Page 107 of Hunted

And beneath both, heavy and ugly, grief rises slow and thick.

Tezra was a sweet man.

Too chatty. Too optimistic. The kind of man who sent photos of his lunch because he was proud he’d made it himself. The kind who talked about his wife like she hung the moon and his four kids like tiny warlords he was lucky to survive.

‘He… he can’t…’ My voice scrapes. ‘Are you sure?’

Malachi gives a brisk nod but, to his credit, doesn’t judge me for asking.

A rock of sorrow lodges in my throat. His wife. His kids.

Gods. What the actual fuck.

‘He had a family,’ I say, and my voice cracks before I can stop it. I hate that. Hate that I can’t get a full breath around the pressure in my chest. ‘A wife and four kids.’

Valentin’s gaze shifts to me, and for once there is no mockery in it. No heat. No taunting. Only a grave stillness that feels older than his cruelty.

‘They will be taken care of.’

I blink. ‘What?’

‘His family,’ he says, each syllable precise, ‘will be provided for. He was a product of my city, and therefore under my protection. Whoever did this will be found. New York doesn’t take from me without consequence.’

I stare at him.

Because this isn’t performative generosity. It’s command-level certainty.

He means it.

Valentin turns his head a fraction towards Malachi.

No words pass between them, but something does. A silent command. Malachi dips his chin.

‘I’ll see to it, sire.’

The room tilts strangely for a second, grief and shock making everything too sharp. Then I drag myself back into the conversation before sadness pulls me under.

‘Who hired him?’ I ask.

Malachi’s eyes flick to me, measuring the abrupt shift from shaken to razor-focused. ‘Layered aliases and dead channels. The account chain traces to shell identities and burned phones. The wards were old-form work augmented with modern suppressors. Deliberate.’

‘In New York,’ I say, looking at Valentin. ‘This happened in your city.’

His face hardens. ‘Yes.’

‘Someone set up a kill box for a teleporter under your nose.’

The silver in his eyes brightens. ‘Be careful, little hunter.’

‘Why? I’m agreeing with you. It’s a problem.’

Malachi cuts in, perhaps wisely. ‘It was designed to vanish inside ordinary noise. Millions of moving parts. The scene was meant to disappear for several hours at minimum.’

‘Until Tezra didn’t call back,’ I mutter. Until I called and he didn’t answer. My stomach twists.

Malachi studies me for half a beat. ‘There is something else, sire.’

Valentin turns to him. ‘Go on.’