No surface remains uncovered. Without any windows in here to let in light, it’s as if I’ve literally stepped into a chamber of the Premier’s mind.

My eyes widen as I scan the walls. It takes me another moment to realize that every place he’s circled in Mara is a location where he has been digging for artifacts. This is where he goes to study the artifacts that have become his obsession.

There are sketches of the relics that his teams have already dug up near Newage, alongside blueprints scribbled with notes from the pages of documents by the Early Ones. The papers are everywhere. A small stack of them lies on a table nearest the entrance of the tiny room.

Then I spot it. His small loop of keys, lying on the same table. The thin rectangle of metal, its holes punched in an elaborate sequence of patterns.

The key to Adena and Aramin’s cell and shackles, imprinted with a series of numbers. Immediately I remember the code that had gotten us inside the lab institute during my failed attempt with my fellow Strikers at destroying the complex.

The Premier stays curled over his table. From here, I can tell that this surface is covered with maps and drawings too, but of lands I don’t recognize, places on the other side of the sea. He has drawn haphazardly over them, and now stares blankly at the maps as if he can see something on the other side.

I take a step forward, conscious of exactly how far I am from those keys.

Constantine stirs for the first time. He glances at me over his shoulder. He’s deeply drunk, and his gaze is lost, leaving him looking, for the first time, as young as he actually is.

Constantine stares at me for a long moment. Then he narrows his eyes, and in that gaze is a cold anger I’ve never seen. Now I can tell that the paint on his face is smudged because he’s been crying. Through the bond between us, his rage spikes.

What are you doing here? he says, his voice snarling. He must be even drunker than I thought, if he has only now noticd me.

I didn’t see you in your bed, I tell him. So I came in to investigate. Seemed reasonable, after your eventful night. Why aren’t you back in the palace?

Am I obliged to tell you everything, my little Skyhunter? Even in my mind, his voice sounds slurred and careless.

How can I protect you if I don’t know where you are?

So interested in protecting me today. He laughs once and turns his back to me again. Get out.

I hesitate, my curiosity locking me in place as my eyes dart up to the maps, then to the keys again, then back to this unsteady Premier. The assassination attempt really did get to him, after all.

A tempting thought emerges: I could kill him here. No windows, no one else here to protect him. It’s likely that no one knows this room exists except for the Premier. Everyone trusts me with him, given the very public way I just saved his life. But here he is alone and weak, a dying young man left to face the Skyhunter, the near-indestructible weapon he has created. I could cut his throat and flee in the middle of the night. Grab the keys and free my Striker friends. By the time anyone else finds him, we’ll all be long gone. What delicious irony it would be. The urge that fills me is so strong that my fists tighten, every bit of my body wanting to move forward.