“That’ll take too long.” I felt the futures shift as Slate came to a decision. “Trask, put up a fog cloud, then get Caldera and the front team. We’re going in.”

I didn’t hear Trask’s answer, but I felt the signature of water magic. A moment later the air grew cool, strands of mist forming out of the night, spreading and thickening to become a fog. Within seconds everything more than a few feet away had disappeared into the cloud. It was the same spell my condensers used, but much more powerful: the cloud was already more than fifty feet wide and it wasn’t slowing down.

I felt a hand on my arm and glanced up to see Slate. His eyes glittered. “Let’s move, seer boy,” he said. “You’re with me.”

Briefly it occurred to me that if Slate wanted to take a shot at me, now would be the perfect time to do it. Oh well, I’ve already had two Keepers try to backstab me this evening. Lightning doesn’t strike three times in the same place, right? I took a deep breath, then stood up and ran for the building.

It caught Slate off guard—I think he’d been expecting to have to drag me. I left him behind, outdistancing him in the mist, and suddenly I was running alone. The mist cloud blocked sight and muffled sound, and for a brief moment it didn’t seem as though I was in a battle at all. The sounds of gunfire were faint and distant, and there was no one close enough to threaten me. It was almost peaceful.

Then somewhere above, the machine gunners shifted fire, and in a scattering of the futures ahead of me I saw myself torn apart. Okay, not so peaceful. I slowed to a jog, twisting sideways, sensing the bullets snap past. Behind me I heard someone lose their breath in a gasp, followed by a thud. And then all of a sudden the walls of the White Rose estate were looming up, flower beds under my feet. I’d made it through the gauntlet of fire, and I was too close for the gunners on the roof to reach me. There was a blackened hole in the outer wall where one of Landis’s fireballs had struck; I could still feel heat radiating from the stone. I went through . . .

. . . and came out of the mist into a plain wooden corridor, face to face with two men in shirts and jeans. Both were carrying guns but they weren’t aiming them at me, and before they could react I pointed at them. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you with Vihaela?”

Confusion is the ally of the prepared. The two men paused, looking at each other. I didn’t give them time to react. “Order is to pull back to the upper floor. Move!”

“But they told us—” one of the men began.

Slate came out of the mist behind me, black energy hovering at his hands. I dived for cover. The men hesitated—first mistake—and levelled their guns at Slate—second mistake. They didn’t get the chance for a third. Black lightning cracked and I heard the thump of bodies hitting the floor.