The corners of Fourteen’s mouth tilted up ever so slightly. “I believe in your deductive abilities.”

Thank the gods. Cym’s Fourteen was still kicking around in there somewhere.

Fourteen peered between the crates again and said, “Okay, now.”

When they stood up, he noticed Fourteen was moving slower than before. Apparently even he had limits on how much abuse his body could take.

As soon as Cym could see over the crates, he searched the room for his cousin. The moment his eyes locked on to Helen, he took aim and proceeded to unload the entire clip at her. That should piss her off.

As he fired, his arms and chest stung as spent casings bounced off, and he prayed none ended up inside his shirt. Getting one of those to the nipple would fucking suck.

Cym forgot about his sensitive areas as Helen’s shield flashed brightly and evaporated. And of course that was when his gun chose to run out of bullets.

Now Cym would never know if he had it in him to kill his own cousin, though he did feel a dark satisfaction when one of Fourteen’s shots tore through Helen’s leg as she dove for cover.

Fourteen had been more generous with his attack and had spread it out among their opponents. He knocked out three more shields and dropped the casters inside them. When he ran out of bullets, he simply pulled out another gun and kept going.

Cym noticed Fourteen focused slightly more attention on the idiot with the gun. Unlike the others, he wasn’t ducking madly when bullets flew his way. His shield must have been as strong as Stella’s, which wasn’t a surprise. If he had been more proficient at offensive magic, he wouldn’t have needed the gun.

Cym laughed when Gun Guy ran out of ammunition. He shook his gun, looked at it, and then shook it again. After yelling something Cym couldn’t hear, he turned and ran out of the warehouse.

“That should do it. Take cover!” Fourteen shoved Cym’s head down—unnecessarily—and they both hit the dusty floor with Fourteen’s body covering his.

The wall behind them shook with the full force of all the myriad of spells it received, and Cym noticed that Fourteen, still hunched over him protectively, was busy pulling out a small arsenal of grenades. A few of the grenades looked funny to him, making Cym think of tin cans with rings attached.

“Get ready to run,” Fourteen warned.

“Run where?” Cym shouted to be heard over the din of splats, hisses, crunches, and small explosions that heralded the sound of various spells doing what they were designed to do.

When the noise died down, Fourteen pointed to the brand new massive hole in the wall three yards to their right. “There. Now go!” He hauled Cym off the floor and pushed him toward the hole. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Cym crawled over the rubble as fast as he could and turned around halfway through the hole to make sure Fourteen was right behind him. He saw him lob a half-dozen grenades—including at least two of the ones that looked like tin cans.

When Fourteen turned to follow and saw Cym standing there like an idiot, he shouted, “Move!” and ran toward the hole, bounding easily up the rubble—making Cym’s clumsy efforts look sad and pathetic.

Cym blamed his sore feet and throbbing head, but he also silently vowed to start working out once things died down a bit. Maybe Fourteen could give him some tips. If this was what his life was going to be like, he needed to step up his game. “What were the not-grenade things?”

“Tear gas. In a second or two it should be very unpleasant in there, and it will make it hard for anyone still alive to see where we went. Remind me to teach you how to use one.” Fourteen made it to the top of the rubble, nudged past Cym, and jumped off the four-foot wall, landing lightly on his feet. He reached his gloved hand toward Cym and helped him down.

Several explosions shook the ground, and caustic smoke drifted out of the hole they’d climbed out of. When the wind shifted, it brought a tendril of it past Cym’s face, causing his throat to try and strangle itself.

“Some of them… might have shields that… ack… keep that stuff out.” Cym managed to choke out as Fourteen led him away, tucking him under his arm.

“Noted.” Fourteen kept Cym between him and the wall as they crept toward what looked like a trash heap. “I have a bike under that tarp if we can just⁠—”

Fourteen broke off when a buttload of gun-wielding men wearing body armor surrounded them.

“Friends of yours?” Cym was trying for glib, but he broke into a fit of coughing caused by the tear gas.

