That damn word again.I have heard it three times this week already.From scouts.From informants.From men who should know better than to speak like frightened children.
Shielding.
As if vampires need protection.As if they are something worth preserving.
“They bleed,” I say.
“They disappear,” he corrects.
My hand slams against the table hard enough to rattle the pins loose.“They are not ghosts.”
“No,” he says quietly.“But something is helping them move like ghosts.”
Something.Someone.Ormanysomeones.
The realization sits in my chest like a stone.
Aziel has always been dangerous.But Aziel alone does not erase entire strike teams without evidence.Aziel alone does not silence witnesses across three provinces.Aziel alone does not erase financial trails, transportation routes, and informants within forty-eight hours.
Something larger is moving behind him.Something patient.Something older.
And I do not like hunting things I cannot see.
A knock sounds at the door.Sharp and controlled.
“Enter.”
The courier steps inside without meeting my eyes.
Another envelope.Always envelopes now.Never names.Never faces.Never explanations.Only information.
I take it from him slowly, and he leaves quickly.Clearly, he is a wise man.
Inside is a photograph.Not a house this time.Not a face.Not a location.Just a road.An empty fucking road with a dark forest on either side.The photograph was taken at night.
There is nothing remarkable or even slightly useful about the image until I turn it over.
Three words written across the back—
She matters now.
For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m looking at right before my memory sharpens.
A girl.A myth.The one who wasn’t supposed to exist.
My pulse slows and then steadies right before it becomes something else entirely.Hope.Sharp and dangerous as a blade.
“Oliver,” I say quietly.
He steps forward.“Yes?”
“Find her.”
“Who?”He hesitates.“We don’t even know her name.”
I hand him the photograph.“Then start there.”
He studies the image and frowns before turning it over again.
