You don’t have to kill Sasha. Listen, listen, she can be useful to you. Nerezza wants her gift. You can—”
Malmon hit him with a backhand that knocked Sawyer back ten feet. “I know what Nerezza wants. You’re not fit to speak her name. Speak it again, and I will give the mermaid more pain than any mind can survive.”
“I’ll do what you want.”
“How long will it take, to go to the star, to come back?”
“The traveling itself? Two minutes.”
“You’ll have ninety seconds. You.” He gestured to one of the men. “You’ll take him there, and back.”
“But—”
“Do you really think I’d allow you to take me? To attempt whatever plan you might have working in your fevered brain, with me? If you take more than ninety seconds, if you attempt to escape, to take the compass, she dies in agony.”
“Ninety seconds isn’t—”
“It’s what you have.” Malmon consulted his watch. “Yadin.”
Though something like disapproval crossed his face, Yadin sent the current into the tank.
“Again.”
“Stop! Goddamn it, I said I’d do what you want.”
“Now you know the price if you don’t. Turn up the current for the tank, be prepared to switch it on. Draw your weapon, you moron, and I’d advise a sturdy headlock.”
The man stepped behind Sawyer, hooked a beefy arm around his scored throat, held the gun at Sawyer’s ear.
“Excellent. Ninety seconds. Beginning now.” He put the compass in Sawyer’s cuffed hands.
Sawyer kept his eyes on Annika, said her name. And vanished.
At the villa, Bran treated Riley’s wound while the others gathered weapons.
“Has to be the cave, right? It’s where Sasha warned Sawyer and Annika. I know he could have them at the villa, but—”
“We can’t be sure. It’s more difficult to transport two wounded and unconscious prisoners into the hills. You have to be still until I’ve done this.”
“It’s a fucking scratch. We need to move.”
“It’s more than a fucking scratch, and we need to know where to move.”
“I said we’ll get them back.” Doyle walked in, guns strapped at both hips, the sword on his back, a knife in his boot. “I’ve been a soldier more than a couple of lifetimes. I don’t leave fellow soldiers or friends behind.”
“We’re not getting them back fussing over a little cut.”
“If not for Bran, you’d need a dozen stitches, at least, on that little cut.” Sasha walked in with a crossbow, a quiver of bolts, and the gun she’d only fired at targets holstered at her hip.
“Okay, all right. Then I say it’s time for that chain reaction.”
“I’m with the doc on this.”
When Bran said nothing to Riley or Doyle, Sasha sat down. “And if we’re wrong, we’ll have wasted the trap. I need to see. No one’s said that, but everyone’s thinking it. Do you think I can’t feel it?”
“It’d help, sure, but, Sash, we all know you can’t force it.”
“Why can’t I?” she snapped back at Riley. “Why can’t I pull it in when it’s needed? At a time like this, when two of us are— Why don’t you tell me what to do?” she demanded of Bran. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s yours, a ghrá.” He took her shoulders, kissed her brow. “Because it’s only you who can demand it.”
“Then I will, I do! Cast a circle, cast a spell. Help me.”
“With all I have, but there’s no spell. It’s your gift, your mind and heart. Only you can open it.”
“I need air. I need room. I need to breathe.” Desperate, she rushed outside, struggled to calm herself, to settle. When Bran followed, she pressed her fingers to her eyes.
He drew them away. “Trust yourself, as I do.”
“As we do,” Riley corrected, and glanced behind her at Doyle.
“Yeah. We do.”
“Help me.”
Bran brought the hand he held to his heart. “Feel me, open to me.”
“Love, trust, faith. Bran.”
“Open to yourself, fáidh. Let it come. You’re so strong. Set the fear aside, for everyone. And just open.”
She felt his heart beat under her hand, steady. Steady. Closed her eyes and counted the beats. His. Hers. Theirs. Hers. Hers.
“Oh, they’re hurt. The pain. It’s horrible, and the fear is worse. She fears for him, tries to fight, but they hurt him. He fears for her, tries to fight. They hurt her. Trapped, she’s trapped. Water surrounds her, but it’s cruel. He enjoys hurting them. He knows how. And Malmon—he’s not just a man. His eyes, his eyes, he hides them, but . . .”
“Where, Sasha? Where are Annika and Sawyer?”
“In the cave. Blood and death in the cave. Locked in