“Yeah. I sent word on the way,” he murmurs. “They’re expecting us.”
Cassian nods, and we step out of the ambulance. The construction site around us is eerily quiet, despite the wind whistling through the half-finished buildings. The air smells like concrete dust and rust, and it makes my already frayed nerves feel like they’re unraveling even more.
This is the kind of place women are warned to avoid after dark.
For five years, I didn’t have to think about things like that. But now, back in this body, in this skin, I feel it again. That cold, crawling awareness that danger is everywhere.
There are too many shadows here. Too many places to fall. Jagged stairwells that lead nowhere. Blind corners that swallow sound. No lights. No windows. I can picture a girl running here, barefoot, terrified, breath catching on panic. I can picture her never making it out.
My ribcage tightens.
“Real cozy place, you guys,” I mutter. “Bet whoever we’re about to meet is just as warm and welcoming, huh?”
No one answers. Nathaniel pushes my wheelchair while Talon wheels the Candy Maker’s body beside us, suddenly silent. Cassian leads the way. Still shirtless, still smeared in blood.
I start wondering what kind of allies three murderers could possibly have. They live in an abandoned hospital. From what I’ve seen, they have no living relatives they talk to. And even though they probably could, Nathaniel confirmed that none of them have a woman in their life.
The only explanation that makes sense is that these allies are tied to their... work.
“At least tell me what to expect so I don’t freak out, okay?” I rasp.
“Shh, Skye,” Nathaniel soothes. “It’s all good.”
Uh-huh. Sure. We’re unarmed, unless you count the three small daggers my raven forged for them. And I can’t even summon my scythe anymore. Pain is MIA.
Which means I’m basically naked and at their mercy.
None of this is good.
Cassian stops in front of a skeletal-looking building, all raw concrete and rusted scaffolding framing a gaping black entrance. My eyes lock on his back.
Nathaniel wheels me closer.
Something in me lurches. My body—what little control I still have—goes rigid.
“It’s all good,” Talon says, echoing Nathaniel. “But maybe let us do the talking, yeah?”
Um… yeah, I really don’t like where this is going.
Nathaniel pulls out his phone and taps something on the screen. A moment later, a low rumble sounds from the other side of the building, loud enough in the silence to make my heart jump.
Then a sleek black car rolls into view, headlights slicing through the thick, unnatural darkness settling over the site. It looks expensive. And, more importantly, not even slightly reassuring.
A man gets out.
And by man, I mean a wall of muscle wrapped in a black hoodie, plastic gloves, and sunglasses. Sunglasses. In this level of darkness. He looks like he could bench-press the ambulance we just left behind, with sharp features, a cold stare, and the kind of presence that makes you instantly start scanning for exits.
Nathaniel gives him a small nod, familiar, like they’ve worked together before.
“Didn’t have much choice but to come here,” Nathaniel says, skipping the pleasantries. “Need a favor.”
The man doesn’t respond right away. His eyes sweep over the group, pausing on Cassian, still shirtless and streaked with blood, then on Talon and the wheelbarrow situation, before finally landing on me.
“She’s the one?” he asks, pointing at me. “She’s fresh.”
Fresh…?
It hits me.
