Now he was content. He had to be, because today he was leaving for good. He could only hope that his secrets—and the treasure he cherished most of all—would be safer for his absence.
Cass had placed his trust in an ally who had proven his loyalty through years of silence and sacrifice. That trust had been reaffirmed at their meeting a couple of days ago.
Another ally—this one across the globe—one who risked as much as Cass in aiding him, had agreed to look out for Cass’s interests once he’d fled for his permanent exile.
An exile that would begin now.
Resolved, Cass pulled up his collar to shield himself from the slanting rain as he ducked down a side alley.
That’s when he noticed them—the trio of dark figures that had fallen in behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder and his stomach went cold.
Atlantean soldiers.
The three immortals were disguised in pedestrian street clothes, much as he was. But their purposeful stride and menacing presence were unmistakable.
And beneath the long hem of one of their sodden trench coats, Cassian spied the glint of an Atlantean blade.
There was a time he might have turned around and faced this threat. A time when he would have fought it, even unarmed as he was now.
But today, he knew true fear.
Not for himself, but for the secrets he would die to protect.
Cass took off running, leading the legion guards as far away from the museum as he could, calling upon every ounce of his preternatural agility and speed.
The queen’s men were close behind him—too close. They zigged and zagged as he did, never losing sight of him for a second.
In minutes, Cass and his pursuers were in the city’s old North End. He hadn’t intended it, but his feet had carried him to the only home he’d truly known since coming to Boston.
La Notte was just ahead. Through the rain, Cass saw the back entrance of the club a few hundred yards in front of him.
The Atlantean guards had split up at some point.
Cassian lost track of one of them.
He didn’t see the assassin until it was too late.
The soldier from Selene’s royal court appeared out of nowhere, standing in front of him, long blade gleaming.
I’m dead, Cassian realized. It was over now.
He knew it, even before he felt the ice-cold kiss of Atlantean steel biting into the side of his neck.
“A toast,” Carys said, raising a glass of red wine across the table from Jordana at one of their favorite Italian restaurants in the city’s old North End. “To the exhibit grand opening. I know it’s going to be a huge success.”
“I hope so.” Jordana sighed and clinked her glass against her friend’s. “Did you check to make sure the placard on the French tapestry was corrected? And now I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have moved that display of Roman pottery from where we had it for the patrons’ reception. Do you think it should go back to its original place?”
Carys grinned and rolled her eyes. “It’s perfect, Jordana, all of it. You thought of everything. The exhibit couldn’t possibly be in better hands.”
“Thanks.” Jordana smiled at the compliment, but she couldn’t help being reminded of her odd visitor, Mr. Cassian, and the fact that he’d said something very similar to her.
Carys gave her a quizzical look. “Did I say something funny?”
“No, it’s just …” Jordana shook her head. “A man came in to view the exhibit this afternoon.”
Carys frowned. “Someone you know?”