“A Primary professor in Seattle,” the premier finally told Griffin, “seems to have gotten photographic proof of one my own.”

So that’s what that sick feeling was: familiarity.

“She’s been sitting on it for a while, gathering more information, writing a paper. But now she’s preparing to go wide. My people found it when she posted it online in draft form.”

“Stop her,” Chief growled.

The premier raised a stiff hand. “We will.”

All of the heat Keko had given Griffin fled in an icy gust. “How will you?”

The premier stood as tall as his slight stature would allow, the brim of his cowboy hat tilting back. “She’s respected in her field now,” he replied. “She won’t be tomorrow.”

Griffin’s tone took a dive into distaste and frustration. “How?”

Another wordless look between the chief and the premier.

“Tell him.” Aya’s voice was small and light, fitting to her appearance. But it carried a clear command, one that the other two elemental men heeded. Her white hair seemed to move without wind. She had yet to blink, that green stare shaking and unsettling Griffin even more.

With a sigh, the premier said, “The professor’s evidence will be destroyed. She will be discredited based on her current mental state.” He crossed his denim-and-flannel-clad arms. “My people have the power of . . . persuasion.”

Griffin wished for something to grab on to, but remained erect under sheer force of will. “Explain.”

“Go on.” Though Aya’s voice tinkled like bells on summer wind, there was a distinct melancholy to it. “Tell him.”

The premier ambled toward Griffin, the heels of his cowboy boots crunching on pebbles and snow. “If I’d wanted to,” he told Griffin, “the second you found my compound last year, I could’ve sent a sliver of air into your ear. Into your brain. I could’ve woven suggestion and thought into that air. I could’ve convinced you of anything I wanted. Made you forget what you saw or knew. Created something that wasn’t there. You get the idea. And when I pulled the air out, you never would’ve been the same.”

Griffin’s hands made cold fists against his thighs. “You fuck with Primary minds.”

“We preserve our existence.” Every one of the premier’s words sounded dragged through cold mud.

Great stars. Griffin reeled. “Is it permanent?”

Chief answered with a mighty rumble. “Permanent for them. Perfect for us.”

The statement was a bullet, tearing through flesh and bone, shredding Griffin’s heart. “How many?” Then, when no one answered, he shouted, “How many?”

The number twelve flashed quick and terrible through his own mind. Twelve deaths. Twelve sets of shackles clamping him to a former life.

“Since the Senatus began? Over the centuries?” The premier had the audacity to sound bored, and Griffin couldn’t help but be reminded of the former Ofarian Chairman—the one who used to give Griffin his orders. “Impossible to say. Hundreds, maybe? The dawn of technology changed everything. Made us work overtime.”

“No.” Griffin lunged forward.

The sudden movement sent the Chimerans into motion. Chief fell back against a wall of his warriors, Makaha on one side, a trickle of black smoke curling up from his lips, and Bane looming large on the other.

Keko, to Griffin’s dismay, fell in beside her brother. Her face was unreadable, but her stance was unmistakable. Defensive. Ready to attack. Standing with her people.

“No!” Griffin shouted again, the taint of old death making his muscles tight and his heart twist. “I oppose this.”

The premier scoffed. “You have no right to oppose anything. You have no voice here.”

Griffin flinched. Aaron pressed in tighter to his leader.

“What happens when the truth about us finally comes out?” Griffin started to pace. “And it will, make no mistake about that. You yourself mentioned technology, how hard it’s made things. What then? How will we be able to defend ourselves, our very existence, when the Primaries learn what we’ve been doing to them? Have you thought about that?”

Aya inhaled sharply, but said nothing.

Griffin’s focus darted between the Airs and the Chimerans. It had been years since he’d been in a physical fight, but the signs of an impending one would never leave his mind and he possessed strong muscle memory. The other elementals’ threats against him were quiet but present.

“The truth won’t ever come out.” Chief’s ribcage expanded and contracted. “That’s why we have the Senatus, to keep that kind of thing under control. Do you understand now why we can never integrate in the way and to the extent that you want?”

Oh, he understood. He knew now that it would take a hell of a lot more than stories about young Ofarian boys to turn the tides of this mess. He looked to Keko, but she was stone-faced. No, wait. There. A squint of her eyes—showing doubt in him, fear of his opinion, blind agreement with her chief—erased all the personal good that had been forged between them. It annihilated everything.

“Then I’m going to Seattle.” Griffin whirled on the premier. “I’m stopping this.”

The head air elemental let out a mocking laugh and swept his eyes up to the stars. “I’d forbid you to do that, but you’d never make it in time anyway.”

“I’m not part of you, remember?” Griffin snapped. “You can’t forbid a thing. And you can’t do this.”

Behind Griffin came the crunch of footsteps. “It’s already done,” Chief said, as though the finality of his tone was the end of this issue.

Like hell it was.

Griffin roared and spun on the Chimeran. Chief was standing there like a mountain, just waiting for Griffin to come after him with a new argument, but Makaha was moving, lunging for the chief’s side. Wait—no. The warrior was launching himself right at Griffin.

Fists like iron balls at his sides, thick legs pounding into dirty snow, Makaha’s bare chest expanded like a balloon. It filled with magic that singed Griffin’s Ofarian senses. The Chimeran warrior opened his mouth and a flame burned at the back of his dark throat.

A flame meant for Griffin. An attack.

A few years of sitting behind a desk or at the head of a conference table did not soften an Ofarian trained from toddling age to be a fighter. Griffin instantly snapped into his old self, the one he’d been conditioned to become and often wanted to leave behind. Fists meant nothing to this beast of a man coming after him. Even if Griffin had a gun, it would become ash in Makaha’s threatening fire.

Ofarian spilled from Griffin’s lips. He whipped out his magic, snagging every available bead of moisture from the air, the ground, his very skin, and slamming them all together in his palm.

At the same time, in clear view of everyone, Makaha’s ribcage collapsed, expelling the fire from within. Griffin could see it, the barrel of flame coming out from between Makaha’s lips. The Chimeran was going to fry Griffin alive, right in front of the entire Senatus . . . but this was not the way he would die, outnumbered with no magic or power to show for it.

He flung out his water at the exact moment Makaha let his fire loose. Chin tilted up, Makaha’s eyes raged in orange and gold. The warrior’s hand grabbed fire from his mouth, a brilliant, terrifying ball in his grasp.

Griffin aimed his spear of water for that hand holding the fireball. Aimed and struck. Makaha bellowed in surprise as Griffin extinguished the fire burning in the other man’s palm. Griffin instantly merged his water with the moisture on the Chimeran’s skin, taking it all under his control, binding it all together.

Then he twisted his magic.

With a roar of Ofarian words he switched the water to ice, encasing Makaha’s entire hand and making it splinter and freeze, all the way up to his elbow.

The Chimeran made burbling, sputtering, enraged sounds, his eyes bulging. More fire shot from his lips toward the sky, an anguished beacon. He screamed and stared down at his hand in terrified wonder, his whole arm shaking. He was trying to heat himself from the inside out, but Griffin’s hold was too strong.