When Wesley was carried from the room via stretcher, Emily and Logan catching their breath on the two remaining chairs, Brianna’s gaze had caught on Aern. There was something there, some recognition that aside from the fact that she and her sister hadn’t been burned in the other attack, another detail had gone unnoticed among the chaos. This shadow, and the ones days before, hadn’t given more than a thought to Emily. She’d barely gotten a scratch, and when she’d attacked them full-force, they’d only defended themselves in the barest possible manner. He couldn’t know what it meant, couldn’t understand why, but their focus had been solely on destroying Brianna. The dark-haired man had said he’d saved her because he needed her, because she was the one they wanted. This new realization might not have given Aern an answer, but it certainly had removed all doubt. This wasn’t a fluke. These shadows were planning something, and it only required one sister.
As he looked at Brianna now, he could see that she’d tucked it away, hidden the concern from Emily until she understood the implications of it. They’d moved to a secondary office in the same suite, Logan in a clean shirt where he relaxed into a narrow leather sofa, Brianna close beside him. Emily sat on a spindle chair across from them, her elbows perched on either side over the thinly padded arms, fingers pressed to her temples.
“So,” she said, “what do we do with her now?”
Ava had been locked away, but her presence would be missed. Something would have to be done, and announcing that shadows were hiding among the ranks—that they could be born and raised within Council—would not go over smoothly. While they could create a story for her disappearance, she would eventually recover.
Or the other shadows would come looking for her.
Brianna leaned forward, shrugging. “We use her.”
Emily’s eyes squeezed shut. “And how, do you propose, we do that?”
Expression suddenly bright, Brianna answered, “It’s just like you said.” She pointed to her sister—“You burn her”--gestured at Aern—“Aern sways her”—and then her palms turned up, shoulders lifting—“and we just walk right into the bad guy lair.”
Emily stared at the ceiling, regretting the words now that they were being used against her. But she hadn’t taken them to heart.
Aern sighed, running a hand over his face. “She’s serious.”
“Yes,” Brianna said, “I am.”
“Bri,” Emily started, but her words were cut short by Brianna’s argument.
“No. I’m sick of sitting here waiting to be attacked. You want to stop this…--she hesitated, the dark-haired man’s name not coming easily from her lips—“Callan?” Her eyes locked on Emily. “Then let’s do it. Let’s find out what he’s after before it’s too late.”
Emily’s mouth twisted, but taking action wasn’t exactly the kind of thing she disagreed with in general.
“You know it’s true,” Brianna said. “You know there’s something, some small step that’s keeping us alive right now. The moment they decide, when the switch flips, there will be nothing we can do to stop them.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Brianna
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Emily muttered.
“You’ve had a week to think of something better,” Brianna replied. “I would have gladly taken a less idiotic suggestion than my own.” Brianna couldn’t help but smile at using the word Emily had repeated each time she’d mentioned the plan in the previous six days, but the prospect of actually going through with it was anything but funny. “Now pay attention, the show’s about to start.”
Ava’s connections were thoroughly burnt, but she still retained a bit of the healing that was apparently natural to the shadows. She’d only woken earlier in the morning, nearly a week after the attack, but given the extent of her injuries, it was still fairly impressive.
They stood in the center of one of the security-heavy Cook rooms, watching as Aern prepared to sway Ava into telling them what would hopefully be valuable information. Eric and Seth had joined them, as had Kara, who should have been using a cane or crutches but rejected the idea of anything that might make her look weak. All three looked the worse for wear. Their wounds were healing, but had been gnarly, particularly in the case of Kara, who’d remained on her feet in the fight longer than either of the men. She’d lost most of her hair, though, and it was now shorn into a severe pixie cut that somehow made her look even fiercer than before.