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I’m not sure I believe him. But it surprises me how much I want to, how much that yearning from my childhood has come roaring back.

I know I’m not a Hunter—that’s undeniable. So what else could I be? My mother always told me I was human, but now I think maybe what she really meant is that I’m not like her. Because I also can’t deny that I’ve always felt this barrier between me and the human world. I don’t fit comfortably in either space, human or Hunter. It’s just that being human is so much easier.

But around Victor—it’s like that discomfort has faded. Like it doesn’t matter anymore.

Footsteps on the gravel. Victor emerges out of the shadows like a wraith. “Nothing,” he says with a grin. “Power’s off completely, but we won’t need it. Can probably get away with turning on the water.”

“When was the last time you did this?” I ask him.

“A few decades ago.” He grabs my hand, surprising me. His palm is warm and rough against mine. Reassuring. “The last time I left the mountain, and it turned out to be a disaster, remember?”

“Yeah, you got killed in Connecticut.”

“So you were paying attention.”

I roll my eyes. “How’d you know to look for security cameras? They didn’t have those in the seventies.”

Victor grins, his teeth pale and bright in the darkness. “I have them installed all over my property, that’s how. Now stop worrying.”

He leads me to the front door, and it doesn’t take him much effort to break the lock, to push the door open. Inside, everything feels still and stuffy. I might not have a Hunter’s senses, but even I can tell the owners haven’t been here for a while.

Victor breathes in. “Almost smells like they haven’t been here for a couple of years,” he says. “We really don’t need to worry.”

The house does have the sense of being abandoned, I’ll give him that. It’s full of furniture, but the furniture is coated in dust. The kitchen is completely empty, the refrigerator cleared out and silent. There is some soap stashed away in the bathroom cupboard, however, and I use it as I take a cold shower, washing the detritus of the woods away. I’m shivering by the time I step out, but the towels are thick and fluffy and warm, and there are a few pieces of clothes hanging in the closet of the bedroom. Old lady clothes, granted, and most of them a size too small. Still, I manage to fit into an oversized sweater and woolen skirt, both of them straight out of 1986. Better than nothing.

When I go downstairs, Victor is sitting at the kitchen table, a yellow legal pad in front of him, covered in dark marks from the ballpoint pen he’s clutching in one hand.

“What are you doing?”

He looks over at me and then grins a little. I tug self-consciously on the sweater. “This is all I could find to wear. Someone ruined my actual clothes, and that same someone wouldn’t let me bring my suitcase with us.”

Victor laughs, and it’s a nice sound, soft and musical. “You didn’t want to drag that thing through the woods,” he says, leaning back in his chair, an appraising look on his face. “Besides, you knew exactly what to do. How to take what you can find.”

I look down at the sequined sweater. He says it like it’s meant to be a compliment.

“You didn’t answer my question.” I drag a chair over to sit down beside him. The legal pad is covered in thick, dark lines and scribbled text. A madman’s journal.

“I’m planning,” Victor says, tilting the pad so I can see it, not that I can make sense of his handwriting. He tracks along his scribbles with the pen, and I think it might be a map. “This is what I remember from the outside of Wolrath’s house. I didn’t see much, because it was swarming with cops. That’ll be our first step, figuring out if they’re still there.”

I listen, feeling numb. I can’t really go along with this.

There’s no denying the pulse of excitement it all gives me, though.

“Next, we’ll need to figure out when we want to do it.” Victor points his pen at a bunch of dark, indented marks that I guess must be his horrendous handwriting. “Before the party would be ideal, I think. We want to make sure Adrian hasn’t been released. And it’ll send a bigger message, too, don’t you think?”

I bite back the urge to ask what he cares about sending a message. This is his revenge, isn’t it?

He’s involving you, whispers a voice in my head, a voice that doesn’t belong to me. It seems to slam through me like the cold, icy wind outside. Let this kill be yours, too.

I haven’t heard whispers like that since I was a child, and my body reacts like it just saw a predator watching from the shadows. My muscles clench up, my heart rate spikes.

Victor notices, of course. He frowns and runs his fingers up the side of my arm. “Are you okay? You just⁠—”

“I’m fine.” It comes out sharper than I intend, but that initial burst of fear is fading. I stare at the pad. “I felt something, that’s all.”

Victor studies me, and I catch his hand in mine, squeeze it tight. I don’t want to talk about the gods right now. “I need to find out what I can about Adrian’s arrest. We have a friend, the lawyer who was going to help us—I can call him. It’ll be safe enough.” I look up at Victor. “At the very least, we can make sure Adrian’s still in jail when we do this.”

“Good idea.” Victor brushes my hair back from my face. “Call the lawyer. But I suspect they’ll be holding Adrian until at least after the party. It’ll make Wolrath feel safe, thinking the killer’s behind bars.”