"Hands where I can see them!" The agent bursts into the kitchen, tactical blade drawn. Water from the sprinklers plasters his hair to his forehead, making him look even younger than he probably is. Behind him, another young female agent appears, some type of metal net in her hands.
And behind them both—Astrid.
Her eyes widen as they lock with mine, recognition and shock battling across her features. For one heartbeat, neither of us moves. A riot of emotions flash across her face—confusion, anger, disbelief… excitement.
"Sutter, no, wait—" she begins, but the male is already lunging forward, blade drawn.
I pivot, turning my body to shield the brownie. The blade catches my forearm instead, opening a deep gash. I register the burning sting as my flesh parts, but the pain is distant, secondary. My wolf's biology is already working to stem the bleeding.
I raise my elbow and strike, knocking the smaller male to the ground. His face hits the dirty floor with a thud and he doesn't move.
"You! Stop!" Astrid's voice cracks like a whip.
But it's too late. The kitchen erupts into motion as staff finally notice the confrontation. Someone screams. A pot crashes to the floor. The female rookie raises the weird looking metallic net and prepares to throw it at me.
"Time to go," Cormac mutters, stepping up beside me. His hands move in a quick, practiced gesture, and I feel the subtle ripple of Fae magic wash over us. The glamour takes effect immediately—not invisibility but a shield of disinterest that will make everyone's eyes slide past us as if we're not worth noticing.
Except Astrid's.
Her gaze remains fixed on me, unwavering despite the glamour that should also be affecting her. Her hand hovers near her weapon, but she doesn't draw it. Instead, her eyes drop to the brownie clutched against my chest, then to the blood dripping from my arm.
"You're bleeding," she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear it over the wailing alarm and shouting kitchen staff.
Her concern sends a warm current through my chest. My wolf responds with a pleased rumble.
"It'll heal," I reply, equally quiet, holding her gaze a moment longer than necessary. "Wolf, remember?" The smallest hint of a smile tugs at my lips.
The female agent is helping her partner up from the floor. They’re confused, heads swiveling as they try to find us or figure out who Astrid is talking to. The glamour is working on them, at least.
"Agent Mathieson," the female calls uncertainly. "Target has disappeared. Possible concealment magic?"
Astrid doesn't acknowledge her. Instead, she takes a step closer to me, close enough that I can smell her beneath the kitchen's chaos of scents. Close enough that my wolf rumbles with delight and anticipation.
"Why are you here?" she asks. "What do you want with a brownie?"
"To see you," I answer honestly. "The brownie doesn’t deserve to die, so we’re taking him."
She frowns, glances at her confused rookies, then back to me. "Go," she says, the word barely audible. "Before I change my mind."
I don't push my luck with words of gratitude or promises. I also know this small mercy costs her. The conflict in her eyes tells me she's still fighting our connection. But her actions tell me I’m winning.
With the brownie still clutched to my chest, I move toward the exit, Cormac close behind me. The kitchen staff part unconsciously around us, their attention elsewhere thanks to the glamour.
Only Astrid watches us leave, her gaze a heavy pressure on my back as we slip through the door into the night beyond.
The cool air hits my face, but the pull to turn around, to go back to her, is almost overwhelming. My wolf paces restlessly, fighting our retreat. We plunge deeper into the alley, past overflowing dumpsters and stacked crates that reek of spoiled produce.
The wail of approaching sirens gets closer—GUIDE backup, no doubt. The brownie's tiny heart hammers against my chest, his fear-scent sharp and acrid.
I follow Cormac's lead as he weaves through a labyrinth of service corridors and delivery bays. Each turn takes us farther from Astrid, and my wolf howls its protest in my mind. Walking away from her feels wrong. Like I'm leaving a piece of myself behind.
"She could see you through my glamour," Cormac says as we hurry down the alley, his voice tight. "GUIDE will have this whole block surrounded in minutes. We’ve got to get further away."
I nod, clutching the brownie against my chest as we break into a jog. The small creature trembles against me, but remains silent as we navigate the maze of back alleys until we reach a nondescript sedan parked three blocks away.
"Get in," Cormac orders, unlocking the doors with a quick gesture. "Glamour won't hold much longer."
The brownie and I pile into the passenger seat while Cormac slides behind the wheel. The car rumbles to life, and we're pulling away from the curb just as I see a black SUV pull in the alley at the other end. My arm throbs dully, the wound already knitting itself closed.
