There.
A residual hum lingered—not just a psychic echo, but a pulse, sharp and unmistakable.
The energy signature of power, sharp as a blade and dangerous. It shimmered through the worn walls and secondhand furniture like the fading warmth of a candle blown out.
Kiki.
He didn’t need confirmation. He knew it was her. The same flicker he’d caught in the minds of the men at the paintball arena—those three tight-lipped guardians pretending they didn’t know who Nikos Aeto had brought to their underground battleground.
They hadn’t spoken her name aloud, but their minds had.
Kiki.
A name he hadn’t heard in almost a decade. And now, like a thread tugged loose from a forgotten dream, it was unraveling everything.
Fate.Always so damn theatrical.
Footsteps scuffed down the hallway, dragging him from the ether.
Lyle emerged from the bedroom, his expression tight with annoyance. “The place is empty. No clothes. No pictures. Not even a damn toothbrush.” His eyes narrowed. “She either bolted or never lived here to begin with.”
Eric said nothing at first. He drifted toward the worn sofa and brushed his fingers over the crocheted afghan draped across the back. His thumb caught on a long, calico-colored cat hair. He lifted it, studied it in the light like it was a coded message.
She had lived here.
Recently.
He moved to the window and pushed the curtain aside. Outside, the sun had started its slow descent, casting long shadows between the buildings. A car horn blared somewhere down the street, but the sound felt distant. Muffled.
Behind him, Lyle exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.
“This is a waste of time,” he growled. “She’s just some girl, man. Aeto’s got a new one every day. You really think this one’s special?”
Eric didn’t turn. His gaze remained fixed on the sidewalk below.
“You have no idea what you are dealing with. She’s not just special,” he murmured. “She’s lethal.”
Lyle snorted. “What? You tryin’ to tell me she’s some kind of gun in heels?”
“No, I’m telling you she is much more dangerous than anyoneyou’ve ever encountered,” Eric replied softly. “She could level a city block… with just a thought.”
The knowledge filtered through his consciousness. A faint brush of a memory. Brie’s low warning. The sense of awe and hope mixed in her voice as she spoke of Kiki.
She can free us.
He could feel Lyle freeze behind him and shook his head, pushing the memory away. The silence stretched a second too long.
“You’re shitting me, right?” Lyle finally asked.
“I’ll let you ask me that again when we find her… if you’re still alive,” he added.
He turned then, and Lyle flinched at his expression—something cold, calculating, and laced with a darker emotion. Satisfaction… maybe even reverence.
At that exact moment, the door across the hall creaked open.
Two men stepped out—mid-forties, jeans, polo shirts, matching black wool overcoats, laughing over something mundane. Their conversation died the instant they saw Eric. The taller one’s smile faltered. The shorter one gave a cautious nod.
Lyle stepped forward, walking across to them like a bulldog off its leash.
