Page 16 of Daemon Master

“Whattruth? What are you talking about?”

Adrian launched into a truncated explanation of his adventures at Crastley’s cabin. When he got to the runic circle and the possibility of a true bond with a willing daemon, Seymour’s face darkened. “Enough! You’re as insane as Crastley if you believe a word of this rot.”

“But what if he was right?” Adrian insisted. “What if Serenity Corp aren’t the saviors of humanity they pretend to be?”

“Without Serenity Corp, there’d be no humanity left!”

“Maybe not,” Adrian conceded. “But if there’s nothing to Crastley’s claims, then why does Serenity Corp care so much about a madman’s journal, a rogue catcher, and a single stray?”

Seymour hesitated, a slight hitch appearing in his brow.

Adrian took that as permission to press on. “I think it’s true, or at least enough of it. If Serenity Corp lied about the bondstones, then who knows what other secrets they’ve been keeping? I’m not the one who broke their oaths, Seymour.They’rethe ones who—”

“Shut up!” the watcher said, looming over him. “I won’t listen to any more of this!”

Adrian opened his mouth to speak, then quickly shut it when Seymour raised a glowing fist in warning. Tremorfist mimicked the motion. Gazing up at Seymour’s furious expression, memoryof the last night they’d spent together as friends prickled his awareness.

They’d been fourteen—almost two years since his parents had died and one year into the training every League citizen went through to master daemon bonding. By then, the flaw in Adrian’s aether had become painfully obvious as he fell further and further behind the others. Seymour had tried to keep his spirits up, but Adrian could sense his friend’s rising disappointment at his failure. Slowly, Adrian had come to accept the irrefutable truth—he wouldneverbe a watcher. Never be a hero like his parents.

The growing tension between them had finally come to a head that night when he’d confessed as much to Seymour. Instead of comforting him or acting like the friend he was supposed to be, Seymour had fixed him with the exact same look he wore now—fury laced with profound disgust. He’d branded Adrian a pathetic coward. They’d come to blows and, well…things had never been the same between them since.

Movement caught Adrian’s eye, and he tore his gaze away from Seymour’s face. His breath caught when he registered the defiant blue form crouched protectively over him.

Heartrender. The daemon had returned to save him yet again.

Seymour stared at Heartrender as one might an unsolvable riddle. “Why does this mongrel defend you? It’s unbonded—feral! It should be running for its life, not rescuing its would-be captor!”

“I told you, that’s no ordinary daemon.”

“Rubbish.” A hint of uncertainty crept into Seymour’s voice.

Adrian shook his head, exhaustion weighing too heavily on him to reply.

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument,” Seymour began, “that a kernel of truth lurks somewhere in your ridiculous story. What proof can you offer foranyof it?”

“Crastley’s journal—”

“Beyondthe word of a lunatic! Or your own word, that of an alleged traitor.”

Although Adrian wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and rest, he rallied the last of his energy toward the question. Seymour had a point. While Adrian’s own experiences compelled him to accept Crastley’s tale, he was operating on pure intuition. Even if Heartrenderwasa Serenity Corp experiment, that only corroborated Crastley as a thief. There had to be some way he could prove—both to himself and to Seymour—that Crastley’s claims held genuine weight.

“I have an idea,” he said slowly. “Get the journal from my satchel. Not for you to read,” he added at Seymour’s expression. “There’s something in it I need to see.”

“This is a waste of time,” the watcher grumbled. “I can’t believe I’m entertaining this farce.”

Despite his words, he did as requested, tossing the journal past Heartrender into the grass by Adrian’s bound hands. Heartrender kept a watchful gaze on him but made no move to interfere.

“There, you’ve got your precious journal. Now what?”

Adrian ignored Seymour’s question. It took some finagling with his hands tied in front of him, but he eventually managed to flip the journal open to Crastley’s note and the symbol sketched there. Just as it had in the Arbiter’s office, his aether tried to form the unfamiliar configuration. This time, however, he didn’t resist, directing every drop he had into mimicking the curved lines laid out on the page.

“You want proof?” he said through gritted teeth, praying he wasn’t about to make a colossal mistake. “Here’syour proof!”

The last segments of the runic circle snapped into place, creating a glowing symbol etched onto his palm. The aether roiled as if searching for somewhere to go. For a span ofbreaths, nothing happened. Then, Heartrender met his eyes. Its aether reverberated with what he instinctively recognized as acceptance. The daemon had felt the call of his aether and agreed to let it in.

Needing no further invitation, his shaped aether surged into Heartrender. The daemon collapsed, and Adrian froze, watching in horror as it yowled and writhed in the grass. He’d meant to prove Crastley’s claims to Seymour, but what if he’d done the opposite? What if he’d messed up the pattern or lacked the proper control?

What if I inadvertently killed the only creature that believed in me?