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A glass.
I moved close. Picked it up. Sniffed.
Scotch.
Expensive too.
London and the cleaner talked. Another man took photos of the scene. I trailed my hand down, skimmed the back of the chair near the glass. It’d been pulled in tight. Straightened after the fact.
He was methodical, this one. Not frantic. Not filled with rage. There was a hunger here. A need for… precision. I recognised the restraint.
I inhaled. Moved. Something musty. Choking almost. It got stronger. I kicked something hard. It skidded.
“Careful.” The crime scene guy muttered.
I paid no notice. Bent. Reached. Slick and cold. I didn’t have to inhale to know it was blood. The weight of it settled in my palm. Not run of the mill. No, this was industrial. I dragged my fingers along the edge of it. The steel dented and worn. Blood coated the teeth of it.
“A fucking wrench?” Rafe snarled. “What kind of animal was this?”
I placed the wrench back down and stayed there.
Not the blood.
Something else.
I dragged in the sharp scent of… silica.
“Here.” Rafe murmured above me.
I reached up, grabbed the handkerchief and wiped my fingers clean. Then reached once more. Past the wrench and the pooled blood. My fingers swiped smoothly not catching on the marble floor. I rubbed them together, then lifted them to my nose. “Concrete dust.”
Silence settled heavy in the room.
“What?” The tech murmured. “Where?”
“Here.” I pointed. “And there.”
He moved toward me. Shifted around. “Okay, that’s all the photos I need.”
“Good.” I rose and handed the ruined handkerchief to Rafe once more. “I’ll take a copy of those too.”
Silence settled instantly.
“Alaric.” London murmured. “You sure you want those?”
Nyssa’s trembling breaths surfaced immediately in my head.
I was scared.
Her words echoed.
Now I knew why.
“Yes.” I took a step, then stopped. “The Daughter. Where is she?”
“Safe.” London answered.
That word settled for barely a second before I turned. I followed Rafe out of the building, then the elevator and outside. The car doors thudded. We pulled away.
