"Damn it!"
Auri flinched as a loud crack tore through the tensed silence. Dust rained from the wall where Wrye's fist had landed, followed by another curse between clenched teeth.
The storm outside still roared like a living beast, its howling echo faintly muffled by the stone walls of the fortress. But even that couldn't be compared to the raging storm in Auri's chest.
It happened too fast.
One moment, Timofey was smiling—waving at them when he saw them approaching the gate. The next, he was gone. Snatched from the ground like a leaf in a storm.
Auri had seen it happen. He'd watched the mage's hand stretch out like it was claiming a prize. He'd seen the flash of her mask, the grip of her fingers tightening around Timofey's coat, the flare of magic from her staff. And then the wind had swallowed her, taking the boy with her.
And Auri had done nothing.
