Gareth Brody sat in a chipped plastic chair in the prison waiting room, listening for the guard to call his name. He drummed his fingers on his briefcase, casting a dark look at the guard booth every so often, playing the role of an impatient young attorney.

In truth, the cinder block walls and barred doorways left him feeling claustrophobic. The air felt stale, the lighting artificial and too bright. Outdoors, the prison yard was barely more than a lengthy stretch of concrete, broken only by steel poles supporting basketball nets, all enclosed by chain-link fencing and barbed wire.

Silver must be going nuts in here.

Gareth would remedy that soon enough.

A loud buzz echoed in the small room, and the barred door swung open. “Mr. Brody? Your client is available now.”

Gareth followed the guard through the doorway, mentally calculating how quickly he could disable the man. Three seconds? Maybe four? This wasn’t a high-security facility, and this officer barely looked capable of guarding a box of donuts.

Two hallways, four turns, and three locked doors brought them into a small chamber. Gareth memorized the path, remembering which doors required a slide from the guard’s key, and which required a pin code on a pad mounted on the wall.

This would almost be too easy. Perhaps he could ask Officer Incompetent to leave the key on the table.

“Have a seat here,” said the guard.

Gareth dropped into the plastic chair—which sported a cracked seat—and plopped his briefcase on the table. The locks snapped open with a loud click.

Usually, he did this without files. But today he had several.

He and Silver had things to discuss.

He pulled a pen out of the briefcase and spun it through his fingers. He could eviscerate two people in less than five minutes with nothing more than this pen. Idiots hadn’t even checked his belongings. Typical. Flash a business card and a little hair gel, and they assume you’re legit. He should have just walked in here with a gun.

It was a miracle they’d been able to keep Silver here this long, honestly.

But then the opposite door clicked open, and another guard led Gareth’s client into the room.

The last time he’d seen Silver, the younger Guide had been in his late teens. Blond hair, too-dark-to-be-tan skin, slightly slanted eyes all topped off with a British accent and a talent for being ruthless. Silver had achieved control of the elements far younger than any other Guide—including Gareth himself.

Silver had no family, no attachments. He’d been given assignments early. Some had said he was too young, that he’d fail or crumble in the line of duty. That he’d abandon his task of killing pure Elementals.

Silver proved them all wrong. He’d killed without mercy, completing each mission without complaint or unnecessary mess.

He’d done well.