The Star Egg exploded in a loud whistle, shooting sparks up into the sky like a lightning bolt in reverse. They were gold and glistening and when they hit the clouds, they screamed and then scattered across the night like rain, readying to pour down on the camp.

Quickly, Tavia pulled a shield charm from her own pocket and cast it overhead. Whatever crap magic Nolan had loaded into that device, she didn’t want it getting anywhere near her or Bastian.

The sparks hissed angrily over the shield, but for a good twenty feet in any direction of her, the ground sizzled and smoked. People fell to the ground, blisters burning on their skin as they screamed and screamed for the pain to stop.

They were dying. Dozens of people. Including Nolan’s friends who she’d taken down with the insect charm.

Many Gods.

The Star Egg was like nothing Tavia had ever seen. What had looked like a glorious explosion in the sky was now washing down like deadly poison, melting people’s skin to the bone, while Nolan looked on with a smug smile.

“Now that’s a shame,” Nolan said. “I put a perfectly good acid charm inside of that thing and you didn’t even die.”

Tavia swallowed as the light subsided and her shield began to crumble.

“Guess I’ll just have to gut you instead,” Nolan said.

Tavia cursed and readied to show Nolan that he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

“There’s a busker trying to kill you,” a voice whispered in her ear.

Tavia jumped at the sound of Wesley, suddenly beside her.

“Are you trying to kill me?” she asked, hand pressed to her chest.

Wesley didn’t answer, but his eyes narrowed toward Nolan.

“I don’t appreciate you attacking my best busker.”

“You’re the underboss of Creije,” Nolan said. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

“Why? You got a death wish or something?” Wesley asked.

Nolan smirked. “You’re not so tough,” he said. “The infamous Wesley Thornton Walcott, come to save the—”

Wesley pulled out his gun and shot Nolan straight in the head, before he had the chance to finish.

His aim hadn’t suffered one bit in the months of captivity.

Nolan’s body fell to the ground.

“Definitely had a death wish,” Wesley said.

“By all that is holy,” Bastian said, with a gasp.

“I’ve never been called holy before.” Wesley holstered his gun. “Godly, maybe.”

He turned to Tavia, his eyes scanning over her bruised arms and the scratches she knew were marked across her face.

He reached out and pressed a hand to her cheek, and Tavia nearly froze with the shock of his touch. Warm hands pressed against her skin, in a way that was more tender than she could bear.

“I was going to take care of him,” Tavia said. “Nolan was my problem to solve.”