Page 103 of Burning Ice
“Mirel,” Moargan warned, but it was too late.
Frost bloomed across Mirel’s palm as it touched the glass. On the nearest screen the captive’s head jerked, eyes flaring white. The pulse ran through every monitor at once, light bursting in a chain.
“Good Light,” Helianth breathed. “He’s reacting to him.”
“He’s Dariux,” Kylix said. A charge crawled over his arms, the hair at his nape lifted. The air hummed with mirrored power, frost and lightning folding together in a single heartbeat before the feed shattered into static.
“Cut it,” Kylix ordered.
But before anyone could move, the boy froze mid-scream, every muscle locked, and then the entire image collapsed into static. The air reeked of ozone. Mirel’s pulse kicked hard.
Kylix struck the nearest console. Fire hissed, metal warped. “End it!” Yure killed the power. The screens went black. The silence that followed was thick enough to taste.
Aviel crouched beside Theo, voice low. “He was waiting for us.”
Kylix’s jaw tightened. “Not waiting. Listening.”
From somewhere inside the dead hardware, a final breath escaped, distorted, half-laughter, half-machine. “Round two, princes.”
Yure rubbed at his temples, still staring at the dark screens. “Don’t trust the silence,” he rasped. “The stream wasn’t live. It was looping itself, feeding on us. Whatever Bekn sent, it’s bait.”
Kylix didn’t wait for the lights to return. He caught Mirel by the wrist and pulled him into the corridor, the hum still clinging to their bones. Each step echoed too loud. The air smelled of smoke and iron.
Mirel’s breath came uneven. “That voice?—”
“Don’t.” Kylix’s tone was low, protective. “He’s gone for now. Just residue. But now you understand why I want you safe. He’s after anyone with Dariux blood.”
“Why?”
Kylix’s grin was cruel. “Little boy’s syndrome, if you’re asking me. We
must have killed his papa during an Aureate. I sure as fuck hope we did.”
They stopped near the back door. Cold wind leaked through the frame. Kylix turned him, hands firm on his shoulders. “You are mine to protect. Will you let me?”
Mirel stared at him, one eye ember, the other pale blue. At last, he nodded. “I, so alone. Then you came.”
“That’s right, darae. Then I came. And I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you.”
Their joined palms hissed quietly as heat met skin. Somewhere behind them, Yure’s console blinked once, a faint blue pulse, and died. Outside, Zephyr’s skyline pulsed red against the night. Each tower flickered with static light, thousands of eyes open, recording, feeding, waiting. Somewhere, another feed was already starting to stream.
The silence held after Bekn’s voice vanished. The air still smelled faintly of burnt circuits, ozone curling against the back of Mirel’s throat. Nobody moved.
Vandor was the first to speak, voice steady, low. “Systems offline.” He crossed the room, disconnecting one terminal after another until the last hum died. Only then did the tension start to ease.
Moargan poured the rest of his drink straight into the sink, watching it swirl before turning off the light above the bar. “He’s not gone,” he muttered. “Just waiting.”
Mirel stayed close to Kylix, their wrists brushing each time the other shifted. The contact was small but grounding. He could still feel the echo of the frost under his skin, the same shimmer he’d seen in Norma’s room. Now it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat in the dark.
Aviel guided Theo toward the corridor, his hand resting at the back of the boy’s neck. Neither spoke. The chain dragged once against the floor before disappearing around the corner.
Helianth leaned against the counter, eyes unfocused. “He sounded the same,” he said quietly. “It’s only been weeks, but it feels longer. Like he never left.”
“He hasn’t,” Moargan said. “Men like that don’t move forward. They rot in place and call it power.”
Kylix didn’t answer. He turned to Yure instead. “Shut down every network path that touched that feed. Everything.”
Yure nodded, fingers trembling as he began the process. “On it.”
