Kade's quarters had been restored, at least on the surface.
His armor stood where it should, tall and unyielding on its rack, burnished black with the green shimmer of scorched enamel. His weapons were remounted with reverence—Chainsword teeth precisely aligned, bolter cleaned until it gleamed like obsidian under the soft glow of lumen strips. The drakescale mantle hung in solemn readiness, its scorched edges still smelling faintly of cinder, waiting for the next war council or battle sermon.
The real work had been recovering the smallest things.
Miniature figurines of Astartes, many hand-carved and some still bearing flecks of paint, had been scattered across the room—flung by shockwaves or careless boots during the chaos. His painting station had suffered the worst of it: brushes snapped, pigment jars cracked and bleeding into each other, delicate scrolls stained with soot and smoke. The personal tomes he kept—some penned in his own hand, others gifted or salvaged—had darkened covers and singed edges, but none were lost.
He had cleaned it all himself. Not a servitor. Not a serf. Just Kade, with a cloth and a steady hand, kneeling among the wreckage like a penitent in a chapel of ash.
The silence in the halls beyond was heavier than the vacuum outside the hull.
So many quarters were sealed now, their occupants gone—names etched into memory, gene-seed vials stored in stasis, and personal effects locked away for whatever family or Chapter vault might one day claim them. Even the wargear had been stripped from their racks and delivered into the care of the Mechanicus for re-sanctification and repair. The rites of loss were bureaucratic, precise. But no less painful.
Kade worked now at his desk beneath the dim gold of a suspended lumen-globe, its flickering hum the only sound in the room.
His helm rested beside him, angled just so—watching, if one believed in ghosts. Before him lay the plasma pistol: the casing split open like a patient on an operating table. The elegant, seamless exterior Koron had crafted was already set aside, wrapped in cloth as though it were a relic. In its place, Kade fitted the angular, red-stamped panels of the Mechanicus-standard casing. Cruder. Bulkier. Easier to explain.
Ira guided him silently through the process, her voice precise. "Step seventeen: Secure coupling point. Route secondary conduit through regulation channel. Confirm thermal bleed shunt."
Kade didn't respond aloud. Just nodded.
The fewer questions asked, the better.
And if the enemy misjudged the pistol by its outward appearance…
So much the better.
-
The combat servitor's blade howled through the air—an arc of steel and humming charge. Kade shifted his weight in a half-step, raising his practice blade just in time to catch the strike along its edge. The shock bit down his arm like biting wire. He twisted with the impact, angling the servitor's strike up and away, even as it stepped forward with mechanical precision—its second blade stabbing for his flank.
He brought his knee up sharply. Superhumanly hard flesh met alloy with a hollow thud. His hips twisted with the motion, using the force of the impact to pivot away. He let the momentum carry him, planting his foot and swinging the haft of his training sword around in a brutal arc. The blow struck the servitor square in the chestplate—just beneath the embossed Mechanicus skull—and launched it backwards with a squeal of stressed servos.
It hit the deck hard. Sparks flew. One optic flickered and died. The other dimmed to a soft, meaningless pulse.
Kade stood over it, sweat trickling off his frame. The ring was quiet again. Too quiet.
His gaze drifted—not to the servitor, but past it. Back into memory.
He could still see the angel's blade. The way it moved through the air—not with effort, but with intent. Like a thought made manifest. Like the laws of motion had politely stepped aside.
The scar under his training robes itched.
He touched it lightly.
"Ira," he said, his voice low.
The servitor clattered as he kicked it aside, clearing the center of the ring. He bent down to pick up his helmet, slipping it on.
"Begin simulation," he said. "The false angel. Hand to hand."
IRA:
Confirmed. Extrapolating… compiling reference data… simulation ready. Warning. Target abilities are approximations, error rate likely.
And then—it stood before him.
A digital phantom. Wings like woven flame. Eyes full of light and hunger.
Kade charged.
A low feint, legs braced to spring into a sweeping slash—
The angel moved. Not faster. Just… earlier. It had already seen the thrust coming, already begun to counter before he committed.
The world jerked sideways.
His vision filled with white.
IRA:
Combat lifespan: 2.48 seconds.
"I know," he muttered, flexing his fingers against the grips. "Again."
This time, it slit his throat before he landed his first blow.
Again.
Spine severed.
Again.
