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"Why her?"

"The Crowe bloodline carries lunar magic dating back twelve centuries. My niece is the youngest and most reckless of the Crowe family, which is exactly why she infiltrated an Order ritual without telling a soul. Now, they believe they can harvest her power to fuel a ceremony that would destabilize the entire paranormal world."

"Get her protection from the PGC. They have resources⁠—"

"Mr. Morvane, the cult has already attempted to seize her multiple times, and they have resources most covens only dream about. Whoever leads them has connections reaching into places that should be secure. The PGC can barely manage traffic disputes between werewolves and fae courts. They're unequipped for this level of threat."

The unconscious vampire at my feet stirs again, the restraints preventing him from regaining full consciousness. I nudge him harder with my boot, biting back my mounting fury.

"You're asking me to protect someone whose very existence threatens the supernatural balance."

"I'm asking you to protect an innocent woman who never asked for this burden. The cult will use her power whether she cooperates or not. The only question is whether she dies quickly or slowly."

Kellan's headlights sweep across the warehouse windows as his van surfaces into the alley. Three more minutes and I can walk away from this conversation to escape the responsibility of protecting another witch who might betray me.

"Triple what you offered my associate," I hear myself say. "And I want full disclosure about her magical capabilities."

"Done."

I end the call and shove the phone into my vest, straining to inhale air through a throat that feels rigid and constricted. The warehouse feels smaller suddenly; the walls contract, pinning my shoulders and trapping me within the weight of my own past mistakes and fresh regrets.

Kellan backs the van through the loading dock, headlights breaking through shadows that seem to writhe with accusation. The engine's rumble drowns out the unconscious vampires' labored breathing, but nothing can silence the voice in my head questioning every decision that led to this moment.

"You look like someone kicked your wolf." Kellan hops out of the van and rounds the back, tossing a half-smoked cigarette onto the wet concrete and crushing it under his boot. His dark hair is tied loosely at his nape, amber eyes catching the loading dock light. He's built like me but leaner, with none of the bulk that makes people cross the street when they see me coming. His familiar grin signals pure trouble. He grabs the vampire's ankles as I haul the first one toward the van's reinforced cargo area. "Let me guess—you took the Crowe job."

"Don't start."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He helps me load Martel Vex into heavy restraints bolted to the van's floor. As our resident weapons specialist, Kellan has customized every inch of this cargo hold to neutralize any supernatural threat. "Just wondering what changed your mind about working with witches."

"Money."

"Right, because you're known for your mercenary streak." Kellan's sarcasm could cut glass. "I’m sure the cult hunting is purely coincidental."

I slam the van doors harder than necessary. "Got intel on the target?"

Kellan produces a manila folder thick with surveillance photos and background reports. "Her name is Serenity Crowe. She is twenty-nine and operates as a private occult investigator who acts as a professional pain in the ass to anyone hiding supernatural secrets." He flips through images as we climb into the van's cab. "And apparently blessed with a complete inability to recognize mortal danger."

The first photograph stops me cold. Serenity Crowe crouches beside what appears to be ritual markings carved into concrete, her silver-gray eyes reflecting the camera flash like moonlight on steel. Thick black hair spills over her shoulders as she traces symbols with bare fingers, fully absorbed in whatever magical residue she's reading.

"She broke into an active crime scene to investigate these markings. Chicago PD had the area cordoned off after finding three bodies drained of blood. The woman waltzed past their barriers using glamour magic and spent two hours cataloging evidence."

The next photo shows her scaling a fire escape toward a building's roof, leather jacket stretched tight across her shoulders. Alone and stripped of safety equipment, she radiated an unrestrained determination etched into every line of her body.

"This one's from last week. She tracked a rogue vampire nest to their daytime lair and decided single-handed reconnaissance was a brilliant idea."

I study the image and observe the weapons strapped to her thighs and the intricate wards inked along her forearms. "Christ, she's either incredibly brave or completely insane."

"Can't she be both?" Kellan grins, but concern shadows his expression. "The woman's got a death wish wrapped in good intentions. Every case she takes involves shielding the city's most vulnerable, and she throws herself into danger like it's a competitive sport."

More photographs uncover the pattern. They capture Serenity infiltrating supernatural gatherings and confronting creatures twice her size while consistently pushing boundaries that would make seasoned hunters nervous.

Kellan starts the van and enters into Chicago's late-night traffic. "According to her case files, she operates with reckless and stubborn defiance. She is also brilliant and apparently willing to die before she lets innocent people get hurt."

I close the folder, but Serenity's eyes linger in my memory. "Where's her apartment?"

"Lincoln Park. It is a fancy neighborhood for someone who spends her time climbing through sewers and abandoned buildings." Kellan navigates toward the city center, streetlights painting amber streaks across the windshield.

"Drop me off a few blocks away," I tell him, while checking the weapons secured in my vest. "You take the van and the packages the rest of the way to the PGC. Make sure those vampires are processed immediately."