Page 96 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

Rory’s fingertips brushed the photo’s edge, and a familiar thrum of cold, hollow ache radiated from him, seeping into my own chest. It wasn’t merely grief; it was the sharp, tearing agony of definitive loss.

I moved closer, my hand finding his shoulder. I squeezed gently, wanting to absorb the pain, wanting to rip it out of him entirely. But the words that should have come—comfort, reassurance, promise—stuck in my throat. I couldn’t diminish this. What comfort could I truly offer when this loss, for Rory, felt like the end of the world?

This was his first real death, his first friend lost forever, unlike the countless fallen soldiers I’d learned to compartmentalise during Greywatch.

I said nothing. Just held him there, letting the weight of the silence cover us both.

Footsteps thundered down the corridor, then Seb burst through the kitchen door like he was fleeing something, his jaw set in that particular way that meant someone was about to get bollocksed.

“Right.” He clapped his hands together with sharp finality. “I’m off to Brixton in twenty minutes. Going alone—I think I know someone who might give me intel on where Vale’s hiding his sorry ass.”

Rory lifted his head. “Want backup?”

“No. Once we know his location, we’ll all go to handle it properly.” Seb’s gaze swept the kitchen before suddenly narrowing at Rory. “Anyway, you need to be up in Hackney by ten. You know, for the Harrington case?”

Rory glanced at the kitchen clock, its hands pointing to half-past eight. “I’ve got plenty of time.”

“What’s Priya doing today?” I asked, though something in Seb’s expression already told me this was a bad question.

“Manchester.” He spat the word like a curse. “She left on the first train. Her mother’s ill—or claims to be, anyway. The family’s guilt-tripped her into playing nursemaid and helping with sorting the house.”

Rory snorted. “Not sure Priya’s going to be much help if they expect her to clean. Last time she tried to hoover the basement, she nearly electrocuted herself.”

“I need her back here as soon as possible.” Seb’s voice carried the edge of barely contained frustration. “We can’t afford to be short-staffed right now.”

He turned on his heel, storming away from us. The door swung shut behind him with enough force to rattle the hinges.

“Bloody hell,” Rory muttered. “I wish Flynn could be permanently attached to Seb. He’s nowhere near this much of a grump when he’s around. I might start recording Seb to prove it to Flynn.”

But I was only half listening, my brain suddenly processing what Seb’s announcement actually meant. Rory would be in Hackney. Priya was already on a train to Manchester. Seb was hunting vampires in Brixton.

That left me and Felix.

Alone.

In the hotel.

At lunchtime.

I’d been half worried about how on earth we were actually going to manage to eat lunch together without arousing suspicion.

Freddy finished the last remnants of orange, then fixed his glowing eyes on my shopping bags with obvious interest.

“What is all that?” Rory asked, moving his hand towards the bread.

“That’s mine,” I snarled, possibly too violently—Rory jerked his hand back in alarm.

“Fucking hell, Kit. Sorry I dared to touch your sacred sourdough.” He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t realise you were bulking.”

“I’m just feeling hungry today,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Everyone’s in such a foul mood today,” Rory said, eyeing me warily as he backed away from my shopping bags. “I’m going to have to text Priya SOS. This is much more of an emergency than her mum having the flu.”

He grabbed Freddy and tucked the ferret under his arm like a furry football. “Right, I’m off. Try not to bite anyone’s head off while I’m gone, yeah?”

With a raised eyebrow, he left me alone.

Felix would likely be in his lair by now. He typically slipped in unnoticed without saying good morning to anyone.