“Should’ve seen it. The signs were there, but I was watching the wrong shadows. Looking east when I should’ve been looking—” His words slur, eyes unfocusing.
“Mitch?” I squeeze his hand. “What shadows? What signs?”
My eyes dart between Leonid and Mitch. Something’s off. Leonid’s too calm, watching Mitch like he already knows what’s coming.
Tears streak down Mitch’s weathered face. “Jake wouldn’t want…” He swallows hard. “Wouldn’t want to see you sad because of him.”
Fuck that.
“Shut up.” I turn away, but Leonid’s there, those eyes burning into me. I snap my gaze back to the floor. Rage builds in my chest, hot and familiar.
My head snaps up. “He killed Jake.” The words taste like blood in my mouth. My fingers dig into Mitch’s bed rail.
I point at Leonid, hand shaking. “He killed Jake. The Raven killed my brother.”
“No.” Mitch’s voice slurs, his head rolling side to side. “No, no, no, Clara…”
No?
The word hits like a punch to the gut. Relief floods in where anger used to be, and what the fuck is that about?
“No.” Mitch coughs, struggling to focus. “Leonid Kuznetsov, the real Raven—”
Leonid nods, tapping his chest. Claiming the title.
“Was in Moscow,” Mitch’s words tumble out, fighting the drugs. “When the fucking fake Raven… they… they killed Jake.”
The room tilts. Fourteen years of hatred crack down the middle.
If Leonid was in Moscow…
If The Raven wasn’t The Raven…
If Jake knew something…
Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. The last thing I see is Leonid lunging forward, those damn eyes of his full of something that looks too much like concern.
Bastard. Even his eyes are lying to me.
Aren’t they?
“Well, well.” A familiar voice drags me back to consciousness. “The great Clara Caldwell is human, after all.”
My eyes crack open to find Leonid in a chair beside me, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He looks hot. Hotter than his usualhot.
“Fuck off.” My throat feels like sandpaper.
“The doctor says it’s exhaustion. Shock. Low blood sugar.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “And something about stubborn idiots who don’t eat between car chases.”
I try to sit up. Bad idea. The room spins.
“Stay down before you face-plant again.” His hand catches my shoulder. “Once was entertaining enough.”
“Glad I could provide the day’s entertainment.” I squint at him. “Where’s Mitch?”
“Sleeping off enough ketamine to drop a horse.” His thumb traces circles on my shoulder. “He’ll be fine. You, on the other hand…”
“Elijah?” My heart jumps. “Where’s—”
