Throwing him over my shoulder, I headed straight for my room.
Through the mindlink, I called Randy.
“Meet me in my room. Bring tapes.”
His response was immediate, sharp.
He knew something had gone very, very wrong.
Once I got into my room, I tossed his body onto the floor and watched him lie there he was half-conscious.
Back in the White Tower—first as a student, then as a council member—things like him used to circle around me constantly. Assassins. Hired shadows. Cowards.
And I always ended up killing them.
In the beginning, I’d waste hours questioning them, but it never led to anything. They never knew who had actually sent them, because the real puppeteer hid too well. I recognized that pattern immediately.
My uncle.
He always used middlemen. Layers between himself and the b
