Bri’s mouth falls open. “Oh my! I-I need to take a closer look at what type of magic that was, but I have it all stored here.” She presses her red frames to her nose. “I’m going to figure out how it works, and also where it came from. That was very powerful magic, and whoever made it will definitely need replenishing or they’re done for.”

“Replenishing?” I ask. “You mean their onyx stones won’t work? Like they’ve used up all their magic?”

“Yep. The Chancellor does Replenishments every five or six years. If you use all you have before then, you’re just out of luck. But the magic the Chancellor deposits is so highly concentrated, it lasts forever. My parents are old, and they’ve only been replenished once.”

I study my gilded arms. That’s why so much power lives in these cuffs. They were an ancient relic that the Ancestors stored their power within. And then, when the Elders were forced to flee to Yiyo, they, too, added their power to it. These things are good for an eon at least.

“Someone clearly put all they had in that box, hoping it would drain me.”

“There is probably a pretty bounty on your head for that kind of handiwork,” Jhamal says.

“Yep,” Bri says, snapping her bag closed. “And my guess is whoever made this box is completely weakened.”

Weakened, meaning… they couldn’t have gotten away easily.

“Could they still be here?”

“Likely,” Bri says. “They’d probably be too weak to even walk for some time.”

“Find them,” I say, and Zora whips out her javelin, dashing out of sight. Jhamal and Bri stay with the hostage as I jet off, searching, shaking off the spook from earlier, when shoes squeak somewhere.

“I hear you!”

I catch a glimpse of spiked hair with red tips and shoot a stream of magic in that direction. But I miss.

“You’re surrounded. You can’t outrun us.”

He pivots to run in another direction but comes face-to-face with the point of Zora’s spear.

“Please!” He falls to his knees, hands behind his head. “Don’t hurt me.” The onyx on his wrist is depressed, sunken in. Bri was right, he’s powerless. I pull him up by his collar and notice the L on his chest painted red. We drag him back to the group where the others are. He looks between us all and his gaze settles on the hostage, with a flicker of recognition.

“Grag, that you?” he says.

“He’s a Loyalist,” Zora spits.

“I…,” the hostage starts.

“Tell them, Grag, tell them I’m decent. Tell them not to hurt me. Please?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” I say. “You former Patrol or something?”

He says nothing.

“Jelani has addressed you, open your mouth and speak or I will open it for you,” Jhamal says, and Zora presses her dagger tip under the man’s chin.