sound of his own labored breathing as he pressed himself close to the wall.
He listened, waiting. He could almost see his grandfather now. Standing in the middle of his destroyed office, his skillful gaze scanning every centimètre, every corner. Trying to search out the source of the breach.
There was a tiny creak in Marcellus’s ear. Followed by another. And another. Like a wild animal creeping up on its prey. Then Marcellus heard it. Soft and muted.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
The all-too-familiar sound of the Regiments board. The sound of pieces being lifted, checked, and replaced.
Clink.
Clink …
And then, a single word. “Sols.”
Marcellus froze, listening to the shocked silence emanating across the galaxy, finding its way from his grandfather’s study all the way here to Albion.
For a brief moment, the stars flickered, the planets wavered, and the universe felt out of sync. Because for a brief moment, General Bonnefaçon had been outsmarted by his stupide, worthless grandson.
Marcellus heard a rustle and a thud, and in a low, sinister voice, his grandfather whispered, “This is not over, Marcellus.”
Then there was the distinct crunch of a boot striking the Palais’s polished marble floor, destroying the auditeur, and silencing the sounds of his grandfather’s office for good.
“This way!” Gabriel cried out.
Marcellus glanced up to see the group was on the move again, and as he ran to catch up with them, he suddenly understood that Gabriel was leading them back to the front of the Filbright Wing, where Marcellus could see Lady Alexander’s aerocab was still docked, a row of lights on its underside blinking and glowing in the night.
They charged toward the vehicle. Cerise was the first to arrive. She pressed her hand to the panel on the side of the door, but nothing happened. “C’mon, c’mon,” she urged, removing her hand and placing it down again. “Open, you Albion piece of junk!”
“Access denied,” the vehicle responded in a pretentious accent that sounded eerily like Lady Alexander herself.
“It’s locked.” Cerise banged her palm against the door.
“Can’t you hack it?” Gabriel asked breathlessly.
Cerise bent down and scrutinized the panel. “This is some special Albion technology. Maybe if I had fifteen minutes to bust it open and look around, I could figure it out.”
Marcellus glanced up just as another aerocab came barreling around the corner, heading right toward them. The air rippled in its wake.
Guards.
“You have more like fifteen seconds,” he informed her.
Cerise’s head shot up, her eyes widening as her gaze landed on the incoming vehicle.
The aerocab lurched to a halt a few mètres away, and the door swung open. Marcellus sucked in a breath and turned, readying himself to run from the legion of guards that was about to pour out onto the roadway.
“Get in,” said a deep, accented voice.
Confused, Marcellus spun back to the aerocab and peered at the single passenger sitting inside. Marcellus instantly recognized him from the lab. It was the older scientist. Dr. Collins. The one Marcellus had sworn he saw flinch during the demonstration. But what was he doing here?
Marcellus turned to Alouette, who was staring at the man with what appeared to be the same confusion.
“They won’t get away, General. I assure you.”
The voice startled Marcellus, and he glanced up to see that the doors to the Filbright Wing were splayed wide open and Lady Alexander was standing in the center, glaring hard at him from behind her shimmering monoglass. Then, not a second later, a troop of uniformed guards came streaming through the doors behind her, running straight toward them.
“GET IN,” Dr. Collins bellowed from the awaiting vehicle.
Marcellus nodded once and the four of them dove inside.
The aerocab launched into the air, and Marcellus had to grab on to a seat to avoid being flung across the interior. An explosion of noise vibrated in his ears and shook the vehicle.
“Get down,” Dr. Collins called out. “They’re shooting.”
Alouette, Cerise, and Gabriel all threw themselves onto the floor. But before Marcellus could duck, Dr. Collins thrust something into his hand. “We’re almost to the security gate. When I cue you, throw this.”
Marcellus looked down at a smooth metal cartridge in his hand.
“What is—?” he began to ask, but his words were cut off by the sharp blasts of more gunfire.
“Now!” said Dr. Collins, plunging his hand down on the console.
The window beside Marcellus slid open, and Marcellus hurled the small capsule out of the vehicle. It landed only mètres away from the security gate, and as soon as it hit the ground, a cloud of thick green smoke plumed into the air, swallowing