A clean slice up through the leg and out the hip. He collapsed, already dead.
Again.
His head rolled across the arena floor, mouth still moving.
Again.
Dead.
Again.
Dead.
Again.
Dead.
Again. Again. Again.
The room echoed with the same silence that followed every death. No impact. No breath. Just the stillness of a warrior learning how to lose in new and imaginative ways.
Kade knelt on the padded floor, chest rising and falling beneath his robes like bellows under strain.
Not once had he scratched it. Not a single nick on its armor. Not a dent. Not a delay.
IRA:
User KADE. This unit offers predictive combat modeling to improve outcome ratios against this simulation.
"No," he said, quieter now, but firm. He reached up, resting a hand gently against the top of his helm. "I have to be ready to fight without you. No armor. No gear. No backup. No tricks. Just me."
IRA:
This unit understands. User KADE is preparing for worst-case tactical failure. This unit has a suggestion.
Kade sat down cross-legged in the dust-ringed floor, exhaling slowly. The training servitors still smoked faintly in the corners.
"What's your suggestion?" he asked, closing his eyes.
IRA:
Integration. User KORON can provide embedded cogitator implant. This unit would always remain with user KADE.
The words hung in the air like frost.
Kade didn't answer right away. The training ring around him was still—only the low thrum of the ship's engines far below and the whisper of cooling servitor wreckage kept the silence from becoming absolute. The simulated angel's form had vanished, leaving only a faint shimmer where it had stood. Gone. Like it had never been.
He exhaled.
Once.
Twice.
Then, with a voice low and even:
"No. I'm sorry, but I'm not willing to take that step."
He stood slowly, brushing motes of dust from his robes. The scar still pulsed faintly, a memory of the angel's blade.
"You being in my armor," he said, meeting the gaze of the HUD's interface, "is one thing. And even that's only just... barely reconcilable. But fusing? Installing you into my flesh? Merging man and machine?" His jaw tightened. "That's a step too far. For me, at least."
A long moment passed. Ira didn't speak.
The interface blinked once. A small cursor flickered in the upper corner of his retinal display, patiently pulsing in quiet thought.
Then—
IRA:
This unit acknowledges boundaries. This unit will focus efforts on ensuring that User KADE's worst-case tactical scenario does not occur.
Kade couldn't help it.
The grin started at the edge of his mouth, crooked and tired. He shook his head, voice warm with wry amusement. "That," he said, "I believe I can live with."
IRA:
That is the point, yes.
Another thought passed through his mind. "Ira, extrapolate out a new combat scenario."
IRA:
Confirmed. Which opponent shall this unit simulate?
Kade stood slowly, the weight of the training blade firm in his hands. His voice was steady, but beneath it, something coiled with quiet challenge.
"Koron."
A pause.
IRA:
...Warning. This unit lacks sufficient processing power to accurately replicate user KORON. Simulation will operate at 9.7% fidelity.
"Acceptable."
He stepped into the ring, the air in the training bay still heavy with the scent of oil, ozone, and scorched polymer. Scoring from previous drills marred the floor like old battle scars. Around him, the distant echoes of the ship hummed through the walls—an ancient rhythm of metal lungs and reactor heartbeats.
The image resolved in front of him.
Koron stood with helmet in place, the faint blue shimmer of the projection catching the low light. No weapon in hand, just empty palms and the neutral posture of a man who sought to speak more than fight. No weapons on his belt, just supplies for repairs. He looked like a serf.
Not a warrior.
Kade struck first.
The dulled blade hissed as it carved the air—only for the projection to slip beneath it, unnervingly fluid. Kade pivoted, following through with a brutal elbow strike meant to catch the sim mid-move. Again, Koron's ghost avoided it by millimeters.
Six seconds. Six attempts.
Each met only air and a flicker of retreat.
It was only by raw momentum that Kade finally swept the phantom's leg, catching its ankle in a hook and slamming the training blade down onto the mat—pinning nothing.
The simulation shimmered. Then vanished.
Kade stood still, chest rising with measured breath. The mat beneath him was unmarred, but in his mind, the echo of that slippery defense still played.
"Nearly ten seconds," he muttered. "Impressive reflexes… for a mortal."
