For a government facility, the dwellings here are little more than white shacks with blinds. Which means they’ll probably have to rebuild everything. I make a mental note to have Rachel send them some relief supplies when this is over.

Rachel. Ohmysweetgoodness, where is Rachel?

22

TORAF CIRCLES the building, alert, wary, and something else Galen can’t quite place. “They’re both still in there,” Toraf says. By now, even Galen can sense the pulses of Jagen and Musa. Which means they’re still alive. So why haven’t they come out yet?

Woden, a Poseidon Tracker, slips up next to Galen. “It’s been very quiet in there since the flooding started.”

Toraf nods. “They can sense us as well as we can sense them. They know we’re here.” He turns to Galen. “What do you think?”

Galen scratches the back of his neck. “It’s a trap.”

Toraf rolls his eyes. “Oh, you think so?” He shakes his head. “I’m asking if you think Musa is in on it.”

Galen is not very familiar with Musa. He’s only talked to her a handful of times, and that was when he was very young. Still, out of all the Archives who seemed to support Jagen and his monumental act of treason, Musa’s face does not come to mind. “Would she be?”

Toraf shrugs. Woden scowls. “With much respect, Highness, Musa is an Archive. She will not forsake her vows to remain neutral.”

It takes all of Galen’s willpower to bite his tongue. Woden is still naive enough to believe that all the Archives are of a pure and unbiased mind. That they do not get tangled up in emotions such as greed, ambition, and envy. Did Woden attend the same tribunal I did?

Toraf slaps Woden on the back. “Then you don’t mind going first?”

The Poseidon Tracker visibly swallows. “Oh. Of course not. I’m happy to—”

“Oh, let’s get on with this,” Galen says, snatching the spear from Woden’s unsuspecting grasp. This seems to embarrass the young Tracker. Galen doesn’t have time for embarrassment.

“Yes, let’s,” Toraf says. “Before the humans get those disgusting wrinkles on their skin.” He nudges Woden. “It’s probably the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen lots of things.”

It’s the first time Galen realizes that Woden’s nervous demeanor and over-respectful attitude is not out of reverence for his own Royal status, but out of reverence for Toraf. It seems Toraf has a fan. And why wouldn’t he? He’s the best Tracker in the history of both territories. Any Tracker should feel humbled in his presence.

Galen is not any Tracker. He grunts. “Shut up, idiot. Get behind me.”

Toraf speeds ahead. “No, you get behind me, minnow.”

Despite their grand words, they creep to the door together. Toraf presses his ear against the crackled white paint. He signals to Galen that each pulse is on opposite sides of the building. If Musa really is in on a trap, this would be a good strategy. To come at them from both sides.

They wait several more seconds, listening for any small sound, any echo of movement inside. Toraf shakes his head.

Galen nods to Woden. The young Tracker rears back and throws his weight behind his shoulder as he rams into the door. It gives immediately.

Galen’s instinct is that Jagen made it too easy to enter. Not locking the door is practically an invitation. Sure, it’s unlikely Jagen would even have experience with using a human lock. But given the circumstances—that Jagen’s rescue is more of a capture and by now he probably knows it—Galen is sure he would have at least blocked the entrance. He isn’t foolish enough to flee; he obviously accepts that Galen would catch him within seconds. But that he’s desperate enough to stay, to take his chances with whoever comes through the door … Not good.

“Get down!” Galen yells. But Woden is already down.

So the harpoon meant for Woden hits Toraf instead. It catches his side and tears through it, almost turning him around in place. Jagen has planned well; he has obviously scavenged for as many weapons as he could find. The old harpoon gun is replaced by another one—and it’s aimed to strike Galen through the heart. The close range guarantees instant death.

That is, if Jagen had time to release it. Galen slams into him, the harpoon shooting with a pft into the thatch roof. Together, they crash into the back wall of the building as one mass. The wood creaks, flimsy against the blunt force. All around them the frame of the building moans, threatening to collapse on them. It has already taken a battering from the waves Galen and Rayna made. It won’t last much longer.

But Galen doesn’t care.

Jagen almost succeeds in wresting control of the harpoon, but Galen gives it a vicious twist and presses the rod to the traitor’s throat. If Jagen were human, it would cut off his air.

And Jagen’s age is already telling. Galen is able to hold the harpoon rod against him with one hand. With the other, he reaches for the human utility belt strapped around Jagen’s waist. Jagen squirms away, but Galen is able to grab the knife from its Velcro holster.

Jagen’s eyes go wide as oysters. “You wouldn’t. The law—”

“The law?” Galen snarls. “Now you want to hide behind the law? You must be joking.” Out of the corner of his eye, Galen catches a glimpse of a human man tied to a chair behind the desk. Long dead. Guilt picks at his conscience like scavengers on a carcass. Did the waves kill him? Or did Jagen? But he won’t—can’t—give Jagen the luxury of a second glance. The human is already dead. There is nothing he can do about it now. Except …