen the old cook give.

And as Bor spoke, Maxwell’s posture visibly hardened, his body growing rigid.

She felt the shifter’s effort in masking his reactionary expressions from Bor—and likely his internal reactions from Rebecca too.

But when he muttered a reply, something short and to the point, the anger erupting across the old giveldi’s face was unmistakable.

Bor’s scowl darkened as he stared up at the shifter and slammed the butt of his staff into the fractured and crumbling asphalt at his feet.

Maxwell stony mask of apathy remained, but after a few more exchanged words, both the shifter and the old giveldi looked up across the parking lot together.

And directly at Rebecca.

Her entire awareness narrowed into one horrifying moment of suspended realization, her gut twisting as she scrambled for an explanation as to why they wouldbothstare at her like that. Plus all the varying possibilities with any number of unknown variables for how she was supposed to deal with it, if her initial hunch proved true.

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