I’d actually remained remarkably resilient, despite how excruciating the experience was. I stuck to my story that I’d been looking for a way out the night I was caught, and I refused to tell them any details about how long I’d been practicing magic or who had taught me. It didn’t seem likely they’d do anything to Ms. Terwilliger, but there was no way I could take a chance. I’d let them rip me apart before I ever uttered her name to them.

When the shrieking alarm and small strobe light in the room’s corner went off, it jerked me out of a fragile dozing state I’d been enjoying. Those times were rare, and I was sad to see it end, especially since I knew what was probably coming. Aside from the alarm’s light, the room was in pitch darkness, so I had no idea how many people were there until I heard a man speaking into a phone or radio. His name was Grayson, and he’d been a constant companion of mine in running torture and interrogation sessions—when Sheridan wasn’t doing it personally.

“Hello?” he said. “This is Grayson in P2. Is anyone there? Is this a drill?”

If there was any response, I didn’t hear it. After a few more attempts, I heard him over by the door, like he was trying to open it.

“Something not going according to Alchemist plans?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if he heard me over the noise, especially since I couldn’t actually manage to put much volume in my voice. But when he spoke again, he was right next to me.

“Quiet,” he ordered. “And say your prayers that we actually walk out of here. Not that I expect yours to work.”

The tension in his voice told me more than his words, and I struggled to snap my addled brain into focus and assess what was going on. Whatever was happening, this definitely wasn’t part of any plan, and Alchemists hated it when their plans went awry. The question was: Was this to my advantage or not? Things were so regimented in re-education that it would take something extraordinary to really throw them off . . . and Adrian was the most extraordinary person I knew.

After Grayson failed at outside communication a couple more times, I dared speak again. “Is there really a fire?”

A few of those annoying spotlights came on, one illuminating him, the other shining right in my eyes. “Very likely. And if so, we are also very likely going to die in it,” he said. I could see sweat on his brow, and there was an edge of unease in his voice, despite the cold delivery. Noticing my scrutiny—and that I’d observed his weakness—he scowled. “Who knows? Maybe in fire, your soul will finally be purged of its—”

A click at the door preceded its opening, and Grayson spun around in surprise, mercifully ending his tirade. I couldn’t see his face, but I kind of wished I could have when I heard a familiar voice say, “Sydney?”

My heart leapt, and a hope I hadn’t felt in ages filled me anew. “Adrian?”

Immediately, my hope dimmed. Suspicion born of weeks living in paranoia kicked in. This was a trick! It had to be a trick. I’d lost contact with Adrian. He couldn’t have found me already. He couldn’t have broken in here. This was probably the latest in a long line of Alchemist tricks to try to mess with my mind . . . and yet, when I heard his voice again, I was certain it was him.

“What the hell have you done to her?”

I wanted to see him, but the restraints wouldn’t allow it. What I did see was Grayson pull what looked like a gun from his side and aim. That was as far as he got before the gun literally flew out of his hand and landed across the room. He gaped in disbelief. “What evil is—”

Someone who looked very much like Eddie came barreling into the dark room, knocking Grayson off his feet. They fell out of my line of sight, and suddenly, my vision was filled with the most beautiful image I could have hoped for: Adrian.

For a few seconds, that doubt plagued me again, that this was just one more deception on the Alchemists’ part. But no, there he was before me. Adrian. My Adrian, gazing down with those piercing green eyes. I felt an ache in my chest as emotion momentarily overcame me. Adrian. Adrian was here, and I fumbled to find something to say, some way to convey all the love and hope and fear that had built within me these last few months.

“Are you in a suit?” I managed at last, my voice choking up. “You didn’t have to dress up for me.”

“Quiet, Sage,” he said. “I’ll make the hilarious one-liners during this daring rescue.” His eyes, warm and full of love, held mine for a moment, and I thought I would melt. Then they narrowed with determination as he focused on the various restraints holding me. “What in God’s name is this? Something from the Middle Ages? Does it need a key?” Meanwhile, in the background, Eddie and Grayson continued throwing each other around.

“I’ve never seen them use one,” I told Adrian.

It took him a few tries, but he finally figured out how to undo one restraint. Once he had the knack, the rest soon followed, and I was free. Adrian carefully helped me sit up, and I was just in time to see Eddie pin Grayson to the floor in one of the spotlights. Eddie pointed a gun at the back of his head, which surprised me at first, but even in the poor lighting, I could tell there was something unusual about that gun.

“Get up,” said Eddie, rising off his victim. “Slowly. And put your hands on your head.”

“I’d rather die a fiery death than be the prisoner of some evil creature of hell!” retorted Grayson, though he still complied.

“Rest easy, we’re not taking you prisoner,” said Adrian. “We’re saving your dumb ass so that you can go join the rest of your lame colleagues.”