“No.” Fourteen nudged Cym against the wall—his large form completely obstructing Cym’s view of the situation. “Stay behind me.”

Cym’s face went numb as adrenaline spiked, and his fingers felt fuzzy and tingly. Had his family hired norms to do their dirty work in case using magic failed them? It was an unthinkable thing for a member of the Other to do. They didn’t involve norms in their problems. But then Cym had dragged Fourteen into the situation, so if they did, he only had himself to blame.

What they fuck were they going to do?

Fourteen’s armor could shield them both from magic, but norm weaponry and physical combat? Even Fourteen couldn’t protect them from that many soldiers.

“Sunny, dear, I think it’s time to admit defeat.” Stella’s voice came from behind the wall of men separating them. “I don’t know what the fuss is all about. We’re just trying to bring you home where you belong. No one needs to get hurt over this.”

“Tell that to the people who were in that building you blew up,” Cym shouted with a voice hoarse from tear gas and smoke.

He peeked around Fourteen and saw with dread that the soldiers’ faces were becoming less impassive. The men standing closest to Cym were frowning and shifting restlessly. As he watched, the effect of his wild magic began to spread, and all the men began acting antsy. At any moment the situation was going to spiral out of control, and someone was going to get shot. What had his aunt been thinking?

“That was an accident, sweetheart,” Stella said airily. Cym’s hands balled into fists at the endearment and her casual attitude. “The whole thing is just a big misunderstanding. If you and your champion will come with us, I’m sure we can all sort it out.” The words may have been sweet, but Stella’s tone was laced with venom.

Now they wanted Fourteen too? Well, they couldn’t fucking have him.

Once they figured out about Fourteen’s armor, the Blaike family would no longer need to tiptoe around the magical community. They would roll over it like a bulldozer. And after they pried Fourteen out of it, they could do anything they wanted to him.

Over Cym’s dead body.

He began to shake with anger.

Fourteen still had him pressed against the wall with his body, so he felt his reaction. “Don’t worry, I can get us out of this.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Cym hissed. Had Fourteen’s sense of self-preservation been completely snuffed out by his conditioning? “They have guns. They have all the guns.”

“I have guns.” Was there a trace of wounded pride in Fourteen’s response?

“They. Have. More.” Should Cym try magic again? After what he had done earlier, he had pretty much decided to never try magic again, but the thought of letting a bunch of monsters get their hands on Fourteen after everything he’d suffered made Cym’s tortured throat sting with bile.

His eyes fell on the gigantic gas tank dominating the space behind their assailants and his half-formed plans collapsed. He had no aim or control. If he tried anything, he’d probably take out the whole marina.

Two of the soldiers in front of them began to shove at each other, jockeying for the front position. It hadn’t turned into outright fighting, but it was moments away. Cym saw his aunt’s eyes narrow as Stella realized her hired guns were falling under Cym’s unintentional spell.

“Everyone back up right now!” Stella tugged at the soldier closest to her.

Fourteen tensed, and Cym knew he was about to take the opportunity presented to them to do something incredibly stupid and self-sacrificing. Cym decided to beat him to the punch.

“Agent Fourteen, retreat!” Cym shouted in as much of a commanding voice as he could muster.

He heard a guttural sound come from Fourteen, and he whipped his head around to look at Cym, betrayal in his eyes.

“That’s an order, Agent. Get yourself somewhere safe, now!”

Cym was almost grateful when the emptiness of compliance reached Fourteen’s eyes so Cym didn’t have to see what his order had cost him. Fortunately Cym wouldn’t have to live with the memory of what he’d just done for much longer.

Trying to give Fourteen as much of a chance to escape as he could, he took the empty gun he’d tucked in his waistband and lobbed it directly at his aunt. He didn’t want to watch Fourteen go, but the sounds of his escape were punctuated with grunts and choked off screams. Cym couldn’t stop his traitorous eyes—he needed to make sure none of those sounds were coming from Fourteen.