“What’s Haldis?”

“The earth makes warriors,” Connor said, pinching Adne’s cheek. “We’re grittier.”

“You wish.” Adne punched his arm. “Besides, Pyralis makes Strikers too. Haldis is known for its Reapers . . . and Guides.”

She glanced at Monroe, who inclined his head slightly.

“What about you?” I asked her. “You aren’t trained by Haldis? But you work with them?”

“Like I said.” Monroe stopped in front of a narrow, intricately carved pine door. “We need all four elements to survive. Weavers train with each division—creating doors requires the use of all the elements in concert.”

“Wow,” Shay said, raising an eyebrow at Adne.

“It’s not as impressive as it sounds.” She threw a dark look at her father.

“Sure it is.” Connor ruffled her hair and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“But most of us remain in a single division.” Monroe knocked on the door. “Tordis—air—is the element of intellect. Scribes train here and live here.”

The door swung open, revealing Silas. His arms were full of scrolls.

“What?” He scowled at Monroe. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“We lost Grant.”

The scrolls tumbled to the floor as Silas’s face went white. “No.”

“I’m sorry.” Monroe pushed past him, gesturing for us to follow.

Silas was still frozen in the doorway when I stepped past him.

“Uh . . .” Shay was staring at our surroundings. “This is a study?”

It was a good question. The room we’d entered looked like all the dictionaries on the planet had come here to die grisly deaths. The floor was carpeted by paper. Towers of books swayed precariously like monuments about to collapse.

“Don’t touch anything.” Silas, apparently recovered from his shock, shoved me aside and picked his way back to a desk—or what I could guess was a desk buried beneath more paper and maps—like someone treading through a minefield.

Connor strode straight across the room, kicking books and piles of notes out of his way.

“Damn it, Connor!” Silas shouted. “Now I won’t be able to find what I need.”

“Not my problem,” Connor said, dropping into a chair after he’d tipped more books off its seat. “Like I give a rat’s ass about your wunderkind special privileges. Just ’cause Anika babies you doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

Monroe walked across the room with a little more care, followed by Adne and Shay. I decided to take the path Connor had already cleared.

“Any other chairs, Silas?” Adne asked.

“This is my office,” Silas sneered. “NotTordis’s archives. I don’t usually have company.”

“You can sit on my lap.” Connor winked at Adne, slapping his thighs.

“What a gentleman,” she muttered, leaning against Silas’s desk.

“We’ll be fine standing,” Monroe said.

“Are you going to tell me how we lost an operative?” Silas was shuffling through mounds of scrolls. When he located a pen and a blank piece of paper, he began scribbling.

“We’re not sure,” Monroe said, glancing at me.

I stared at him for a moment, then realized that he wanted me to take the lead. Well, that’s who I am, isn’t it? I stood a little taller, surprised but pleased that Monroe acknowledged my place as alpha.

“Something’s wrong with the Guardian packs,” I said. “I’m not sure what’s happened, but the patrols I knew aren’t in play anymore.”

Silas pursed his lips, then nodded for me to continue.

“Emile Laroche was leading Nightshade wolves,” I said, my shoulders tightening at the memory of fighting Sasha. “I still can’t imagine how that’s possible.”

When I spoke Emile’s name, Monroe’s jaw clenched.

“The Bane alpha was patrolling with Nightshades?” Silas didn’t look up as he wrote.

“Not patrolling,” I said, feeling cold as I spoke. “Hunting. They were hunting us.”

The pen slipped from Silas’s fingers. His eyes were wide when they met mine. “You think they knew our team was coming?”

“If they didn’t know, they weren’t surprised,” I said. “I think they were waiting for us to show.”

“They might have gotten information from Grant before they killed him.” Silas sighed.

“I don’t think so,” Connor said. “I found him. Looked like he’d been ambushed, killed instantly.”

Silas frowned. “They must be getting it from their own sources, then.”

“You mean spies here?” Shay asked. “You think you have a mole?”

“Of course not.” Silas snorted. “Our people aren’t turncoats. I mean hers.”

He pointed at me. The air went out of my lungs. It took less than a second for me to shift and leap onto his desk, snarling. My fangs snapped inches from his face. Silas yelped, tipping his chair over backward, and rolled across the floor.

“Calla!” Monroe shouted.

I shifted back, still crouched on the desk.

“What do you mean mine?” I glared at Silas, who was brandishing a letter opener at me.

“You do know she’s not a werewolf, right?” Shay smirked at the Scribe. “That silver thing’s not gonna be worth much.”