Mallin needed to prove himself useful to Master Ciprian. That was the only way he'd get to see Sacha again.
But right now, there was nothing about him that was useful.
The palms of his hands stung from the continued attempts at forcing his magic into something it was incapable of becoming. His bones ached from the soul-sucking exhaustion that had been with him from the moment the Caretaker had pulled him from the embrace of the poison.
He felt like a cheap imitation of both his brothers, and he was beginning to think that was all he'd ever be.
The rest of the Core had already retired for the night. While they were resting for the early morning trip to the Branch of Logic, Mallin had been futilely working in a practice room as far away from everyone else as possible trying to regain some semblance of his magic after Sacha's murderer had destroyed his conduit.
