Somewhere between a moan and a sob, and I don’t even fucking care that Kai hears it.
Because this shouldn’t have happened.
It’s my fault.
I should have insisted she stay home today.
I should’ve checked her brother out sooner.
I should’ve known something was off.
I shouldn’t have given her so much fucking space in that gym.
But there’s no room for guilt now.
Guilt doesn’t save her.
Action does.
We trail the dot across the bridge, through the tunnel, and finally, into the belly of Manhattan where the tracker signal leads us straight to a decaying warehouse in an industrial zone that looks like it’s been abandoned since the Cold War.
There’s a black truck parked out front.
Driver’s side door flung open.
The back seat is gaping like a scream.
I jump out of the truck before it fully stops.
A long thread hangs from the back door.
Soft pink.
The exact same fucking color thread as her sweater this morning.
“Angel,” I breathe, my fingers brushing it like a relic.
My jaw clenches so tight I swear something cracks.
“You ready?”Kai asks, already keying the mic to alert Kane to our location.
Less—our demolitions and close-quarters guy—pulls up behind us in a blacked-out SUV.
He’s got the gear.The hardware.The fury.
But I have the motive.
We breach together, silent as ghosts, deadly as wolves.
The warehouse is cavernous.
Wet and echoing with years of mold and forgotten sins.
Concrete and rust, rot, and mildew—it stinks of things left to fester.
And I hear it.
A voice.
