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"My so-called self-destruction is called courage. You should try it sometime instead of hiding behind that ice-cold stoicism."

"Professional detachment keeps people breathing."

"From my experience, professional detachment keeps people at arm's length." A heavy truth strikes home, its unexpected gravity catching me off guard. "Must be lonely up there on your pedestal of emotional unavailability."

Surprise or maybe recognition flashes in his eyes. For a heartbeat, the mask slips, and I glimpse something real underneath. Then a tense muscle flexes in his cheek, and the walls slam back into place.

"There’s no time for this." His voice snaps back to that clipped, operational flatness. "Estella's wards are failing."

The subject shifts with such abruptness that it sends a ripple of disorientation through my thoughts. I glance at the windows and note how the afternoon light has shifted, realizing six hours have passed. We've burned through our safety margin arguing like children.

"Right." I shoulder both bags again, the professional mask sliding into place. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Somewhere they can't follow." Darius moves toward the door, then pauses. "And Serenity? For the record—I never thought you were fragile."

Before I can respond, Kellan appears in the doorway, gear strapped across his chest and urgency written in every line of his body.

"We need to get out of here right now. Estella's contacts confirmed the Order bribed half the paranormal council's tracking division. They've got official sanction to hunt you through every registered safe house in the city."

The bottom drops out of my stomach. Compromised official channels mean we must rely entirely on covert protection and underground solutions. We are on our own.

Darius racks the slide on his weapon, never needing to glance down. "Underground routes?"

"Already mapped. The old prohibition tunnels connect to the paranormal transit system beneath Union Station." Kellan tosses me a small device that looks like a modified compass. "Estella's parting gift—it'll mask your magical signature for about twelve hours."

Clipping the device to my jacket, I feel its subtle whir against my ribs. "And after twelve hours?"

"We'll be far enough away that it won't matter."

Pressing my palm against the compass, I follow them through the mansion’s ruined foyer; I have to step over the scorch marks I put there myself. The afternoon sun cuts through the plastic sheeting where windows used to be and throws warped light across marble floors dusted with crystal fragments.

Behind us, the Crowe estate fades in the distance as Kellan steers the van toward the city's underground routes. Estella watches from the front steps, hair catching the light, growing smaller and smaller until the iron gates swallow her out of view.

I refuse to look back again.

6

DARIUS

The Moonlight Motor Lodge squats against the Illinois countryside like a relic from a bygone era, its neon sign flickering weakly in the gathering dusk. The prohibition tunnels spat us out at a service entrance near Joliet, where one of Kellan's contacts had a nondescript sedan waiting with the keys under the visor. Kellan took the van to head east to work his network in person, harder to trace than digital communication. Serenity and I drove the back roads for another two hours in silence, switching highways twice before I spotted the weathered sign for the Moonlight Motor Lodge. I steer the car into the gravel lot. The single-story building hunkers beneath towering oaks that screen it from the main highway, which is perfect for disappearing.

Grizzon Holt emerges from the office before I've even cut the engine, his weathered face breaking into a rare, creased smile that reaches his sleepy dark eyes. Taxing, necessary care slows the old bear shifter as he negotiates the porch steps, his heavy gait bearing the quiet evidence of too many territorial disputes and aching joints.

He’s a mountain of a man, carrying the rough-hewn presence of sawdust and wild earth. A faded red flannel fits tight across his massive shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal tree-trunk forearms etched in pale, uneven scars. His graying hair is back in a messy ponytail, but it does little to contain the wild mane that frames his lined face. He stops beside my driver-side window and rests a calloused hand the size of a dinner plate against the frame, the vehicle settling slightly under his weight.

"Morvane." His voice has the gravelly warmth of an old friend. "Been a while since you needed the off-grid special."

"Circumstances beyond my control." I climb out of the driver's seat, automatically checking the perimeter. "How secure is the property?"

"Warded by my grandmother's pack magic and salted with iron dust from the old railway. Nothing supernatural gets within a mile without my permission." Grizzon's eyes shift to Serenity as she exits the passenger side, messenger bag clutched protectively against her ribs. "This the witch causing all the excitement?"

"Serenity Crowe, meet Grizzon Holt. He owes me three favors and excellent discretion."

She extends her hand with that sharp smile I'm beginning to recognize as her default armor. "Pleasure to meet someone who actually likes Darius enough to help him."

Grizzon barks out a genuinely amused laugh as he shakes her hand. "Don't let his charming personality fool you. Underneath all that brooding, he's still brooding."

"Hilarious." I grab both our bags from the car. "Room twelve currently available?"