I didn’t need Ambrose to say it.

  The moment I reached for my aura, I knew it wasn’t coming.

  There wasn’t any resistance or struggle that could be rationalized away as exhaustion or being out of sync with my body. Just absence, like when a limb is numb, and it fails to respond.

  With a sudden shiver, I recalled a similar situation on Earth, where nobody knew who the heck I was.

  But I came back from that, and I could come back from this.

  Dead heroes don’t stay dead.

  They live on in story.

  “I see your point, Ambrose, but I think—”

  “You didn’t have to put it like that!” Nora shouted, her voice cutting through the vast room with a dreadful echo. “We agreed to break it to her gently—”

  “I did not want to contaminate the data by priming her with the assumption of inevitable failure in aura recall,” Ambrose replied, folding his arms behind his back. “And efficiency often sounds unkind when someone is emotionally invested.”

  Nora got up on her tiptoes just to lean in toward him menacingly. “She’s not one of your experiments!”

  “She is just as subject to bias as any other mortal—”

  “I’m still here, you know.” I declared, trying to head off whatever altercation was brewing.

  Both sets of eyes turned to me slowly, neither of them particularly welcoming.

  “What I mean is…” I patted the back of my head, my fingers absently pulling at my uneven locks. “If the problem is public perception, then that’s solvable, right? If people think I’m dead, then we show them otherwise. We get my face back out there, such as it is, and—”

  “No.” Nora cut me off.

  “But—”

  “No,” she repeated, rounding on me. “You are not throwing yourself out there right now.”

  “Well, maybe a short briefing on current events is in order first, but—”

  “You’re not going anywhere!”

  I drew in my breath so I could match her bluster, but she cut me off once again.

  “Olethros specifically told you not to go anywhere without him.”

  But what if he needs my help…

  Oh.

  My exhale was resigned, but it was nothing compared to Ambrose’s.

  “This discussion is inefficient. Lady Nora, you are already behind schedule. You’ve spent considerable time gathering information and very little time producing a viable plan to fulfill your end of our agreement.”

  “Agreement?” I blinked.

  Nora turned her back to both of us. “I promised I’d find where Mistress Aziza’s being held and free her.”

  “You what?”

  “I didn’t have a choice!”

  Ambrose straightened under my harsh glare. “I have my priorities, and reason dictates them. This conversation alone is—”

  “Over!” Nora shouted, pointing to the mirror with a trembling finger. “Get out.”

  Ambrose studied her from behind for a long moment, then inclined his head. “Very well.”

  He turned, flicking his gaze at me once more. Silently, he pointed to his left eye, then gestured at her, the motion seamless as he strode through the mounted portal.

  “Uh, Nora?” I asked carefully. “Should we be that abrasive with our host? I mean, I know he’s rather… dry and stand-offish, but, uh, I can’t help but feel that might not have been the best response…”

  Nora didn’t answer. Her shoulders were rigid, her hands clenched tightly at her sides.

  “Nora?”

  “That ghoul has been nothing but insufferable over these past three months. What is your plan? Why haven’t you located her yet? He knows I’ve been doing everything I can to find his Mistress, but he still has to put in his two cents every time I so much as breathe loudly!”

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  The fact that Ambrose warned me to watch her made it clear her side wasn't the whole story.

  “I’m sure you’ve been working hard… Maybe we can take a small break? Get something to eat?”

  She whirled, her eyes narrowed in distrust. “What, so you can talk me into letting you go outside—”

  “Lady Nora!” Marquis Galenus called from nowhere. “Significant repeating pulses of animus located. Emanating from a point within three leagues of Arx Argenta!”

  Captain Corwin’s headquarters?

  That’d be a great place to start!

  Well…

  Nora muttered several dark epithets under her breath.

  Maybe not.

  “Lady Nora?” Galenus called again, this time stepping into the middle of the room with a demonic buzz. “Do you wish to go investigate?”

  “Do I wish to? No! Do I have to? Yes.” She glared at me with a baleful eye.

  “I’ll stay right here!” I promised, unsolicited.

  “See that you do.”

  I watched Galenus fumble with his gauntlet, taking several moments to power it up before summoning a portal. Nora called her staff, which now had only one dark orb, though the other branch housed what looked like a miniature version of a holy crystal from Chairo. Once her fingers were wrapped around its length, she pulled her hood up with her other hand and stormed through the breach.

  Woe betide anyone on the other side.

  “Uh… Amos?” I called hesitantly to the ceiling. “You around?”

  “Is there something you need, Captain?” he replied, sounding a bit distracted.

  “Oh, uh… I was hoping to get changed. Feels weird walking around in this robe. Can you tell me where to find my stuff?”

  “Third mirror on the north wall.”

  “Um… I’m not sure which way is—”

  “That one.”

