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“Be careful.”
“You too.”
Then shadows swallow him and he’s gone, and I’m standing alone in a parking lot holding a folder of documentation like it’s a shield.
The baby kicks sharp and insistent and afraid.
The front door opens under my hand. The main room is empty, but voices drift from somewhere in back, low and serious and deliberate. I follow the sound past bathrooms and kitchen, down a narrow hallway that seems to stretch forever.
There’s a heavy wooden door at the end with an iron handle that’s cold under my palm.
I knock, and the sound echoes.
The voices stop.
“Come in.”
The door swings open on silent hinges.
Twenty people, maybe more, sitting in a circle of chairs. All of them turn to look at me at once. Mrs. Chen is there, and the mayor, and Preston Crane sitting directly across from the door with a smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes.
The silence is physical, pressing against my skin.
I step inside on legs that don’t quite feel steady.
The door closes behind me with a sound like a coffin lid.
CHAPTER 14
Malak
The storage room reeks of mildew and stale beer. Cobwebs hang thick in the corners where even the spiders have abandoned their work. Against the back wall, the ward hums, a vibration I feel in my teeth more than hear.
Voices filter through. Muffled, but clear enough.
The door opens in the main room. Kaia’s footsteps cross the threshold, hesitant but steady. Silence falls, thick as fog.
A throat clears.
“Kaia Brennan. Please, sit.”
The voice is stone grinding against stone. Marcus. Two hundred years running the Riverside, and he sounds like he was carved from its foundation.
A chair scrapes. Kaia sits.
“Thank you for coming.” This voice flows like water over rocks. The selkie, Moira. “We know this must be difficult.”
“Let’s not waste time with pleasantries.” Preston cuts through the false kindness. “We all know why she’s here.”
Papers rustle. Something slides across wood.
“These photographs were taken over the past two weeks. Note the window. Shattered from the inside. Note the customers. Mrs. Patterson, who couldn’t stop coming back. The teenager, Emma Rodriguez. The construction worker who walked into traffic because he was too focused on the cinnamon roll in his hand to notice the light had changed.”
“That’s not—” Kaia starts.
“I’m not finished.” More papers shuffling. “Witness statements. Mrs. Patterson describes feeling ‘compelled’ to visit the bakery. Emma Rodriguez reports dreams about the place, waking up with the taste of sugar on her tongue. The construction worker survived, thankfully, but described feeling ‘drunk’ on the bread.”
“People like my baking. That’s not a crime.”