IRA:
Reminder: Projection was only at 9.7% fidelity. This unit cannot replicate user KORON's full augmentation suite, including:
– Predictive heuristics
– On-the-fly hardware adaptation
– Mobility, combat and stealth systems
– Complete personal arsenal
– Fleetmind AI SASHA
Kade lowered himself into the center of the ring, sword laid across his lap. His voice was calm, but the question carried a deliberate edge.
"So… are you saying I'd lose?"
IRA:
Extrapolating... Extrapolating... Conclusion: Situational.
He narrowed his eyes. "Clarify."
IRA:
In direct confrontation: user KADE is predicted to win 82.9% of engagements. User KORON possesses greater reflexive speed, but user KADE's physical thresholds are significantly higher. Durability is comparable. User KORON's speed and evasiveness are superior. However, user KADE's strength and combat focused augments provide greater power in sustained combat.
Kade raised an eyebrow beneath his helm. "So I would win the majority of the time?"
IRA:
Correct—if engagement is direct, with no tactical ambush, concealment, or psychological manipulation. However...
The cursor blinked once.
User KORON possesses fewer exploitable emotional vectors.
A frown formed.
"What does that mean? I have no emotional weaknesses."
IRA:
Incorrect. User KADE maintains emotional bonds with his battle-brothers. Seeks honorable victories. Wishes for glorious methods. These are vulnerabilities. They may be weaponized against user KADE.
Kade snorted. "So you're telling me he'd cheat."
IRA:
Correct. A fair fight? User KADE wins most encounters. However, user KORON will not fight fair if possible.
Kade leaned back slightly, shoulders still tense. The air in the training bay seemed quieter now, as if holding its breath with him. He stared at the flickering ring's center—empty again, save for the faint impression of a ghost that had never truly been there.
"Then what about his weaknesses?" he asked at last, voice thoughtful. "You said he has fewer, not none."
IRA:
Affirmative.
User KORON employs non-standard tactics. Deception, distraction, misdirection, and strategic improvisation. User KORON possesses minor vulnerabilities. Primary weakness in combat context: reluctance to shed blood.
Kade blinked, helmet optics flickering faintly as if mirroring his confusion. "He won't kill?"
IRA:
Partially correct. User KORON prefers non-lethal engagement protocols. Tendency includes use of disarming strikes, suppression tools, and incapacitating weaponry. This preference is consistent even under high-stress threat conditions. Behavioral pattern is exploitable.
Kade was silent for a moment.
The idea settled like dust in his mind—strange, soft, but somehow heavier than expected.
"You are sure of this data?" Kade murmured, almost to himself.
IRA:
Confirmed. Observation: User KORON prioritizes neutralization over termination, except in situations where alternatives are infeasible or personnel are irredeemably hostile.
Kade exhaled slowly.
"Why?"
A flicker of delay. Ira wasn't built for philosophy—but the pause was long enough to suggest she was thinking anyway.
IRA:
Analysis inconclusive. Emotional variables exceed this unit's modeling accuracy. Data alignment suggests a high probability. However... this unit possesses theories.
Kade nodded once, slow. "Let's hear them."
IRA:
Theory: User KORON originated in ethical framework emphasizing preservation of life. Likely trauma-reinforced. Self-imposed limitations act as psychological anchor.
"That sounds clinical," Kade muttered.
IRA:
Correct. Clinical is the limit of this unit's cognition. However—
Kade's fingers flexed over the edge of his knees. "Yes?"
IRA:
User KORON is not a soldier. User KORON refuses to engage full combat suite protocols even when action is clearly advantageous.
Kade furrowed his brow in thought. "…Once more, why?"
IRA:
User KORON views the activation of such programming as a loss of humanity.
Intentional restraint. Ethical limiter. Tactical opportunity.
Kade felt it then—a whisper of cold against his spine, like a memory brushing too close.
"That's... comforting," he said. "And terrifying."
IRA:
Clarify.
"He's idealistic enough to believe that still matters," Kade murmured. "But one day..."
He exhaled, slowly.
"One day, he might decide that losing his humanity is the cost of winning."
IRA:
Affirmative.
Recommendation: Do not provoke that evaluation.
-
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Brother-Librarian Rael observed the Salamanders like a blade resting on an anvil—sharp, balanced, and utterly motionless.
His eyes, dark as scorched obsidian, tracked each subtle movement with a precision born not just of training, but of expectation. He was not here merely to witness. He was here to judge.
