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I stood, too fast, my head spinning with dizziness for half a second, as Wade grabbed my arm to steady me.

At the edge of the warehouse, half-hidden behind a stack of pallets, a shape watched me. Too tall. Too thin. Its face shifted from shadow into something not at all human, something with too many teeth.

The changeling.

It raised a hand. Pressed a finger to its lips.

Shh.

Then it melted back into the shadows, and I was left staring at nothing, my heart pounding, my dead arm throbbing.

Wade touched my shoulder. “Angel?”

Victor’s gaze followed mine. Had he seen it? I met his gaze and he gave me the barest nod.

I walked toward the warehouse, toward the shadows where the changeling had been, and tried to ignore the feeling that I was walking into something I didn’t understand. Something I was only beginning to piece together.

Because the changeling had been there. Watching. Waiting.

But so had Jude.

I knew it for certain when a streak of gray and white crept from the edge of the warehouse, darted up my arm, and settled on my shoulders.

Nox.

He nuzzled my cheek, then slid into the collar of my shirt. His weight and bulk dissolved into a tingle, his form flattening against my skin as he turned himself into a tattoo—the same way he’d ridden with Jude to protect him.

I gritted my teeth, questions burning in my throat.

Frustration clawed at my chest. I hated waiting. Hated not knowing where Jude was or what was happening to him. And now Nox was here, silent, offering nothing but his presence.

He’s safe, I told myself. Nox wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.

It would have to be enough for now.

20

ANGEL

The rest of the day blurred.

We processed the scene. Every body bag unzipped, every tag photographed, every scrap of potential evidence bagged and logged. I lost count after the first dozen. Wade kept a tablet in his hand, updating the manifest in real time, his face growing paler with each new entry.

Every SED team across the state crawled over the scene, partly to help identify the sheer volume of bodies and evidence, and partly to help keep the press back. The number of dead made it national news. We hadn’t seen a massacre this bad since the war.

We took statements. Dug up cult paraphernalia. Pulled camera feeds, police surveillance records, and every report of strange activity filed in the past decade. All of it would take time. Time we didn’t have.

This was worse than the empty lot with the charred remains. This was a killing field. A repository of corpses, many looking a lot like Cassidy’s had, sucked dry and spit back out. Did that mean Erlik was on this side? Or was this just where he dropped the bodies when he finished draining them? And what did that mean for Jude?

My body ached. More dark blots floating on the edge of my vision seeming to suction to me as I passed them. The numbness spread, though I could still move my hand. Clenching my fist felt like needles. The pain was grounding, and every once in a while, through the edge of my vision, I caught something dark clinging to my arm. Whatever I’d pulled out of the girl?

We waited while forensics did their work and the ME loaded body after body into the waiting vans. The handful we could identify added to the confusion. CEOs to vagrants, and everything in between. Merrill stalked the scene, growling at everything, though from what little I could hear, he failed to catch any ghostly voices. The Pentagon was sending some of their best SV experts, and I tried not to let it bother me that Jude should have been there. If there was a ghost to be seen, he’d have spoken to them. But the entire area felt oddly empty.

The sun climbed higher, then stalled, then began its slow slide toward the horizon. The smell, sweet and charred and rotten, clung to my clothes, my hair, the back of my throat.

From time to time, I’d catch a mental flicker of my bond with Jude. Nothing substantial, and nothing strong enough to cling to, only a hint that left me to believe he was okay. Likely weak, but not yanked from all existence.

Victor stood guard over me like a shadow with fangs. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His presence kept the uniforms from asking too many questions, kept the reporters behind the tape, kept the growing crowd of onlookers at a safe distance. Hanna might have thought of him as my babysitter, but he acted more like a bodyguard. I was grateful for it.