This was stupid. He didn’t need Illya to find Jude. He was a Prophet. He closed his eyes, searching for Jude’s esha again. He let it pull his mind away from the crematorium, from Illya, from his own body, and carry him through space, until he could see it, see him.

Jude knelt in a grand foyer, his back to one of the walls. Tall windows stretched above him, letting in the gray light of the sky. He wasn’t alone—Hector knelt beside him, along with the Prince of Herat, Beru, Ephyra, and a Herati girl Anton didn’t recognize. With a jolt, Anton realized the boy beside her was Evander.

They were all bound, surrounded by a dozen Witnesses, and, strangely, a few Paladin, held at attention in front of a mezzanine balcony, from which Pallas gazed down at them. Anton couldn’t hear what was being said—everything came to him indistinct and blurred, like he was listening through a thick glass pane. But then two of the Witnesses seized Jude and dragged him away from the others.

“No!” Anton cried, and the image dissolved. He was back in the tunnel with Illya and the Wanderer, his hands curled into tight fists.

“Anton?” the Wanderer said, her hand on his shoulder. Even Illya looked spooked.

“Pallas has them. All of them.” He looked at Illya. “Beru and Ephyra, too.”

Illya let out a soft curse. “Where?”

“I don’t know, some kind of foyer,” Anton replied. He tried to recall. “It had tall windows and a balcony overlooking it.”

Illya spun on his heel and entered the tunnel.

“Where are you going?” Anton called after him.

“The room you saw is in the Archon’s residence,” Illya called back. “This tunnel will lead us to the infirmary inside the citadel, so we just need to sneak back to the residence. Although I’m not exactly sure how to get through the citadel without being seen—oh! We can find some Sentry uniforms in the infirmary and disguise ourselves.”

“And then what?” Anton demanded.

Illya paused, looking off into the darkness. “I think I might have a plan,” he said slowly. “Unfortunately for you, it means you’ll have to trust me.”

Anton recalled the look on Jude’s face as the Witnesses had dragged him away. That grim determination, fire and steel in the face of fear. Whatever Pallas was planning to do with him, he wanted to break him. Kill him, maybe.

“Fine,” Anton said, reluctantly pushing the word out. Illya’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected Anton to actually agree. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll trust me?” Illya asked, his golden gaze careful on Anton’s face.

Anton felt the Wanderer’s curious gaze on him as well. He wrapped his arms around himself, staving off the chill that suddenly staked through him. “No. Never. But I’ll go with you.”