"It is possible," Cormac answers. "GUIDE doesn't look kindly on failure."
I say nothing, but my hands curl into fists. I hate that she's suffered professionally because of our connection—a connection she didn't ask for and doesn't fully understand yet. My wolf disagrees, reminding me that the bond works both ways. She chose to let me escape, just as I chose to find her again.
"We need to be careful," I warn, eyeing the restaurant's back entrance. "You've already been shot once."
"And I'm not eager for a repeat," Cormac replies dryly. "But the brownie matters. He's one of our informants, and if GUIDE catches him..."
He doesn't need to finish the thought. If GUIDE had captures the brownie, they would extract everything he knows about the Earth resistance network. Locations, contacts, safe houses. Dozens of magickal beings will be exposed, hunted down, executed.
"What's the plan?" I ask, already knowing I won't like the answer.
"We go in, find the brownie before they do, and get out. Simple." Cormac's expression betrays that it will be anything but simple. "I can maintain a glamour for about ten minutes. Maybe fifteen if I push it, but not if I have to hide all three of us from multiple trained observers."
"So stealth first, glamour as a last resort," I confirm. "We need a distraction."
Cormac grins, reaching into his pocket and pulling out what looks like a small smooth stone. "Already arranged. My contact placed this in the restaurant's fire alarm system. When I activate it..." He makes a gesture like pulling a pin.
I nod. I take a deep breath, savoring the distant trace of her scent mingled with the night air. The pull toward her is almost physical, a tether drawing me forward despite the danger. "I smell her. Let's go."
The restaurant's back door is propped open slightly, a sliver of golden light spilling onto the cracked asphalt. Kitchen sounds drift out—the clatter of dishes, voices calling orders, the sizzle of food on grills. Beneath it all, a faint skittering sound, barely perceptible to human ears but crystal clear to my wolf ones.
The brownie is in there. And so is she.
We slip through the door during a moment when the kitchen staff are distracted by a dropped tray. The chaos provides perfect cover as we duck behind a row of industrial shelving stacked with dishes and supplies. The kitchen is sweltering, filled with steam and shouting cooks who seem oblivious to the drama unfolding on the other side of the swinging doors that lead to the dining area.
I peer through the circular window in one of the doors, and my heart nearly stops.
Astrid stands in the center of the half-empty dining room, her posture alert but casual enough not to alarm the remaining customers. She's wearing civilian clothes—dark jeans and a leather jacket that can't quite hide the outline of a shoulder holster. Her dark hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face. She's beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache, fierce and focused as she quietly directs two younger agents who flank her like nervous shadows.
One is a tall man with a military bearing and a poorly concealed tactical blade strapped to his thigh. The other is a wiry woman with quick, darting eyes that miss nothing. Both look too eager, too green—new agents trying to impress their instructor.
Cormac taps my shoulder, drawing my attention to movement beneath one of the tables. A small figure darts from cover to cover. No more than eighteen inches tall, with mottled brown-green skin that helps it blend with the shadows. The brownie's overlarge ears twitch nervously as it makes its way toward the kitchen, unaware that it's being herded by the agents who slowly close in from different angles.
"They've got him trapped," I whisper. "Using the customers as unwitting blockers."
"Smart." Cormac sounds almost impressed. "Your mate knows what she's doing."
A surge of pride rushes through me despite the circumstances. My wolf practically preens at the acknowledgment of Astrid's skill. But my admiration is short-lived as I notice Astrid making a subtle hand signal to her agents. They're closing the trap.
"We need that distraction now," I urge, tension coiling in my muscles as I watch the brownie's escape routes disappear one by one.
Cormac nods, pressing his thumb against the stone in his palm. For a moment, nothing happens. My heartbeat quickens, a growl building in my throat as I watch Astrid take another step toward the brownie's hiding place.
Then the fire alarm erupts in a deafening wail, emergency lights flashing as sprinklers activate throughout the dining area and kitchen.
Chaos erupts instantly.
Customers leap to their feet, grabbing purses and jackets, rushing toward exits. Staff appear from side doors, attempting to direct the evacuation. I push open the swinging kitchen door and wait for the brownie to look up.
Our eyes lock across the dining hall. His nostrils flare, testing the air, and recognition flashes in his gaze. Not of me personally, but of what I am. His ears perk up, hope replacing terror in his expression. Between a predator like me and the GUIDE agents closing in, I'm clearly the safer choice.
He changes direction, scampering toward the doorway to the kitchen with surprising speed for his small size.
"Target’s moving to the kitchen!" The male agent’s voice cuts through the shouting, followed by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.
I move without thinking, stepping out into the dining room just as the brownie reaches me. The small creature leaps, tiny hands grasping at my jeans. I scoop him up, tucking him against my chest where he clings to my shirt like a terrified child.
"You’re safe," I murmur, stepping back through the doors toward Cormac.
