“Hello?” I whisper, easing my feet onto the cool floor, slipping them into my fluffy slippers. Through the ache pulsing between my legs, I go out of the room and into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind me.
He sleeps like the dead. I don’t want to wake him.
“All silent,” a gravelly, unfamiliar voice says.
It takes a moment for my half-asleep mind to realize what he’s talking about. They rarely call me on the phone, but when they do, they use that stupid coded language. To me, it’s the most cliché of all clichés, but I don’t get a say in any of their tricks.
“Except the clock on the wall,” I finish dryly.
There’s a pause, a crackle of static on the other line. “Grey Audi. Middle of the street. Now,” he orders.
I freeze, frowning, trying to place why the fuck they’re calling me now. My mouth opens, the obvious question forming—but the telltale chime cuts me off. The call is already gone.
I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the black screen for a long, suspended moment. Instinct presses my thumb toward theContactstab, and I scroll until I find Cane.
My teeth catch the corner of my mouth as I hesitate. But the tightening coil in my gut refuses to loosen, so I tap his name and call.
My gaze lifts to the mirror. The faint bruises beneath my eyes stare back at me—shadows of the nights Dante and I spent refusing to sleep. I trace them lightly with my fingertips, as if trying to prove to myself that all of this is real.
The ringing drags on, long enough for nerves to coil tight in my stomach, yet Cane never answers. The line cuts out abruptly, with a hollow finality that echoes in my ear. I lower the phone, my brows knitting as a storm of thoughts crashes through my mind, each darker and more frantic than the last.
But time isn’t on my side. Whoever called wants me outside, and hesitation isn’t a luxury I can afford. So I force every rising worry back down my throat, swallowing the unease until it burns. I reach for my hairbrush and concealer with hands that slightly tremble, piecing myself together with methodical precision.
Then, bracing myself, I get ready to head downstairs.
“You’re late.”
My eyes widen into exaggerated saucers the moment I slide into the Audi. Slowly, I turn my head toward the source of the accusation, struggling not to burst into laughter. It swells in my chest and pushes at my cheeks as I take him in.
He’s wrapped in a long grey trench coat, a turtleneck tucked neatly beneath it, cigarette-cut pants pressed to perfection. A wide-brimmed fedora sits atop his head, paired with enormous round black sunglasses that swallow half his face. Wisps of short hair escape the hat, catching the morning light—ginger strands glowing like someone spilled gold across them.
He looks like aBratz-themedparody of a secret agent.
“Halloween was a few days ago,” I say, unable to hide the derision in my voice. He refuses to look at me, eyes fixed stiffly on the road ahead, so I sink into the seat with a tired sigh. “What’s this about?”
He inhales sharply, adjusting his sunglasses with a practiced flick before reaching into some hidden interior pocket and producing a folded piece of cardboard.
Irritation sparks instantly.
Coats with secret pockets areCane’ssignature.
“Where’s Cane?” I ask before he even has a chance to speak.
His lips twitch, annoyance flashing across his face, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Cane is gone. You work for me now,” he says, each word dry and clipped.
A cold coil tightens in my gut, climbing toward my throat until I can barely breathe. My brief lightness evaporates, replaced by something sharp and heavy.
“Your new target?—”
“What do you mean Cane is gone?” I cut in, my voice tight and thin. My pulse kicks up, and every worst-case scenario floods my head, overlapping and choking.
“Your new target is here,” he repeats, deflecting without even an ounce of hesitation. He slaps the cardboard onto my lap, thescrawled notes stinging my eyes. “This is the last time you and Dante will work together.”
The panic surging inside me combusts into adrenaline. Heat pours through my veins, flooding my chest, sharpening every sound, every breath. The air in the car grows dense, almost suffocating.
“Why? Where will he go without me?” My voice rises with every word. “And where is Cane?”
Finally, he turns toward me, leaning in as if to intimidate. With his thin frame and ridiculous outfit, it only makes him look more absurd.
