Chapter 44: No Traceable Origin
Trevor left the estate shortly after his talk with Lucas.
Caelan’s summons had arrived thirty minutes earlier from Adelle, his secretary, who was terse, dry, and imperial in the way that all truly dangerous things were.
He knew why he was called to the palace and he was guessing that Caelan would ask for Lucas soon too.
Now, seated in the back of the car, one ankle resting over his knee, he watched the city unfold like a stage set—polished roads, curated greenery, gates that parted on sight. The D’Argente estate fell behind in the rearview mirror, swallowed back into its stone and hedges.
Lucas had agreed.
Trevor didn’t expect to become impulsive, but something told him the boy was hiding more than he or Serathine realized, and as with everything that drew his attention, he would unravel it all.
He smiled to himself; his life had been dull up until now; he had never cared about other people’s problems, and his duties were completed with the precision of a good watch.
The car turned past the final checkpoint, guards signaling wordlessly, and began its slow ascent toward the northern wing of the Imperial Palace. This wasn’t the wing used for banquets or state announcements. This one was quiet and Trevor had been there in the past more than he wanted to admit.
The car rolled to a stop.
Trevor buttoned his coat with practiced ease. He stepped out without needing the driver to open the door. The guards in the northern wing didn’t speak; they rarely did, and when they did, it wasn’t good. He nodded once, and they let him through.
Inside, the air was cool, and the grand halls were filled with midday light from the ceiling-high windows.
A young escort was waiting in the corridor—barely trained, stiff in the shoulders, and trying not to look nervous.