Chapter 8 - Above Cursed Winds

The instant the thought had left his lips, an indecipherable sensation tightened his gut. Horror painted Zia’s features, her wide, guileless eyes blinking as though he’d kicked a stool out from under her. While he understood that it was a disturbing thought, he couldn’t account for the fear that shadowed her expression.

What he’d thought had been a simple blue iris from afar was instead a dramatic blend of rich violet and periwinkle. The vivid hues burst outward, transitioning seamlessly to the gemlike indigo that circled her iris. The color, deep and transfixing, was unlike anything he’d ever seen before in a mortal or immortal. For a moment, Jeremiah felt like he was falling into her eyes, entranced by the otherworldly color.

“I—I didn’t think about that.” She visibly shook herself. “But that still wouldn’t account for how they snuck past hundreds of Raeths. Nero’s wards would’ve alerted him to the presence of another Raeth on clan lands.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Perhaps they consulted Casper.”

“Casper?”

The corners of his mouth tugged upward. “The friendly ghost? Surely, you’ve heard of him?”

“I know who Casper is,” she hissed, those gorgeous eyes narrowing. “What I don’t understand is why you’re making light of the situation when you’re so keen to remind me of my failure.”

He lost his smile. “Outta the way, wings. Let me do what you’ve dragged me here for.”

Sitting down in her office chair, Jeremiah went to work. Running commands and prompts, he dug into the hard drive, confirming everything Nero and his second had said the day before.

But he went deeper, scanning through every file associated with the Accords and even those that weren’t. He sifted through the software installed on the computer, trying to detect what had been breached during their infamous slip.

What he found was a great, big, steaming pile of nothing.

The security truly was as tight as they’d said, and the computer was not even connected to the internet. No external breaches could’ve happened, which meant someone had been here, in this office, at the keys. Though Nero and Zia had hinted at this during the Accords meeting, he hadn’t put any stock in their words. He needed to verify the facts for himself before he admitted that this investigation had shifted from digital security to physical security.

“You’re going to make me say it, anyway, so here goes: you were right.” Jeremiah finally broke the silence between then, his attention shifting back to where he’d blocked her out.

The woman had glanced up from where she sat at her desk, her nose deep in paperwork that looked like building plans. “About what?”

“No one could’ve accessed this off site. Our culprit was here in person,” he confirmed, “which means you’ve got a gap in your security.”

He wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know. Her lips thinned before she nodded. “It should be impossible. No one—Raeth or otherwise—should’ve been able to come onto clan lands without us noticing. If they could come here, they could go anywhere.”

Something about the breathless way she said it made Jeremiah withhold his snarky remark. If the Citizens had entered Paracel and come into his office, he’d react just as strongly.

“We shift the investigation to physical security,” he said. “We’ll need to go through your recorded footage with a fine-tooth comb, and then we can look into who might have access to your office.”

She nodded. “There’s nothing I won’t do to ensure the security of this clan. I’ll do everything in my power to help you figure this out. You have my word.”

Inclining his head, Jeremiah had to admire her tenacity. In the same breath, he realized why. Her previous incompetence was fueling her drive to make this right. It wouldn’t be the first time guilt had motivated someone. The fact that he could relate was of no consequence.

He dipped his chin and took a deep breath. In such an enclosed space, the scent of pineapple and mangoes that clung to her skin was impossible to miss. The sweet smell was as taunting as the woman herself.

“Let’s speak with Nero. He’ll be interested to hear about what you found and the shift in focus.”

With movements as graceful as a gazelle, Zia gathered up an armful of paper before twisting to catch one that’d sifted loose. On instinct, Jeremiah used his abilities to blow the paper into her hand without her having to reach for it. Her lips thinned as she straightened, paper in hand. A question registered in her eyes.

“Did you—” she hesitated, then asked, “Do you intend on lazing around all day, or can we go?”

“Lead the way, Z.”

“Stop calling me Z.”

She moved swiftly into the hallway, not waiting for a response.

He rose and trailed after her, passing by several Raeths in the main portion of the dome. Each suspicious gaze settled on him for far too long. Though he longed to snarl back, he knew their wary glares were there for good reason.

“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?”

Everyone bristled at the loaded question, but Key showed no signs of surprise or remorse.

“Everything happened as it was meant to.”

Jeremiah felt his switch flip. “My best friend died because he was meant to? Are you kidding me?”

Vaulting to his feet, Jeremiah let his six-foot-five frame tower above where the foreseer casually perched atop Nero’s desk. Key didn’t seem phased by his aggression, but Nero moved to flank her, his gaze locked on Jeremiah.

Nothing could halt the words tumbling out of his mouth. “You knew that the Citizens would execute him, and you did nothing to stop it? How long did you know?”

He was shouting now. The only saving grace Key could possibly have was that the vision had come too late to save Gideon’s life, that she’d had attempted to intervene but had been unsuccessful in contacting them to avert the disaster.

Everything within Jeremiah went deathly still. His rage, his grief, and his animosity for the woman before him; everything he was and everything he could be spun out of balance.

“Five centuries before Gideon’s attempted execution.”

Jeremiah reflexively jerked forward. Hostility a mad pulse below his skin, he veered for Key, still uncertain what his intent was. When his fists curled, his muscles tensing for attack, a whisper of discord flared in his mind.

That Key was a woman. That she was unarmed. And that she had personally meant him no harm. But Jeremiah’s hostility had overflowed, had barreled into his mind like a freight train and had nowhere left to go but out.

When Nero appeared in front of Key as if by magic, Jeremiah eagerly turned his wrath on the Raeth sovereign. His fist nailed the other man with a punch Nero wouldn’t have needed foresight to see from a mile away. And yet, the sovereign did nothing to stop it.