Rain's eyes darted wildly between Julian's cold expression and the blade still pressed against his throat. Sweat mingled with the thin line of blood, stinging as it traced down his neck.
"I'm not—I'm not one of their cronies!" he gasped, his voice cracking with desperation. "I don't have any useful intel! You have to believe me!"
Julian's dark blue gaze didn't waver. The blade didn't move. "Unlikely. As a supply conduit for their operations, you inevitably possess information. Routes. Schedules. Contacts. Names."
One of Rain's subordinates—the electricity-wielder, now pinned to a wall by Fey's liquid restraints—struggled violently against her bonds. "Don't tell them anything, Rain! They're insane! Suicide bombers who don't care if they—"
"Can you just shut up?" Emma interrupted, her voice carrying that particular edge of irritation that preceded violence. A small flame flickered in her palm, and the electricity-wielder wisely fell silent.
