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Coordinates, Ronan had told me. An address would give our location away to looters.

My lips pursed as I stared at the black paint. Over the numbers, someone had drawn a penis, effectively obscuring the coordinates from view.

Assholes.

But that wasn’t what gave me pause. My eyes fixated on the image above the crown. The letters.

A black cat was painted over top of the crown, MOF capitalized directly above it. And abovethatwas a series of numbers similar to the ones we had initially painted.

Coordinates.

“Ash,” I whispered, fearing my eyes were playing a trick on me. A horrible, horrible trick. When Asher continued to load up the van, oblivious, I touched his shoulder and raised a trembling finger to point in the direction of my hastily drawn cat. “Ash.”

He followed my gaze, and the cans he’d been holding dropped, shattering. Neither of us paid it any mind.

Only a few people knew about my cat, conveniently named My Only Friend or Mof for short.

And if Asher, Ronan, Ryder, nor Tamson hadn’t written that…

“It’s them,” I whispered, scarcely able to believe it. “They’re here.”

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