Dread whispered through Rosalind. He wanted her to take on the Brotherhood?

Aurora sliced through the top of a tin can with a knife, spilling juice all over the counter. “Have some faith in Caine. He’s a brilliant military strategist. Ambrose made him a Duke.”

Tammi ran her fingers fretfully through her hair. “Is there another plan? Like, one that doesn’t involve provoking the wrath of an ancient society of lunatics?”

Rosalind stared at Caine in disbelief. “Just the two of us are supposed to topple their security systems.”

Aurora dumped a pile of mandarin slices onto a plate. “You’re more powerful than you know.”

Caine ran a finger over his lower lip, studying her. “We break into the building, and then we free the captives, so the sadists you once worked for don’t burn them to death. Aurora can tell you all about their torture techniques.”

Seven hells, the torture. She couldn’t let this happen to more people, not after what she’d done with Josiah. Maybe this was her chance to atone. She knew what it felt like to burn now, and couldn’t subject others to the same fate—not if there was something she could do about it. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you free them.”

Caine let out a long breath. “Good. And now I have to teach you magic. We haven’t got much time.”

Rosalind stopped pacing, folding her arms. “Before what? Is there a specific deadline?”

“I have a good friend in there,” Caine said. “Two, actually. And I don’t want them to die.”

“I don’t really want Rosalind to die,” Tammi said. “Do I get a vote in this?”

“No,” Aurora said, spearing mandarin slices with toothpicks.

Two friends. At least one of them had to be Miranda, but she didn’t need to ask about that now. And the other—she could only hope the other was not an incubus too. Oh gods, what if the demon I interrogated was Caine’s friend?

All at once, a wave of guilt slammed into her. She’d been trying to keep the memories at bay, but she couldn’t hold them back anymore. I’ve done terrible things. She slid her hands over her face, and her chest heaved with a sob. Such a simple set-up for an interrogation. A chair, cinderblocks, cloth, and water. She suppressed the urge to be sick. It could have been Caine.

Caine clenched his jaw. “There’s no need to cry. You’re supposed to be a warrior, and I’ll make sure you don’t die.”

Josiah had looked her straight in the eye and told her she needed to hurt the incubus. He’d sworn the demons were planning a massacre to rival the Boston Slaughter, and that the only way to stop it was to break the monster’s will. Josiah had said it was her duty to force the incubus to confess everything he knew until the Brotherhood could stop the carnage. It was the life of one monster sacrificed for the lives of thousands of innocent people. Simple math.