He shifted. It was not a quick process, not even for an experienced shifter. She, however, had more freedom and forms than he would ever have. She transformed her arm into the ridged leg of some massive insect, and stabbed him in the thigh with it. The shock to his body halted the shift. He collapsed, grabbing at his bloody leg with skinny arms that had just begun to sprout stubby feathers.

“Alix, get me Romaire and Aslain from security. I want Michel confined,” Inaya said.

Alix ran off. Michel swore at her.

“As for the rest of you, tell me what we’re going to do to fix this bloody mess.”

Inaya had been awake for nearly forty hours. Each time she thought she could not stay awake another moment, some other bit of terrible news came in. Three cell leaders, including Hynri, had been detained. Six detention centers had been overrun by her people, and most of the raiders and the inmates killed. There was mass looting and destruction across seven major cities. An entire district in Montmare had been burned to the ground.

She had dispatched Alix and Juste to separate safe houses far outside Inoublie. Whether or not they would get there safely, she had no idea, but it was far better than keeping them all here. As for her headquarters, she had given orders that it was to be packed, moved, and purged immediately. If the detention centers had cell leaders, it was only a matter of time before one of them gave up this place.

Her retreat was fast, but calculated. She had put this plan into place the year before. She knew where they needed to go. How she would build anything positive from the madness, she did not know. Right now, she just needed to salvage as much as possible before they were all burned out.

She was sitting at the stove in her room, burning stacks of correspondence, when Adeliz appeared.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Adeliz said.

“They will need to wait. Our timeline cannot be altered.”

“All right,” Adeliz said. She turned away.

“Wait,” Inaya said. She held one of Eshe’s reports in her hand, one of the first he had brought her, before Inaya insisted on sending them on undocumented. “Who is it?” she asked.

“It’s Isabet Softel,” Adeliz said.

“Oh, my God,” Inaya said. “Take me to her.”

She followed Adeliz up and into the secure reception room. Inaya strode confidently after her. Perhaps something could be salvaged, she thought. If Isabet was alive, almost anything was possible. What she and Eshe had done was of no concern. All that mattered was that they were back, precisely when she needed them.

Inaya stepped into the reception room—and stopped short.

Isabet was not alone.