Ibbie didn't wait. She didn't hesitate for a heartbeat. She left the room like a bullet leaving a chamber, her boots thudding against the carpet, and I was the target she had just pierced.
"Guilermo!" I shouted, sprinting out into the hallway, my voice bouncing off the stone walls. "Guilermo, answer me!"
I fumbled with the tracker stone in my pocket, my fingers slick with cold sweat. I squeezed it in a frantic, disjointed rhythm.
Nothing.
No pulse back. No warm thrum of reassurance. Just cold, dead rock.
He was in the Executive Wing. High-level security. Magic dampeners in the walls to prevent eavesdropping. He wouldn't feel the signal until he walked out.
By then, Ibbie would have shown the photo. By then, it would be too late.
I ran down the corridor, my servant’s boots sliding on
