I want to say, “Where was that when we were being chased with fire arrows?” But I swallow it back down and let my friend make it. Glad she’s at least more composed this time. I sniff the potion, and mintiness stings my nose, my sinuses opening wide. I drop the pill in the vial and the potion fizzes like a hot soda can that’s been shaken up. I tip my head back and drink. It’s sweet with a note of tang, like wildflower honey, but with an acidic burn going down.

“Gross, I know. But it’ll help.” Bri offers the potion to Zora again.

Her expression is steel. “I do not need your tricks.”

“Zora, if Bri says it’ll work, it’ll work.”

“I do not know her to trust her. And judging from earlier…” She shakes her head and looks away.

Bri purses her lips, but says nothing, takes her own swig of the potion, and stuffs the rest away.

“She might change her mind,” I whisper to her.

She snatches up her suction-cup gadget and holds it out like a flashlight. “I won’t freeze like that again.”

“Bri—”

“Just let me be mad at myself, okay? I need to get it together. Be harder on myself.” She presses a button on top of the gadget and a blue light blares. “I’m ready.”

The storm clouds have stopped crying, but they hover above, gloomy and foreboding. A ball of light thrashes in my hands as I step inside the fallen structure. The ground glows blue in the light from my magic. I scan, watching out for booby-trapped hot spots like the one Bri stepped on. Maybe there was a subtle mark on the ground and she missed it.

Jhamal and Zora are on my left, Bri on my right, and around us is a maze of concrete walls dotted with rods of steel stuck out at odd angles. Faint light shines up ahead through the broken building like a beacon. I point, then press a finger to my lips. I walk as softly as I can, easing each breath out, darkness growing thicker than the humidity. The walls groan and I conjure energy in my empty hand too.

“Maybe this is just a fallen building?” Bri asks. Her gadget light is swirling but not going off. “Not another trap?”

It’s definitely a trap. The question is why the Chancellor’s laying traps, watching from his tower, sending Loyalists after us this way instead of fighting us head-on.

The building shifts, metal rustled by strong winds groans, and chills skitter up my skin.

Clang.

My breath is tight in my chest, and the hostage, being dragged by Zora, backs into me. I steady him on his feet. We survey each direction, Zora with her javelin out.

“They are definitely here,” she whispers.

Loyalists. My shoulders cinch.

“Do not panic,” Zora says. “That is the most formidable foe.”