LONDON, ENGLAND
THE MINISTRY OF DEFENCE MAIN BUILDING

The formidable Portland stone structure rose from its position on Whitehall like a white giant staring down at River Thames. There were thirteen floors to the Neoclassical MOD Main Building that had once carried the name of Whitehall Gardens, long before it became home to the Ministry of Defence. Every single one of its lights was on. They lit up the edifice side to side, revealing through its aligned, squared windows the hundreds of employees running around and making sure each phone call addressing the chaos outside was properly answered and placed.

Except for one.

The last office to the right at the topmost floor, the thirteenth, laid in complete darkness. The only light came from that which the floor-to-ceiling windowpane allowed inside, showcasing the intermittent glint of an early morning cigarette. It was enough to reveal the outline of a masterpiece office design. Sleek black-and-white furniture rose around in a modern environment, their reflections vibrating against its bare marble floors.

Much like them, the drink lying atop the main glass desk had begun to shake, its ice cubes chiming with hushed persistence. The man sitting on the leather couch had already left his spot and cigarette to snatch the noisy glass off the surface. He took the rim to his plump lips, savoring the cold fire that left a warm trace down his throat. With the drink in hand, he went back toward the windowpanes and stared out at the light show outside.

He had always found himself amazed at how perfectly translucent the glass was. It provided an outstanding illusion that nothing stood between the viewer and the view, one he often enjoyed. There was nothing more comforting than staring down at the silvery ribbon of the Thames, braceleted by Westminster Bridge and flecked by the boats moving from the East to the West side of the city. Whenever he stood there, he felt like he was flying midair, being one with London itself.

In that moment, though, with the light beams rupturing dawn's blue colors and the giant wall appearing before him, he feared the glass might've been too thin for protection.

Three knocks on the door derailed his train of thought. An outline shone through the entrance, letting the hallway's brilliant light flood the office as a young worker ventured inside with nervous steps.

The worker's voice was barely over a whisper, but the man detected and underlying rasp as he spoke. Whether it was sickness or worry, he couldn't tell. "Erm, sir? You have an important call."

The man waited until the worker was a few feet away from him to get close. Under the constant beaming of lights outside, the pale complexion of the young man reminded him of his younger self. He looked tired. His hair was barely holding together with a bit of wax, which had been applied in an evident rush and had already started wearing off on its tips. They were curling, making the blonde strands topple lightly over his forehead. His droopy, green eyes reflected each crack in the sky, shining a bright shamrock whenever a beam exploded outside. They were filled with horror.

"I thought I was very clear before," he said. "No calls."

The young man hesitated. "Perhaps you'd like to answer this one."

With an exasperated sigh, he took the phone from the worker's shaky hands, giving him a dismissive wave. Only when the door closed with a silent click did he move it up to his ear. "This is Cromwell."

"Elijah?" the voice said. He sounded impassive, and much more annoyed than Elijah ever recalled hearing him. "Why the fuck were you not answering my calls?"

Elijah divided a critical glance between the empty glass in his pale hands and the bouncing rays of light outside the window. His tired reflection stared back at him, green eyes as dark as the young worker's when no beams reflected in them, and the golden curls on his head toppling over his forehead like an invasive, uncontrolled cascade. He looked worn and tired, and he knew he probably needed another drink.

The sun outside had begun to shine its first colors through the never ending blue of the sky, making the scene even more mesmerizing to watch as he spoke. "We protect the security, independence, and interests of our country at home and abroad. We work with our allies and partners whenever possible. Our aim is to ensure that the armed forces have training, equipment and support necessary for their work..." he recited by heart. "The Ministry has no easy job, you know. I was busy."

"Busy enough not to answer your goddamned phone?" Elijah sensed the flaring anger coming out of his friend's voice. "We have a bit of a situation."

Elijah moved to the small mahogany desk where he kept his alcohol bottles lined with neat-precision, filled his glass back up, and downed its content before even thinking about responding. "Are you referring to the beautiful sunrise outside my window or the Veil and its glamour breaking into a thousand pieces?"

A low sigh and a heartfelt cuss bounced on the other end of the call. "It's all over the globe?"

"And I bet you it is all over the news as well. I can see about ten news trucks parked outside, and my phones haven't stopped ringing for the past ten minutes." Elijah set the glass on the table, pulling another cigarette from his side pocket and lighting it. "Mind telling me how you Americans find it so hard to follow simple instructions?"

Another sigh echoed through the line. "You can't follow instructions against the Codex, not with those two playing against us."

"So you expect me to believe a piece of paper and two morons have more power than we do? We knew this would happen, we knew they would betray us, which is why I told you to—"

"I know what you said, Lije. But we should have known this time would be different. Someone else is working for them, someone powerful enough to turn the tables."

Elijah felt his cheeks getting hot. "What about Alastair?"

"I lost contact with him hours ago. I think they got him."

