“The previous victim—” a cold title for a girl who had been Graeson’s sister, “—was killed on Chandler pack land.” I glanced between the wicked sharp blade, the disinterested warg and the magistrate with glittering eyes. “Mr. Graeson, as a member of the Chandler pack, has rights under the Native Species of Magical Origins Act.”

Some of the sparkle left Vause’s gaze. “So he does.” A cutting glance from her and the guard sheathed his blade. “Very well, Mr. Graeson. You may stay.” Vause pretended interest in her nails. “You may observe Camille’s technique with me.”

I flinched at the punishment. It didn’t go unnoticed by Graeson. The last thing I wanted was for him to witness what I was about to do. Vause knew it, and she had offered him a front-row seat.

“We can’t detain the girl much longer.” Vause strode down the hall with the confidence of someone who expected her orders to be followed. One guard accompanied her. The other, the one who had drawn on Graeson, hung back to babysit him. She snapped her fingers. “Camille?”

“Coming.” I reached her side in a few quick strides. She hadn’t been waiting. Her legs were just that short. “What you’re asking me to do…” I wiped my damp palms on my pants. “I don’t know if…”

“You can do this.” She sounded more confident in my abilities than I ever had been. “It’s one of your gifts. To perfect it, you must practice it.”

I sucked down a shuddering breath, seconds from pleading with her to let me off the hook or to find someone else to conduct the interview. She must have sensed my crumbling resolve, because she guided me into a small room and shut the door behind us. It locked. The interior was dark, and the front wall was made entirely of glass. A two-way mirror.

The view made my chest ache. A figure wrapped in a fuzzy canary-yellow blanket sat on a chair bolted to the floor. All the furniture in the interrogation room was secured, but the stark contrast of that quivering mound of fabric worn soft by multiple washings and the sterile room made me cringe. All I saw to confirm someone was underneath were the tips of two slender fingers holding it in place.

“She hasn’t spoken a word since she was recovered.” Vause peered at the girl with a frown cutting her mouth. “We need to find out what she knows before shock erodes her memory.” A grimace. “Children are so resilient.”

The line, delivered with such clipped precision, didn’t strike me as Vause relaying a comforting thought as much as her admonishing a flaw in the child’s makeup. But she was right. It was now or never, and the cost to me paled in comparison to the loss of more children.