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Eight-fucking-years old.

“And the siren?” Titania asks.

“Healing,” Raze answers. “Sentinel did what he could before we moved them, but they had iron around her throat.”

Titania goes completely still. “Iron?”

“Collar,” Scar cuts in. “Tight enough that it had started cutting through the skin.”

Titania’s eyes shift to him. “Can she sing?”

“Don’t know,” Raze says. “Hasn’t made a sound since we got her out.”

“Can she speak?”

Raze shakes his head in a ‘didn’t I just say that’ move, but answers anyway, “Not yet.”

My hellhound shifts beneath my skin, dragging me straight back to that fucking depot and the blood dried black around her throat.

“And the third?” Titania asks.

Raze’s expression hardens. “Fae.”

Her attention snaps fully onto him. “What kind?”

“Winged.” Titania doesn’t move while Raze holds her stare. “Or she was.”

Something changes in her face.

Barely.

But I fucking see it.

“Explain.”

Raze exhales, knowing this will piss her off. “They cut them off.”

Her fingers slowly curl against the edge of the table. “Both?”

“Down to the fucking bone,” I cut in.

Titania’s gaze snaps to mine. “Whatever they used, they didn’t give a shit about doing it clean. She was sitting in her own blood when we found her. What was left of her wings hacked down to stubs.”

Titania’s face empties. “Has she spoken?”

Raze shakes his head. “No. Club girls said she’s let them clean her up some, but that’s about as far as they’ve gotten. Nobody’s pushing her. Right now, we’re giving all three of them food, somewhere safe, and enough room to figure out we’re not gonna fucking hurt them.”

Titania watches him for a long second. “And those responsible?”

Hellfire warms beneath my ribs. “Dead.”

Her eyes slide back to me. “All of them?”

I settle deeper into my chair. “Every. Fucking. One.”

Titania’s jaw tightens, the first crack in that composed, ancient mask since she stepped through. “There is a healer in my court who has spent four centuries doing nothing but coaxing broken wings back into flight. I will send for him myself.” She looks at Raze. “The siren belongs with kin who can teach her to trust her own voice again. I know a pod off the northern coast who lost their youngest to men like the ones you buried in that depot. They will not let another slip through their hands.”

“And the boy?” I ask.