  On the far wall, one of the mirrors started to glow.

  “Ah, thanks!” I trotted over and stepped through quickly, half-afraid Nora might come back to yell some more.

  Sword, shield, and armor were all artfully arranged on a wooden training dummy in the small storage room I found myself in. My uniform and cape were nowhere to be seen, but after a few moments of searching, I realized they had probably been bloodstained beyond all hope.

  I did find a plain tunic and leggings that fit, so I was able to change. Whoever repaired my armor had done a great job, though it seemed more like an exchange of parts than a fix applied to the originals.

  Still, it fits like a glove.

  I steeled myself, literally and figuratively, before picking up Will and Faith. They were both much heavier and cooler than usual, and neither one responded to me. A few test swings of the sword only wore me out. With Olethros’s mark missing from the hilt, it felt incredibly plain.

  Amos probably has it—I should ask for it back.

  Faith was frozen in the form of a buckler, but for now, that would suffice.

  At least I’m starting to look like a hero again.

  The contents of my rucksack were inside a small chest of drawers. The bag itself was propped up next to it. And on the top…

  My journal.

  I clenched my fist and turned to where Relias had written, no, magicked a few lies, but someone had already blacked it out for me.

  Nora? Or maybe Raedine.

  The only other item of significance I couldn’t account for was General Ragnerus’s eye, nor the holy pouch it had been housed in.

  I hope Nora has them… but I'm guessing Ambrose or Galenus may also have insisted they be placed in lockdown.

  “Master!” Amos’s elated voice rang out.

  He’s here?!

  I stumbled back through the mirror, my boots heavier than I remembered.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Ambrose was across from him, arms folded and posture rigid.

  Olethros had one hand resting above his hip, his tail snapping. Amos was between them, bowing to each other meekly.

  “It’s good to see you again, Your Majesty,” I announced a bit breathlessly with a bow of my head. “Thank you for joining us.”

  Olethros inclined his head in response, his eyes never opening.

  Ambrose cleared his throat. “As I was saying, while within this space, you will obey all rules—”

  The demon king shook his head and phased through Ambrose to come closer.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked me after reforming.

  Be calm and professional, Rachel. If you want to be taken seriously as a hero, you have to keep it together.

  “I’m doing well,” I replied, gesturing at the others. “Everyone’s been very kind—”

  “Rachel,” he murmured, taking yet another step and holding his arms out. “May I?”

  In front of them?

  What… Why… But I…

  I didn’t trust my voice to behave, so I nodded and stepped forward before I could second-guess myself.

  The hug was firm and steady, and for a split second, I cursed myself for donning the armor, as it made the experience a bit rigid and distant. But then his hand came up, and I felt his fingers threading into my hair at the back of my head in a gentle caress.

  Don't cry in front of them.

  “You may lean on me whenever you wish.”

  My shoulders sagged despite myself. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been bracing until I wasn’t anymore.

  “I think I’m going to need your help with Nora,” I whispered in his left ear, revising my earlier statement. “She’s a more than a bit off—”

  “I told you it was going to be another dead end! Housing one of the demon lords in their base would be too obvious!” Nora’s voice screeched with disgust, beating her into the room by mere seconds.

  “Forgive me, Lady Nora,” Galenus replied as he appeared. “But the signature was above the threshold we agreed upon, necessitating our investigation.”

  Nora glared at Olethros and me as if we were committing a felony. “What’s going on here? Why are you dressed for battle?”

  “Ah, welcome back, Lady Nora!” Amos said, his tone an octave higher than usual. “I’m pleased to tell you that my Master has arrived.”

  “I can see that; already ingratiating himself.”

  I straightened as Olethros let his hands drop.

  “Okay, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this isn’t mere squabbling anymore—”

  “Animus Overload,” Olethros suddenly barked, shielding me. “Everyone else, out now!”

  Amos was the first to melt away, and Galenus pulled Ambrose through a mirror a split-second later. I couldn’t see any animus emanating from Nora, but I still took his shout at face value.

  Even if I can’t push it out of her, maybe I can talk her down.

  I stepped around Olethros and walked toward her, my hand outstretched. “Nora, please let me help with whatever’s bothering you.” I touched her shoulder. “I’m sure we can work it out—”

  I felt Olethros tug me just as everything went dark.

  Thoom!

  There was a loud, hollow rushing sound, and Olethros and I found ourselves in a vast, cluttered white space, surrounded by… doodles?

  I turned slowly.

  “It sort of looks like her journal…”

  The walls weren’t walls at all. They were pages—half-filled, crossed out, rewritten, crumpled, and tied together with angry, thick arrows and conspiracy-grade red thread. Doors were scribbled into the haphazard margins, some circled, some violently scratched out.

  And at the center of it all…

  A sketch of me?

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