Great.
Barefoot, I jogged down, heart thudding.At the front door stood a wall of a man, broad-shouldered and imposing, filling the threshold like he owned it.He wore a dark, structured coat that wasn’t modern—heavy wool or leather, cut clean and severe, with subtle sigils stitched into the seams that caught the light only when he moved.It looked less like a uniform and more like something issued by an older, colder authority.His forearms were thick as tree trunks, tension carved into every line of him.Blond hair tipped faintly blue—because apparently even supernatural law enforcement had aesthetic choices—and eyes the color of Arctic ice swept the entryway with clipped professional judgment before landing on me.
He looked like he could punch through a brick wall.
Or a shadow-thing.
Or both.
Fantastic.
“I’m Piper Wakefield,” I said, lifting my chin.
His gaze dragged from my bare toes up to my bedhead hair.Judgment flickered—quick, subtle, unmistakable.Of all days not to be wearing runway armor.
He reached into his pocket, flipped open a slim black wallet.Silver badge.ID.
“Agent Voss,” he said.“Portal Enforcement.”
I leaned in to read it.He snapped it shut before I got a good look.
“I understand there’s trouble with the crossing at the hickory tree,” he went on.“The Council sent me to investigate why it’s still open.”
“Wow,” I said.“Word travels fast.How did you—”
“Where’s Alice?”he cut in.
Owen shifted instantly, fractionally stepping in front of me.Protective.Infuriating.Comforting.
“Alice is dead,” I said flatly.
The word still hurt—but at least it didn’t steal my breath anymore.
Some of the fury bled out of Voss’s face.“Dead.”
“That’s what I said.”
“When?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“How?And who’s the new Guardian?”
I folded my arms.“Okay, bucko.I’d love to play interrogations with the Man of Mystery, but I don’t know who you are beyond the shiny badge, and I’ve never heard of Portal Enforcement.Maybe enlighten me?”
His jaw tightened.Owen’s hands flexed at his sides, the air around him humming faintly.
“Answer the questions,” Voss said, clipped.
“Careful with your tone,” Owen snapped, eyes flashing.Power rippled—controlled, but real.
I laid a hand on his arm, grounding him, then stepped around him.
“I’m the Guardian,” I said.“What of it?”
The swear slipped out sharp and satisfying.
“Your crossing is failing.”
