Quinton offers me a slender, manicured hand. “I am delighted to meet you, Michael.” The firmness of his shake takes me by surprise.

“Right,” I answer curtly because I have no idea if this meeting will be a delight or a disaster.

“You can remove the irons,” he says to Flanagan without moving his eyes from me. “They will not be needed.”

Flanagan grasps the chain between my wrists and uses it to pull me closer. “Behave.”

I scowl at the condescending bastard. “I’m not raving anymore, Flanagan. I’m a normal human being you’re unlawfully keeping in a cage. Just take the fucking chains off.”

He arches a sardonic eyebrow, a glint of warning in his eyes as he unfastens the manacles. I glower at him, but it’s like staring into two diamond suns, and I’m forced to pretend his gloved hands are more interesting.

Quinton stands to the side, leaning on his cane. He ignores his books and crystals now strewn across the floor from my clash with his bookshelves and studies me instead. His wrinkled forehead suggests I’m a rare curiosity he can’t quite believe he’s seeing. Power emanates from him, a dull wave that registers as a tingle across my skin. His mouth tugs with a brief smile, private and knowing.

“This treatment may seem unfair, Michael, but it is prudent to be cautious. For your benefit as well as ours. And Commander Flanagan has not chained you unlawfully. The High Council may deal with any supernatural creature however it sees fit. The public may be ignorant of the supernatural world, but I can assure you governments are well aware of the dangers and how vital the Guardians’ role is.”

I lean against a shelf so Flanagan can unlock my ankle restraints. “Well, with respect and everything, I’m not a supernatural creature.”

“You are a Channeler. This places you well within the High Council’s jurisdiction. But human Flame-born are precious, both to us and to the wider supernatural community. We only restrict your liberty while we establish risk.”

Yeah, somehow that doesn’t reassure me. With that amount of power, if Quinton decides I’m too much of a risk, what’s to stop him from locking me up and throwing away the key?

When Flanagan’s finished, I rub down my wrists, relieved to be free of restraints. The Flame settles into a more even spread throughout my body, softening my muscles. Without the iron’s oppressive burden, my limbs feel feather light, and the nausea subsides.

Quinton gestures to a chair beside his oak desk with a graceful wave of his hand.

“Please, Michael. Take a seat. I would offer you tea, but I do not think our commander can spare us the time.” He side-eyes Flanagan, who stiffly shakes his head.