The world exploded. Or at least my corner of it.

I found myself on all fours like I’d taken a giant fist to the gut. If there was any air in the alley, I couldn’t find it. My vision swam, and pain stabbed behind my eyes. I heard someone whimper. I think it was me. I pitched forward, my forehead landing in something I didn’t want to identify, its stench the only thing keeping me from passing out. I dimly felt Phaelan’s hands on my shoulders, lifting my face out of the muck. I was dizzy, nauseous, and had an urge to make my own contribution to the pile of scraps next to me.

“Stop,” I managed.

Phaelan stopped lifting, but didn’t let go. I was grateful. I don’t think I could have stayed upright on my own. I raised my head slowly until my eyes were level with the street. I resisted the impulse to gulp air into my lungs. I took a few steady breaths. My vision began to clear.

“Raine?” He sounded worried. That made two of us.

I tried to answer, but my mouth was too busy breathing.

“Are you all right?”

I thought about nodding, but decided against it. “Think so.”

“What happened?”

“I think Quentin just found what he was looking for.”

Unfortunately, I was right. Sometimes I hate it when that happens. Quentin showed no signs of putting the whatever-it-was back in the box, and my head hurt too much to maintain contact with him until he did. Fine. I broke contact. He was on his own. I assumed he had done everything he came to do, and would be coming out soon. I sat back against the wall of the alley, watched the door where he had gone in, and concentrated on breathing. Breathing was good.

No alarms went off, no lamps were lit in the servants’ quarters or anywhere else in the house. The street was quiet. The few people who passed the alley with magical talent enough to see past my shields probably thought I was either drunk or had just been mugged. Either way, no one stopped to ask.