Arthie hid behind the Athereum’s rosebushes and lined up her shot, watching Flick get closer and closer to the entrance. The wind blew east in intermittent bursts forcing her to adjust her trajectory more than once. The dormer guard paced in and out of the Athereum, vigilant and out of reach.
Laith opened his mouth.
Arthie thought this conversation had already gone twice as long as it should have.
“He might hear the bullet,” he said at her side.
“They’re designed to be silent, but I’ll take that chance,” Arthie murmured, keeping her eye on Flick and her finger on the trigger.
Laith opened his mouth again.
“Nope,” Arthie said, watching the door as Flick inched closer and closer.
She inserted her marker. Arthie fired. The bullet slung through the night, flashing once before it disappeared. For a moment nothing happened, then the guard teetered against the iron balustrade and collapsed.
“Ten minutes,” Arthie whispered, tossing the gun into the bushes. Ten minutes before their guard awoke and sounded the alarm. Ten minutes for Flick to get in and out of the marker archives.
Arthie flipped the forged marker in her hand and joined the line, Laith and Matteo behind her.