Page 100 of Librarian

Two more turns, and we’ll reach the prison block. High security isn’t much farther.

“You three.”

The female voice from behind us is sharp with well-worn authority. I turn on my heel, standing to attention in a way that the other two can’t quite emulate.

I should’ve come alone. They’ll give us away.

“Yes, ma’am?” I answer before either of them can say anything.

The greying woman in front of me is still wearing the stiff blue uniform of a regular enforcement officer, but her epaulettes mark her as a sergeant. I’m not sure how much rank matters between aegis and enforcement, but it’s better to err on the side of caution.

She scans us coldly, lingering on my grey eyes, and then Lambert’s golden hair.

Damn.

Even masked, we’re too recognisable. We should’ve worn wigs and contacts.

I don’t know her, but that means nothing. She could be one of any number of officers who’ve been in my family’s orbit for years.

“Come with me.”

I don’t swear, but the words running through my mind as she strides past us are less than pleasant.

She’s ahead of us now. We can knock her out if we find a quiet corridor. Hide her body and carry on.

The sergeant stops outside the thick metal door that marks the entrance to the prison. Two younger officers stand on either side, eyeing the lot of us warily.

“Sergeant Winthrop,” the one on the left greets.

The other says nothing, just stares the rest of us down with narrowed eyes.

“I’m taking these three to prepare the necromancer,” she explains, pressing her grimoire over a runeform on the wall thatmakes the door pop open. “Rector Carlton wants him moved to the scaffold early.”

She does?

I look left to Leo, whose jaw tics once.

This isn’t good, and it only gets worse.

The high security wards slide over my skin like a coating of oil the second we cross the threshold.

This corridor is busier than I’ve ever seen it. Aegis agents and enforcement officers are rushing up and down. Arcanists are being wrestled into cells on both sides of us.

One such prisoner, a slim man in his forties, actually manages to slip free in the struggle. He sprints for the door we just came through, only to be caught by an immobilising spell cast by the officer behind him.

“I’m innocent!” he cries, wide-eyed. “Where’s my son? What have you done with my son—!” His words cut off as an agent slugs him in the gut. “I’m not a necromancer!” He wheezes.

The sergeant in front of us flinches. The motion is so slight I wouldn’t’ve caught it if not for our proximity.

The agent who just punched the man scoffs. “You’re a liminal. Close enough.”

The man tries to protest, but a silencing spell is cast.

I can still see him mouthing desperate pleas as he’s shoved back into the cell, along with half a dozen others.

Are they all liminals?

Lambert twitches, and Leo bashes into him purposefully.