He nodded, seeming to recover himself, and pulled the door closed behind him. The latch touched frame, but didn’t click shut. It was a full minute before his footsteps receded.
My hip fell to lean against the table, heart pounding. Days, Brianna. You’ve known him for days.
I’d eventually fallen asleep by placing a pillow over my head to smother the nonexistent sounds of silence. It had taken a while, given the new words of prophecy and my encounter with Logan, but he let me sleep until late morning, when the scent of pancakes made its way into the room. I splashed my face and pulled on a pair of jeans before hanging the borrowed shirt on the rack and replacing it with my navy blue sweatshirt.
Logan didn’t look up at me when I came into the kitchen, so I took a stool at the narrow island behind him. He stacked three pancakes onto a plate and slid it across to me, not meeting my eyes as he turned back to clear the counter. He opened the refrigerator, and checked the date on a box of juice before pouring it into a short glass. I had a forkful at my mouth when he sat down and finally, deliberately, looked at me.
His hand flattened on the countertop. “When you’re ready, there are some documents we think might help.”
I swallowed the too-big bite. “We?”
“Aern. We discussed the problem you were having, and he’s agreed to give you access to the secured texts.” Logan shrugged a shoulder. “There probably isn’t much difference in what you’ve already seen, but anything we can do to help.”
“The prophecy?” I whispered.
He nodded, and purposefully looked away. I took one last big bite before hurrying to get my shoes. Halfway to the bedroom door, I remembered myself and turned to thank Logan for making breakfast. He was watching me, a dishtowel wadded beneath his hand on the counter, and I stumbled over the words in my haste.
He waved it away. “Get your shoes, Brianna.”
We were in the car within minutes, and I had a hard time sitting still. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what the prophecy said; I had learned it by heart before I could write. It was that I was finally going to see it. To touch that document, the indisputable proof that the words were in place a thousand years before I was born. I scrunched my nose. It was silly of me, I knew. The prophecy had been spoken in my own head, after all. But still, it mattered.
“Wait, shouldn’t we be headed that way?” I asked when I realized the car had been traveling in the wrong direction from the city.
“We aren’t going to Council,” Logan said.
“But I thought …” I trailed off as Logan glanced at me, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.
“The documents were moved. To keep them safe. We’ll find them at the Adair house.”
I recognized that name. Aern had sent a team there, the day Morgan had attacked the Division at Southmont. Brendan had been angry, certain his own men could protect the occupants of the house. He’d said they couldn’t spare their best team, but Aern had insisted. My gaze found Logan. “The others don’t know.”
His jaw flexed. “There were three who knew, before the fighting. The case at the Council building holds a replica, and that version has always been regarded as the original. But the true text was hidden, passed down between the elders for safe keeping for centuries.” He turned off the main road, taking a deserted lane lined with potted trees. “When the disputes boiled over, one of those elders was killed. And so, it was passed on to a new protector.”
I stared at him. He wasn’t only Morgan’s protector, he was responsible for the prophecy. “You said Aern agreed ...”
“Things went bad. There are only two of us now. He and I.” He wet his lips before continuing, somewhat reluctant. “I know what you are, Brianna. I know you’re trying to save us. But it was just something I couldn’t do without Aern’s accord.”
I nodded. “I understand.” He hadn’t needed to apologize for hiding the prophecy from me. I had gone through my whole life keeping secrets. I was doing it still.
Chapter Nine
Prophecy
We drove down a wooded lane, where the road turned toward a private park. Ivy climbed over a tall, wrought iron fence that ran parallel to the path and then opened into an ornate double gate to the Adair house.
Logan pulled the car around the building and we went in through a side entrance. It reminded me of the Southmont house, but the colors were lighter, more welcoming, and the furnishings a bit more modern. And, like all Division houses, it was fully stocked with well-dressed guards and attractive young staffers, which we met right away. The guards, apparently recognizing Logan as a superior, simply gave us a small nod of acknowledgement before averting their eyes. A slim brunette in a business suit, however, marched directly toward us in her four inch designer heels.
“Mr. Black,” she said evenly, “we were not made aware of your visit.”