I leaned into Jess and let myself hope, just for a second, that maybe the people who’d risked everything to bring me this far actually knew what they were doing.
But hope was dangerous. It was the thing that got you killed.
So instead, I clung to the familiar: the smell of jet fuel, the weight of Jess’s hand on my body, the faint hum of voices in the dark.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, I finally drifted off. I dreamed of wolves in the snow, howling at a moon they could never reach.
And in the dream, I ran with them beside a beautiful light brown wolf with dark knowing eyes.
The wheels hit French tarmac with a jolt that shook me from the dream. Outside, the lights of Le Bourget–Seine-Saint-Denis glared through a curtain of rain, streaking the glass with long, twitching veins of water. We’d crossed an ocean, and still the world looked the same: wet, cold, and dark.
The flight attendants snapped back into motion, serving bottled water and packages of those dry European biscuits that shatter into sugar dust the second you bite them. I ignored both, pressing my forehead to the window, watching the plane taxi past the FBO and out to a cluster of black SUVs parked at the far end of the lot. All around, puddles caught the blue strobe of police lights. It made the whole runway shimmer, a migraine made physical.
Jess put a hand on my knee, squeezing once. I looked down and realized I’d been bouncing my leg hard enough to make the tray table rattle. Across the aisle, Wrecker yawned, stretching his arms over his head, then leaned in and muttered something to Parker. She rolled her eyes, but the tension in her jaw said everything. Up front, Doc was already on his feet, sliding files back into his briefcase, while Papa ran a palm over his beard and cracked his neck.
I counted the seconds until the seatbelt sign blinked off. Gwen was the first up, zipping her jacket over a crisp white blouse. She checked her watch, then reached into her bag and pulled out a small glass vial—something pale green and thick, like melted Jell-O. She uncorked it, dabbed a drop onto each wrist, then massaged it into her skin with quick, practiced circles. Her lips moved as she did it, but I couldn’t catch the words. Not a prayer, exactly. More like a password.
We filed down the aisle, bags slung over our shoulders. Jess walked ahead, flanked by Papa and Wrecker, all three moving with a confidence that might have fooled anyone who didn’t know what they were up against. Parker trailed behind, hands jammed in her hoodie pocket, head down but eyes flickering everywhere. I stuck close to Gwen, who barely came up to my chin, but had the presence of a full-grown wolf.
We hit the bottom of the stairs, and the cold smacked me in the teeth. Paris in spring: I’d imagined some faded movie postcard, but in reality it felt like the kind of wind that cuts straight through clothes and into bone. I pulled my jacket tighter, grateful I’d thought to pack it on top when I’d changed clothes when we’d gathered our bags. Black leggings, black turtleneck, the boots Jess bought for me at the Dairyville feed store—nothing fancy, but enough to make me look like I belonged in the city. Or at least, like I hadn’t just crawled out of a bunker.
FBO handlers in matching gray jackets rolled up with luggage carts. I watched as they loaded the gear, handling each case with a reverence that bordered on the religious. Gwen hovered over them, her hands folded, lips moving faster now. When one of the handlers reached for the heavy weapons case—the one that held enough firepower to flatten a city block—she caught his wrist, fingers barely grazing the latch.
“Allow me,” she said, her accent as smooth as honey but with a hard edge behind it.
The man stepped back, eyes glassy. She pressed her palm to the case, and for a split second, I felt the world stutter. The air thickened; the rain slowed. Everything in the periphery blurred, like a camera lens knocked out of focus. I blinked, and when my vision cleared, the handlers were loading what looked like ordinary hard-shell suitcases. The weapons case had vanished, replaced by a battered Samsonite plastered with airline stickers.
I looked at Jess. “Did you—”
He nodded. “That’s the veil. Only works on humans and shifters allowed to see it. To us, it looks normal. To them, it’s just luggage.”
I stared at the handlers, who went about their work, oblivious to the fact that they were pushing enough armament to start a coup. My skin prickled.
“Does it work on cameras?” I asked.
Parker answered a few steps behind. “If the witch is good, yeah. Even the digital stuff shows what she wants it to show. But it’s not perfect. Stronger magic can break it, and so can the right tech.”
“So we’re not actually invisible.”
Wrecker snorted. “We never are. Best you can hope for is to be overlooked.”
A line of customs officers appeared, waving us toward the VIP entrance. The lead officer wore a sleek gray suit, his badge gleaming under the fluorescent overhang. He scanned our group with the disinterest of someone used to high-rollers and celebrities. Still, my pulse jumped when he locked eyes with Jess, then with Gwen.
“Bienvenue à Paris,” he said. “Your paperwork, please.”
Gwen stepped forward, produced a sheaf of documents, and handed them over. The officer leafed through, pausing to inspecta pair of blue passports, then the stack of letters on Iron Valor letterhead. He lingered on the weapons permits for a beat too long, then looked up.
“Business or pleasure?” he asked in English this time.
“Business,” Jess answered. “We’re here on a private security contract. Clients are already at the hotel.”
The officer grunted, then glanced at Gwen. She flashed a dazzling smile. “My employer is very serious about safety,” she said. “Especially for his American guests.”
He handed back the papers. “You’ll find Paris to be very… interesting these days. I recommend you avoid the Champs-Élysées after dark.”
Jess smiled, a wolf baring its teeth. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
The officer waved us through. We moved as a single unit, the way packs do when the world feels hostile. The luggage carts were waiting, each loaded with duffel bags and cases, the witch’s charm holding strong. Jess grabbed the largest and motioned for me to follow.
