Page 14 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

And the consequences of his actions?

She paused.

It was a simple, half-beat hesitation before she stopped and tilted her head, as if thinking.

Is she feeling me?

Zarek went utterly still, despite being well cloaked from mortal eyes.

She didn’t turn toward him. But she whispered a word, barely audible, that echoed through his chest.

One word.

“Zarek.”

She started to turn in his direction, as if she’d sensed him. Just like he had with her.

Impossible!

He withdrew in the blink of an eye. Stone replaced the street. Firelight replaced daylight. The veyll sealed behind him with a soundless finality that should have steadied his mind.

It didn’t.

He stood in his chambers, boots planted on slate floors where staves were etched deep into the stone, with hands clenched at his sides.

“How?” The word echoed off black stone.

As per protocol, he’d gone to check that she had forgotten. Like the male nurse had. That was all. Just a routine verification required by the Accords: Any mortal who comes into contact with the Vanguard is to be checked. Confirm memories of their existence erased. Ensure containment of exposure.

Zarek was always cloaked to ensure no one in the mortal realm saw him. It’s the one thing he taught his soldiers repeatedly: never, ever drop the cloaking in the mortal realm.

And yet, she had sensed him.

How?

Mortals forgot. That was the law.

What’s worse is she didn’t call him angel, demon, God, or monster of nightmares. She had simply spoken his name. Mortals never knew his name as they weren’t to know he existed.

But when he had removed the pain, she’d turned to look for him. Would she have seen him?

Zarek stopped pacing.

Helviti. If she had, that too would have been a failure of the Accords.

There was a knock at the door, and Martar pushed it open before Zarek said anything.

“You’re wearing a hole in the floor.” Martar entered with a plate in one hand. “Brought your supper.” He casually kicked the door shut, then put the plate on the large oak desk. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? You never pace unless something’s wrong.”

Zarek lifted an eyebrow at the plate. “You ate my food.”

Martar grinned at the half-eaten sandwich in his hand. “You weren’t going to eat it. We both know that.” He took a mouthful of meat and bread and lowered himself into one of the leather chairs by the fireplace. “You checked the mortals.”

“Yes. The male is clear. Memory intact and clueless to anything gone wrong.”

“And the woman?”

Zarek hesitated, then pushed the plate away. “She went to work. Late. Had a headache and showed the typical elevated stress responses.”