"A pity." He stands. "I knew your father, you know. In passing, years ago. A dedicated man. It would have grieved him to see his daughter make such poor choices."
I don’t speak about my father. Since arriving on Skara, I’ve never so much as mentioned his name, never shared details about my childhood. Zharkov's been tracking me long before I arrived in Stormhaven.
"My father's been dead for five years." The words come out steady despite the fear coiling in my gut. "I doubt he has opinions about my career choices."
"No, I suppose not." Zharkov picks up the envelope from my desk and tucks it back into his jacket. "I do hope you'll reconsider before our paths cross again. It would be unfortunate for Stormhaven to lose such a dedicated public servant."
I stand, matching his posture. "We're done here."
"Soon enough." He inclines his head slightly. "Gentlemen."
The guards fall into formation around him. They leave my office with the same controlled precision they entered, footsteps receding down the hallway. I stay standing behind my desk, hands braced against the wood surface because my legs have gone weak.
I force air into my lungs. The temperature in the room slowly returns to normal, the oppressive heat dissipating like Zharkov took it with him. Sweat cools on my skin, making me shiver despite my heavy shirt. I wait until I hear the front door close, until the black sedan pulls out and disappears down the main road.
Then I sink into my chair and let the tremors take over.
I've faced down armed suspects before. Walked into situations where I knew violence was likely, where I had to rely on training and instinct to survive. Those were human threats, and humans follow patterns. Mikhail Zharkov isn't human. He's lived long enough to view human life as disposable, generates literal heat through sheer supernatural presence. He can walk into a police station and make threats without raising his voice because there's nothing I can do to stop him.
I give myself thirty seconds. Count them out while the shaking subsides, while I rebuild the professional control I need to function.
Then I grab my phone and text Kian:
He's gone. Where are you?
His response is immediate:
Back entrance. Now.
I lock my office and slip out through the rear exit. Kian's truck idles in the alley behind the station with Finn leaningagainst the passenger door. Both of them straighten when they see me.
Kian's eyes go straight to my throat. His hands twitch at his sides.
I stop just out of reach. "Shifter. That's what he is, isn't it?" The heat, the fire in his eyes. It's not hard to make the connection.
Finn's expression darkens. "How did you know?"
"His eyes. The heat around him." I look at Kian. "And the fact that he felt ancient."
"Mikhail Zharkov." Finn says the name like a curse. "I knew him as someone else, centuries ago. Phoenix shifters don't age, don't die unless you destroy them completely."
"You've met him before?" Kian's voice carries an edge I haven't heard directed at Finn.
"Once." Finn's jaw locks tight. "A long time ago in circumstances I'm not discussing."
Fighting with Finn won't get me answers he's not willing to give.
"He offered me money to leave." My shoulder throbs where Kian bit me. "He said he knew my father. He's done research on me. And he made it very clear that staying in Stormhaven would be bad for my health."
"You need to leave the island." Kian's voice goes flat, dangerous.
"I'm staying. I'm finishing this investigation. And I'm not running from some ancient asshole with a god complex."
Finn laughs, short and sharp. "That's one way to describe a phoenix."
Kian's hand finally moves, fingers brushing my jaw so carefully I barely feel the touch. "He'll try to kill you."
"Maybe." I don't pull away from his hand. "But I didn't become a cop to back down when things get dangerous. And Isure as hell didn't let you bite me just to run away when some syndicate bad ass shows up."
