Page 28 of Shadows of Stardust

That smirk of his grows even sharper, like the sight of me gathering my courage amuses him.

“Find anything interesting?”

“Not yet,” I say, and regret it immediately.

Zandrel’s eyes narrow as he takes a step closer, and he tilts his head to size me up like a cat with a mouse, a scientist considering a particularly interesting sample on a petri dish. Cool, removed, objective, placid as a pond with a fanged monstrosity lurking in its depths.

It pisses me off even more.

All of this is just a game to him. Wherever the fuck he came from and however the fuck he ended up here, I’m not stupid enough not to know he can probably play it better than me.

“And what would you find interesting, Roslyn?”

He says my name like a taunt, like he knows well exactly what I’m up to.

And maybe he does. But it’s not going to change anything.

I’m still going to find Savvie whether or not he’s standing in my way.

“Because,” Zandrel goes on, “I might be able to guess, if the way you were studying that fence by the—”

“Zandrel,” a clipped, masculine voice barks out from behind us.

We both turn to find another guard headed up the path, frowning at us. He’s shorter than Zandrel, and thinner, with a reptilian quality to him. Smooth tan scales and sleek features, a thick tail that trails on the ground behind him.

“Brivik,” Zandrel says, tone just as short and formal.

“You’re on duty to cover the production team heading out to the field tonight. A date on one of the smaller islands up the coast.”

Zandrel opens his mouth, but Brivik—who seems like he must hold some kind of command here—cuts him off.

“Boat leaves in ten minutes.”

Without waiting for Zandrel to say anything else, Brivik leaves the way he came.

A small, petty part of me preens with sharp satisfaction at the consternated look on Zandrel’s face. Eyes even darker than usual, creases of frustration framing his harsh features, it’s clear he’s irritated at being ordered around.

And something else is clear, too.

My shadow is being sent away for the evening.

Production for night dates can last nearly until dawn, especially if the crew is set up in a location away from the main beach.

The assignment will take Zandrel away from here for hours.

He seems to realize it at the same moment. Dark stare fixed squarely on me in a way I assume is meant to be intimidating, he sucks in a sharp breath at whatever it is he sees on my face.

“If you think this means you can—”

“I don’t think anything,” I say, almost giddy with the stroke of luck. “And you better get down to the beach if you don’t want to miss that boat.”

I take a couple of steps down the path, nearly skipping, when a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.

Zandrel spins me around to face him. “Roslyn.”

The word is an unmistakable warning.

Part of me knows I should heed it.

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