Chapter 5Harry took a step forward, vivid with anger. Kit hissed, “No,” and Harry looked at him. Kit reached out—those threads, the emotion in them, Thynne was made of emotion and the working had been emotion—and grabbed at tapestries and yanked until they came apart.
He landed on his feet. He said, to Harry, who’d never been in a fight, “Get Sam.”
Harry hesitated.
“I can feel you,” Kit said. “I love you.” He did feel Harry, all that golden-blue strength: it slid under his skin, into his veins, ready to help. “You’re here with me. Go.”
Harry ran. John Thynne sighed. And ran a hand through his hair. “You could’ve not made this difficult.”
“Says the man engaged in art theft.”
“I told you this was the last one.”
“That doesn’t make it not illegal. And you’re making it worse by using you
