Aelin squeezed the bridge of her nose with two fingers, then lifted her head. “You know I have to kill your driver.” “No, you don’t!” the man cried, scrambling to grab the reins. “I swear—swear I won’t breathe a word about this place.” Aelin stalked to the hansom cab, the rain instantly soaking her cloak. The driver could report the location of the warehouse, could endanger everything, but— Aelin peered at the rain-flecked cab permit framed by the door, illuminated by the little lantern hanging above. “Well, Kellan Oppel of sixty-three Baker Street, apartment two, I suppose you won’t tell
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