The scent of blood still filled the training hall. It clung to the air, thick and sharp, flowing into the cracks of the floor. Cassien stood at the center of the room, his chest heaving, his knuckles split and bleeding from where he had punched the wall.

“We could’ve gotten a name!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall again. The sound echoed, sharp and hollow.

Darius leaned against one of the wooden beams, his eyes dark, calm but watchful. “You think he would’ve told us? ...