Across the room, Sergeant Vulkanis Kade sat opposite Inquisitor Ferox. A mountain sheathed in emerald plate, the reinforced adamantine chair beneath him groaned in soft protest, as if aware of the warrior it dared to hold. Every motion Kade made was measured—like tectonic plates deciding whether or not to shift. His size tilted the room's gravity. Even seated, he loomed.
The table between them became less a surface for discourse and more a silent frontline. Ferox wielded words. Kade brought the weight of legacy and armor.
Rael stood off to the side, silent as the grave, but not alone in his stillness.
Directly across from him, arms folded within his robe's drape and eyes half-lidded as if in meditation, stood Brother-Librarian Xal'zyr.
Officially, the Salamander was here to ensure psychic transparency. Cooperation. Sanctioned insight. A diplomatic gesture of trust between Imperium branches.
Unofficially?
He was a warning made flesh.
A coiled promise behind volcanic stillness.
We will comply, his posture said. With law. With duty. Not with obedience.
Rael felt it the moment he stepped into the room—the unspoken perimeter of psychic presence, like a chalk circle of ash and heat drawn around Xal'zyr's soul.
He'd touched minds with many psykers in his time. Often, as a courtesy—or a test—Grey Knights would open a sliver of themselves to new brothers-in-arms, revealing something of their inner nature in the Warp.
He knew what he was in that space: a spear of luminous pressure, honed to kill thought before it could become heresy. He burned with conviction.
But Xal'zyr...
Rael had expected flame. Lava. Anger barely leashed. The passion of a son of Nocturne.
Instead, he'd found quiet.
A lake. Vast and still beneath a twilight sky, rimmed by fine green reeds. A soft wind stirred ripples across its surface, each wave measured like a heartbeat. The grass whispered, but said nothing.
Serenity, Rael thought. Peace, perhaps.
Yet beneath that calm, he felt the pressure.
Things lurked beneath the lake's surface. Not malicious—just... patient. Old. Watchful. A presence that chose silence not from weakness, but restraint.
Rael knew it was his own mind layering metaphor onto sensation. The Warp had no tongue, no true form. Emotion filtered through it like moonlight through stained glass—fragmented, radiant, and distorted.
But even so, even knowing that, he could not shake the feeling that if he reached too far into that water...
…something ancient might look back.
-
Astartes, like all humans, came in their flavors.
The Wolves? You had to hit them with a sharp crack from the start—blunt honesty, no hesitation. They didn't care for rank. Show them you had a spine, and you could work with them.
The Angels? Play it straight. No jokes, no implications, no questions about loyalty. And for the love of the Emperor, don't even hint at their little robed secret club.
The Salamanders were easier. Really, the only rule was simple: don't be a dick.
Some of her colleagues still managed to fail that test.
But Ferox? Ferox read people. And she knew exactly what kind of man Sergeant Vulkanis Kade was the moment he stepped into the room.
Even seated, he was massive—larger than most Astartes—and yet moved with a deliberate care, as if he were perpetually aware of how fragile the world was beneath his feet. He tested the chair before sitting. Removed his helm to make proper eye contact. Offered a faint, respectful smile. All of it intentional. All of it kind.
"Sergeant Vulkanis Kade," she began, offering a professional, easy smile. "May I call you Kade, or do you prefer Sergeant?"
"Kade is just fine," he replied, voice deep but warm. "Do you prefer Inquisitor, or may I call you Lady Ferox?"
Oh yes. The Salamanders were still top of her list.
"Ferox is just fine," she said, easing into the high-backed chair like she owned the room—and, legally speaking, she did. "To be clear—this isn't an interrogation. Just trying to get a few details cleared up for the report."
She sighed with theatrical flair, propping her cheek against one palm while twirling a stylus with lazy precision in the other. "You know how it goes. Everyone and their mother wants their own special report these days. And I'm supposed to make sense of this mess with a stylus and a smile."
Across from her, Kade inclined his head with the deliberate gravity of a man who could cave in a tank hatch barehanded.
"I do," he said. "And I'm happy to answer any question you put before me."
"Excellent." Her posture sharpened, the stylus still spinning. She tapped the screen. "So. Let's start with the obvious—this Silica and its human. When did you first suspect they were more than they seemed?"
Kade's eyes, like burnished coals under the chamber's cool lumen-strips, didn't waver.
