I push all thoughts of the Përmetis out of my head and jog towards my rental, leaving the manhole open as usual. Without looking back, I slide into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel as I start the engine and pull onto the road, my mind already racing ahead to tonight’s plan.
Searching through Queens has been a complete waste of my time. Weeks chasing leads that go nowhere, talking to people who either know nothing or won’t talk to me. I need a new approach.
Brooklyn.
Maybe someone there would know something—or know someone who does. It’s not much different from my previous plan, just a new area to try. But I don’t have a better option. Other than maybe reaching out to the Nightshades. Hell, they should've been the first on my list. With all their connections, I’m almost sure they could find Kayla if given the chance.
But it would be shameless of me to ask Emily for help. Not after everything I’ve done.
I sigh heavily as I pull into the city, the Brooklyn Bridgestretched out ahead, the lights spilling through my windshield like accusatory spotlights.
I pretended to be her friend and shared everything she told me with Stacey. All of it—every secret, every vulnerability.
It doesn’t matter that I eventually came to genuinely care for her, and that in the end, I broke free from Stacey’s control. The fact remains: our friendship was orchestrated. Fake.
At least in the beginning.
My chest tightens painfully as I recall Emily’s face when she walked into the restaurant I’d invited her to a few months ago and saw Stacey there with me. The betrayal in her eyes. But most of all—thehurt.
I could never forgive myself for that.
So, I’m not going to show my face around her or try to use her again.
I’ll find Kayla myself. I have to. I can’t let myself lose hope.
This is all moot anyway. Emily probably hates me now and is likely hunting for me so she can say it to my face while Rafael decides on a fitting punishment or something equally horrible.
I ignore the ache in my chest that thought triggers and focus on the road instead, on the task at hand.
Even at eleven PM, Brooklyn’s streets are bustling, teeming with cars and people who couldn’t care less about who I am. I drive towards a row of closed shops and park in a free spot. After a brief hesitation, wondering if coming here might be a mistake, I shut off the engine and step out.
It’s no more—or less—dangerous than going around Queens was. As long as I avoid Manhattan, which is Rafael’s territory, I should be fine.
I start walking, watching the faces around me carefully.
I have no idea who I’m looking for—just someone rough around the edges, someone who looks like they might know the underworld better than I do. Someone who might know someone who specializes in finding missing people. I keepmoving, my trained eyes scanning every interaction, every telling detail, but no one fits the profile.
After thirty solid minutes of relentless searching, my ankles start aching, my neck itching like someone’s on my tail. I look around furtively for the tenth time, but nothing seems out of place. I push the paranoia aside, focusing on why I’m here and the fact that I’ve found nothing.
Is tonight going to be yet another wasted night?
I’m starting to resign myself to that depressing reality when a guy’s shoulder slams into mine as he passes. I spin around to glare at him just as he turns back to look at me, and something happens. Recognition flits across his face.
“Katie? Katherine Pierce?”
No.
I freeze, my heart suddenly pounding as I scan his face, searching for any hint of familiarity. But I don’t recognize this thin man standing under the flickering streetlight with a square, rugged face only a mother could love.
Who the hell is he?
His smile widens, his eyes gleaming with something that sets off every alarm bell in my head as he takes my measure. I know bad news when I see it—and I really don’t like that he seems to know me when I don’t know him.
No one here should know me.
“Guess it’s my lucky night,” he says, rubbing his palms together like he’s just hit the jackpot.
“What the hell did you call me?” I ask, needing to confirm I heard him right.
