Asher handed it over. Eric knelt slowly beside Olivier on the rug, lifting the edge of the blanket.
“Olivier,” he said tightly, “is there something on you?”
Olivier swallowed, shaking his head much too fast. “No, no, I didn’t mean?—”
“Harmony,” Eric said without looking back, “step away from him. Now.”
My pulse slammed.
“Asher?” I whispered.
He was already moving, grabbing my arm, pulling me behind him. Eric lifted the fabric fully and froze. There, clipped to the hem of Olivier’s undershirt, half-hidden in the fabric, was a tiny black transmitter. No bigger than a coin. A blinking red diode winked once in the dark. Olivier let out a strangled sob.
“He said it was insurance,” he rasped. “He said if I didn’t help him get inside he’d kill me and take her anyway. He wants everything that isn’t his.”
Eric snapped upright, fury sparking across his face.
“Asher,” he said, voice low and lethal. “The son of a bitch isn’t circling the house.”
Asher’s jaw locked. “Then what the hell is he doing?”
Eric’s gaze lifted to the window where the shadow had paused moments ago.
“He’s watching us.”
The transmitter blinked again. A slow, taunting pulse.
Olivier buried his face in his hands. “He knows where everyone is. He knows how many of you there are. He sees everything. . .”
The masked man didn’t need to break into the house to find me. He already had eyes inside it. And the worst part? Those eyes belonged to my brother.
CHAPTER 59
Harmony
Olivier’s breathing was ragged and uneven as Eric lowered him back against the cabinets.
The small black transmitter was blinking red on the kitchen tile where Eric had thrown it.
The house felt too small. Too cold. Too full of truths I wasn’t ready to hear.
“Asher,” Eric said, voice tight, “block the windows. All of them.”
Asher moved without a word; jaw clenched hard enough to crack. Eric turned back to Olivier.
“Start talking,” he said. “Now. Who the hell is Ravenhill?”
Olivier swallowed so hard it sounded painful. His gaze skittered toward me, then away, shame dragging his expression downward.
“He’s not…” Olivier rasped. “He’s not who you think.”
My pulse thudded in my throat.
“Then who is he?”
Olivier closed his eyes, breath shaking out of him. “The original Ravenhill,” he whispered, “died years ago.”
“I know,” I said. “So who the hell is he, and why is he using that alias?”
