It was a good plan—a smart plan. I’d thought that Clementine was all about brute strength, raw force, sheer power, given what had happened in the rotunda earlier, but she was also clever. The more I learned about her, the more I admired her, sort of like appreciating a copperhead’s coiled beauty on the green forest floor, knowing that it would bite you the second you were in range of its curved, venomous fangs.

Owen shook his head again. “I’m telling you that I can’t do it. I don’t have enough magic for that sort of thing.”

“This isn’t about strength, Mr. Grayson, it’s about finesse. A small, controlled, precise manipulation of metal and magic. Something you do exceptionally well, judging from what I’ve seen of your work. You can shape, mold, and work with silverstone like nobody else I’ve ever seen.”

Owen didn’t respond.

“Believe me, I know that you’re not the strongest elemental out there,” Clementine said. “Now that Mab’s dead, I imagine that title would go to your girlfriend. If Ms. Blanco were still alive, that is.”

Owen stared at her—just stared and stared at her. His face pinched, his body stiff and straight, his hands clenched into fists. The giant noticed his shock, distress, and anger. She smirked at him, her pretty features twisting into an arrogant sneer. All at once, Owen let out a wild, angry roar, put his head down, and charged at Clementine.

He barreled into the giant, throwing her back against the vault door. Clementine snapped her fist forward, but Owen caught her hand in his. Owen didn’t have her giant strength, but he was no lightweight. Working all those long hours and years in his forge had made him strong. More than that, though, he was a smart fighter. While their hands seesawed back and forth, Owen brought his other fist up and punched her in the face with it.

The solid, heavy smack of his hand cracking against her skin made me smile.

Clementine grunted with surprise and annoyance, but Owen wasn’t done. He managed to hit her in the face three more times before two of her men stepped forward, grabbed his arms, and dragged him away from her. Even then, Owen fought back, kicking, bucking, and trying to break loose. But the giants tightened their holds until he realized he couldn’t get free. Slowly, his struggles ceased, although I could hear his quick, ragged breathing through the camera feed.

Clementine straightened up and pushed away from the vault door. She pressed a hand to her face, pulled it away, and stared at the smear of blood on her fingers. Owen had split her lower lip open with his last punch.

“I’ll give you that one,” she said. “Although the next time you lay a hand on me, you’ll wish that you hadn’t.”