“I usually don’t.”
I turn to leave. His voice follows me like smoke.
“They told you to stay clinical, didn’t they?”
I pause with my hand on the door. “They did.”
“And you gonna?”
I glance back, meeting his eyes again. “Guess we’ll both find out.”
I step into the hallway and close the door behind me, heart pounding for the very first time in weeks. Not from fear. Not even from adrenaline.
Just the sense that I’ve met someone impossible.
And I’m not sure I want to look away.
3
RAFE
The air inside the van smells like oil, iron, and the kind of silence that always comes before blood spills. Nobody talks on the ride over, not even Mateo’s newest guy, that lanky bastard called Jan with a cigarette always stuck behind his ear and a laugh that sounds like he doesn’t give a damn whether he dies tomorrow or not. He’s driving, tapping the wheel in a lazy rhythm, eyes on the road but head somewhere else.
The other two sit in the back with me. Luis, the stocky one with a toothpick and scars that crawl up his neck like vines, and Esteban, who’s built like a linebacker and hasn’t said a single word since I got in. He just stares, jaw locked tight, like being in the same space with me is a test of his courage. Maybe it is. Maybe it always is with me.
We’re headed to the port district, near the warehouses where the water smells more like fuel than sea salt. That’s where Emil’s contact said the rat was hiding out. Another shifter, according to the file. Panther blood, sleek and quick. Used to work in the Syndicate’s courier ring, but turned coat last month, tried to make a deal with the wrong people. Now he’s running scared and out of favors.
Mateo says he’s a liability. I don’t argue. Not because I care about the order. Because I need the noise in my head to go quiet.
Since yesterday, something’s been crawling inside me, and it’s not just the usual itch. It’s deeper, heavier. Like old chains rattling in the distance. The Seal hasn’t gone silent, not even when I drown it in whiskey or fists. It lingers behind my thoughts like a scent I can’t shake.
Darius’s voice, not in words but in weight. The Pact doesn’t whisper. It brands.
I told it to fuck off, but it didn’t listen.
“Target’s in Warehouse Twelve,” Jan says as he pulls up near the loading dock, cutting the engine but keeping the lights off. “Intel says he’s alone.”
I grunt, sliding the door open and stepping into the night. The concrete’s still warm beneath my boots, but the wind coming off the water carries a bite. Smells like rust, old rain, and something sour. The kind of scent that says bad things happened here and nobody bothered to clean it up.
I don’t wait for the others. I’m not here for company.
Inside, the warehouse is mostly dark, but one bulb flickers near the far wall, casting long shadows across stacks of shipping containers and rusted scaffolding. I move quiet, but I don’t hide. If he’s smart, he’s already gone. If he’s stupid, he’ll try to run.
I find him behind a crate markedTextiles,crouched low, hands shaking like he knows how this ends. He’s young, maybe mid-twenties, black hair matted with sweat, eyes wide and shining in the low light. His shirt’s torn, one arm bandaged with a piece of his own coat.
“Please,” he says before I even reach him. “I didn’t tell them anything. I swear it. I just wanted out.”
He starts to backpedal, palms up, voice cracking. “I have a brother. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t have anyone but me.”
I keep walking, slow and steady, not because I’m trying to scare him, but because I can feel the beast rising behind my ribs, pacing again. It’s like a drumbeat in my blood, thunder rolling closer, bone deep.
“I know who you are,” the kid says. “They call you the Bull. The Punisher. I heard stories, man. Said you once ripped a guy’s throat out just because he lied.”
“Lied about what?” I ask, and my voice sounds different here. Thicker. More gravel than words.
The kid swallows. “Didn’t say. Just… please. You don’t have to do this. I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again.”
I stop three steps from him, staring down. He’s got that look I’ve seen a thousand times—too much fear to run, too much pride to beg. He wants to live, but he doesn’t want to crawl for it.