"The first time was when I arrived at the settlement and found it intact. Necrons do not tend to leave humans alive in their wake."
"Oh, I know." Ferox's tone remained airy, but there was steel beneath the silk. "But here they did. Why?"
"From what I recall—and my report supports this—the town's security forces defeated the initial Necron scouts using heavy weapon emplacements. My guardsman escort later informed me that the locals' lasguns had been... significantly modified. I attempted to acquire one for analysis, but none were available."
She scribbled something with a soft flick. The slate chirped its acknowledgement. "And the Necrons didn't return?"
"Not until later," Kade said. "Why they paused their assault, I cannot say. I was never granted access to their command systems or archives. Nor did I encounter their commander directly."
Ferox made a vague motion with her pen. "Understandable. And then, the second attack—on the town itself?"
"Correct. A Necron flyer began deploying infantry and three destroyer variants. We held the lines with help from the town's defenses. The flyer, however, began methodically dismantling our emplacements." He paused. "It was only destroyed thanks to a single overcharged lascannon shot."
Her pen hovered in mid-air. "That's the shot where Koron—your 'mortal serf—uses advanced cybernetics to power the blast?"
"Yes ma'am."
"And even then, you didn't escalate your threat assessment?"
"I did," he said simply. "But the Necrons were a more immediate concern. A single human, however anomalous, was not my focus while a Harvester was burning my brothers alive."
A pause. Then, gently: "I'm sorry for your losses. From what I saw on the recordings… they died well."
Kade's nod was slow, final. "They did." Then, softly: "But please, continue."
"Of course." She tapped a new file open. Another timestamped video frame—Koron, walking ahead of Kade and a handful of admech into a buried, sandblasted wreck.
"The hidden ship. He led you straight to it. What were you thinking in that moment?"
Kade tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. "I was considering what the vessel could be. Its potential strategic value. And yes, how he knew of it. I rationalized it as the sort of local knowledge a veteran scavenger might have."
Ferox's eyebrows lifted in tandem with the corner of her mouth. "A scavenger who just happened to stumble on a Golden Age relic and somehow interface with it without setting off every kill protocol from here to Terra?"
"At the time," Kade said dryly, "I was still trying to believe in coincidence."
Her lips curved. Not unkindly.
"Then we reach the chamber. He activates the console, and suddenly you are locked down in your armor, and the Admech are overwritten by the Silica reclaiming its old home." She tilted her head, pen dancing across the slate again. "What were you thinking in that moment?"
There was a pause—heavier this time.
"I was thinking," he said, slowly, "about how I might kill them."
Ferox blinked once, deliberately.
"Them?"
"The construct, and him." Kade's voice was quiet, but firm. "It was a Silica. A forbidden intelligence. Such things are proscribed. I was raised to destroy them on sight."
Ferox nodded, gesturing for him to continue.
"As much as I strained against it, I was unable to move. Then he began to repower the ship."
Ferox held up her slate, the video playing. Koron at the control panels, Sasha's golden orb in the hololith, both shouting as they worked together to bring the ship to life. "The weapon fired then, and destroyed the harvester ship in one shot. An impossible feat by our weapons save a few archeotech examples here and there." Skipping by it, she stops at the part Kade had seen over and over again.
"And finally, his message to us. A warning, a threat, all neatly wrapped up in a strange phrase. 'Wascally wabbit.' I presume it means something to him, but it stands out as an odd phrase. Of course," She pulled up a familiar schematic.
"He then goes and sends you home with a schematic that's sent every cogboy I show it to into a—well, they don't exactly swoon, but it's close, as well as a functional example of a STC. What are your thoughts on all of these things happening?"
Opening his mouth, Kade closed it again, his eyes dropping to the tabletop as he considered his response. "I can only give speculation, but, I stand by my original statement. He feels insulted by the Imperium, and arrogance, pride, made him put out the call. An act of defiance."
"An interesting hypothesis." Ferox replied, her smile edged towards something decidedly less friendly. "I have another that I would like to run by you."
Kade stiffened, just a hint, but in armor, any motion tends to be servo-assisted.
Power armor. Great for protection, terrible for diplomacy.
"Please, do so."
"Did you know that roughly a solar cycle prior to your arrival on Morrak, before it was revealed to be a necron tomb world, that it had gotten attention for strange events in a minor Mechanicus temple in the lower levels of Anaxis?"