Elijah pressed the cigarette to his lips and let its smoke crawl into the deepest part of his lungs. With a sigh, he let it all out. Maybe he needed a third drink.

"Where are you right now?" he asked.

"30 Hudson Yards. I had some business to attend to."

New York—of course. "How fast can you get to Chicago?"

"As fast as you can," the man replied, and his sour undertone made Elijah's hand curl up into a fist.

"I told you I'd never go back there. I left you and Alastair in charge of the situation in that side of the globe, and if you can't even do a simple task and kill four idiots and a teenager, then that's on you. Don't bring me into this mess. Just fix it."

"Two of those four idiots are our brothers."

A dark mist drowned the emerald green color from Elijah's eyes for a moment, creating a perfect contrast to the stretching pink color of the sky. Rays of light kept bursting through the translucent wall that bisected the Thames, and he realized more people were grouping on its sides. "Perhaps they're your brothers," he began, his voice tight. "But certainly not mine. They broke our bond when they chose another path, one that breaks everything that makes us who we are."

"Elijah, it's not that simple—"

The man's words were cut midsentence, and Elijah didn't need an explanation as to why. He was staring at the reason himself. Outside, the beaming rays had stopped breaking through the thin wall. Instead, they were exploding against it, their light contained and spreading across its surface. Then, as if someone had smashed a giant hammer against the middle, thousands of fine cracks branched in all directions throughout the wall, exploding with a loud shrill in a matter of seconds.

On cue, a horrible discomfort set deep in Elijah's stomach, a sense of incompletion and unbalance. He knew the meaning of it all too well. It had only happened once before, and there was not a single string of hope that could appease its implications. Even the cigarette had acquired a bitter taste in his throat.

"Find Alastair," were the only words that left Elijah's mouth.

"I can't sense him."

"I don't care. Find him and report back to me when you know something." He left his spot in the window and walked back to his desk, dawn's light casting its glow through the white walls. "We need to stop them before this gets out of control and the higher seats realize it's worse than we thought."

"How could they not realize already? I'm surprised they haven't showed up to slit our—"

"Don't be such a tosser, Aaron." Elijah's voice rose, the heat on his cheeks painting them a rosy pink that matched the clouds outside. "They won't intervene if we manage to contain the situation."

Aaron's voice was stiff. "If they managed to bring him through—"

"Of course they did. The only reason they broke the Veil was to get his ass out of that place. The fact that the Codex predicted it was a perfectly convenient move working on their favor. What I need to know is how and why they sealed the wall again."

A moment of silence hung in the air.

"His presence is not the only thing I feel, Elijah. Something is missing."

Elijah's throat tightened, and the void in his stomach doubled in size. He knew exactly what Aaron meant. He could feel the lack of balance shaking through his veins, a raw sense of foreboding coming from deep inside him. "Then you know we must hurry, because I don't think we have much time."

"Breaking the wall is one thing, but..." Aaron's voice got caught in his throat. The line went silent for a second. "This wasn't in the prophecy. How is it even possible?"

"The answers are always in the Codex," Elijah said. "We looked for them in the wrong places."

"Where's the book now?"

The words made a wave of uneasiness wash through him. "I don't know. Our powers are still blocked against it, including mine."

"If he got to it—"

"You and I know he cannot touch it. The book is to ward itself from anyone who must not see it. I'm confident the spell is still working."

"That's not favorable, though," Aaron refuted, his voice edging the verge of anger. "I got a vision earlier... I think this is exactly what he wanted. His plan is more complex that we thought."

"Since you're smart enough to conclude that, I daresay you know we won't let that happen." Elijah buried the discomfort deep within him, forcing a confident tone into his words. Aaron's visions were never wrong, but Elijah had learn to cope with his friend's predictions in the most hopeful way he could. Sometimes insistence and careful planning to avoid whatever future had been revealed to them would pay off and they would change it for the better. This time, though, he wasn't so sure. "I don't care how, but you have four weeks to get that Codex back to me."

"Are you even feeling this, Elijah? That Veil is breaking apart from the inside out. In no time there'll be nothing left of it. I tried to reach through and couldn't. Something is blocking everything from within. No one can get in or out."

"Wrong. Two people can. If the Codex wants to reveal itself to them, they'll be able to go through whatever barrier that stands on their way."

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I very much am, but first I need you to find Alastair."

Aaron's words broke out in frustration this time, and Elijah didn't have to be staring at his friend to know the edges of his hazel eyes had narrowed, a black mist probably drowning all color from them. "You think Alastair will fix this?"

"No, but he knows someone whom I believe can be of great help, someone who is already close to our special little pawns."

"And who would that be, exactly?"

Memories flooded Elijah's mind, but only one stuck with him. It had been years ago, and yet he perceived it as vivid as if it had happened only a couple of hours ago. "The only warlock in America who knows the first thing about our magic. I'm sure you've heard of him. He now goes by the name of Gideon Graymar."