It took us about ten minutes of walking before we were within sight of the mine office, a small building made out of sheet metal and fiberglass, covered up with whitewashed wooden boards. A couple of security lights glowed over the front door. I peered into the darkness, but I didn’t see any guards patrolling around the building.

If Tobias Dawson did have a night shift, they’d probably be farther up around the curve in the basin, stationed at the front entrance to the mined mountain. Not back here in the bottleneck where access was already restricted.

Still, I palmed one of my silverstone knives, just in case.

We crouched behind a bulldozer that was the closest one to the mining office. Nothing moved in the dark night. The drizzle had picked up and turned into a steady rain. A few damp tendrils had come undone from my ponytail. The rain had turned my chocolate locks an even darker brown, and I used the cold moisture to slick them back into place.

“Come on,” I whispered to the detective. “Let’s do this.”

I crept forward. After a moment, I heard Donovan’s boots squish in a puddle behind me. I smiled. Just like old times. If a mere two months ago could be considered old times.

I eased over to the front door of the mining office. A sign on the side read Dawson Mining Company. Once again, the first two is in Mining had been transformed into Tobias Dawson’s rune—a lit stick of dynamite.

I wore the same kind of gardening gloves Donovan Caine did, so I had no qualms about reaching forward and trying the doorknob. Locked. Not a problem. I pulled off one of my gloves and reached for my Ice magic.

The cold, silver light flickered over my palm, and a few seconds later, I had two long, slender Ice picks. Donovan watched me work with a mixture of curiosity and resignation.

Less than a minute later, the lock slid home, and the door opened.

I threw the picks in a nearby puddle so they’d melt, pulled my glove back on, and eased into the building.

Donovan followed me and closed the door behind him. I stood still for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the lack of light. With the darkness and clouds outside, the interior of the building was almost pitch-black, as if it were already midnight instead of creeping up on seven o’clock.

Once I was sure no guards were coming to interrupt us, I pulled a small flashlight out of my jacket pocket and flicked it on. Beside me, Donovan did the same.

We stood in a waiting room. Some chairs, a table, out-of-date magazines. A desk in the middle probably belonged to a secretary. Behind it, a corridor led farther back into the building. That’s where I headed, with the detective behind me.