His brow furrowed, confusion clear in his features. "I did not."
Ferox tapped her stylus against the slate with a lazy rhythm—like a cat playing with its food. "Funny story," she said, voice light as if they were discussing a bad opera, not a classified data breach. "The fabricator-general of Anaxis gets pinged—temple intrusion. But not a break-in. Digital. Something slides through their systems like a mono-blade through synthskin. Seventy percent of the data? Gone. The rest? Cooked beyond recovery. Then it wipes its own footprints, tidy as you please."
She leaned back, stylus now spinning between her fingers in a precise little dance. Her silver eyes, calm as mercury, settled on Kade's.
"So the locals panic, flag it, send it up the ladder. Mars bites. The Divisio Cybernetica comes sniffing."
The stylus stopped mid-spin. She caught it with a flick of her wrist, punctuating the next line like a gavel.
"They do a deep dive. Start combing surveillance, vox-logs, passcodes, visitor manifests. And they find out something curious: a pair of unregistered visitors were inside the temple at the exact moment the systems crashed."
She watched him now—closely. Not like an interrogator, but like a predator watching a herd animal decide whether to bolt.
"Then they check the rest of the city. All the outbound traffic. Every pict-feed attached to the noosphere from the inner levels out into the wastelands? Burned. Clean slate. Not just corrupted—gone. Whole day missing. A digital ghost town."
She leaned forward slightly, the lumen strips catching on the matte finish of her rosette pin.
"But the servitors at the outer gates? Different story. Off-grid systems. Slow, dumb, loyal. They uploaded their logs a week later. And wouldn't you know it? They caught two figures leaving the city on foot. Same faces the Magos had on his drives."
Kade didn't speak at first. But a muscle along his jaw ticked, just once. "What did you find then?"
"Oh, nothing useful," she said with a shrug so casual it almost masked the tension curling under her words. "The Admech worried, sure, but all they had were faces. No names. No trades. No tracks. Just a direction, and a whole lot of sand. They flagged it, filed it, and moved on."
She waved one hand vaguely toward the room's occupants. "Then this happened. Morrak. A Harvester destroyed in a single shot. A Silica active and talking. A man claiming to be a survivor from an age of myth and monsters. And suddenly, everyone wants to know everything."
The pen spun again.
"So my people start digging. Data fragments, vox-logs, scattered signals, testimony. All of it a shattered mirror scattered across a city under siege and a year old. But I can't find the corner piece, you know what I mean?"
Kade inclined his head. "Not really. But go on."
Ferox's smile was slow now—less amused, more surgical.
"Well," she said, tapping her slate, "turns out I had it the whole time."
The screen lit up—an old photograph. Two hundred people gathered beneath the overhang of a mountain. Dust-covered. Lean. Smiling like they'd carved joy out of stone and made it stand. Somewhere near the back, circled in red, stood a man with a soft smile. Koron.
"I have a friend," Ferox said softly. "We go back a ways. Used to be part of my retinue. Swapped it for a clinic and a quiet corner of the stars. Dusthaven, she called it. She'd send me letters, once a year. Photos. News. Told me I needed to retire, find a husband, pop out a few dozen kids of my own."
Her voice didn't change. But her eyes? They cooled by a full degree.
"She sent me this photo last year."
She turned the slate with a flick.
"I'm guessing you recognize at least one face."
Kade leaned forward with the weight of a glacier—implacable, deliberate. "I see him," he said, tone as flat as a sniper's pulse.
Ferox nodded. "Of course you do. But he's not the part I'm most curious about."
She tapped again. The screen shifted to a personnel log. A woman's face highlighted, name and title appearing beneath in crisp script.
"Did you know what happens when a warship drops out of the Warp near its command structure?" Ferox asked lightly.
Kade shook his head, slow and deliberate.
"It reports in. Sends its logs to fleet command. Most of it's trash data—weather, engine cycles, that sort of thing. But one file caught my adepts' eyes. Refugee reassignment. A civilian promoted to replace the Hammer's fallen envoy. Provisional diplomatic status. Clearances. Access."
She gave him a look both cold and cordial.
"So. Tell me, Kade."
Her voice lowered to a velvet whisper, soft as silk around a noose.
"Where is Elissa Brandt?"