I sprang out of bed on instinct, reaching for the gun that wasn’t in its usual spot beside my bed. Because it wasn’t my bed. It was Bryony’s. Bryony, who had snapped awake as quickly as I. “What was that?” she said. “I don’t know. Stay there.” I reached the spot where my trousers—and my pistol and belt—lay, grabbed the gun from its holster, and sprinted for the window. Gouts of bright light shot up around the gates of the Brother House. Flames. Fuck. “What?” Bryony said as she joined me. I noticed she had a gun too. Good. “I think Ignatius isn’t waiting for us to decide what to do.” I pointed toward the flames. “He attacked the Brother House? Is he crazy?” “I don’t know. But I need to go.” I felt the fire licking at the edge of my senses, felt the burgeoning heat of it.
