“They don’t get him,” I whisper.
My voice is quiet.
Deadly calm.
“Not like this. Not because of us.”
I lift my head and look at the men around the table.
They’re soldiers.
Warriors.
Men who know how to hunt monsters.
“And if they do…”
My voice hardens.
“I will kill her myself.”
No one laughs.
No one argues.
Because they believe me.
27
Marco
My mother does not improvise.
She composes.
Every move she makes is planned long before anyone realizes the game has started.
Which means if she took Saint…
She already decided exactly where he would wake up.
I spread the maps across the table and start eliminating locations.
The paper rustles softly beneath my hands as I mark each possible site.
“Three possibilities,” I say. “Maybe four if she’s feeling nostalgic.”
Trigger folds his arms.
“Start with the one she thinks is clever.”
“That’s not how she works,” I reply.
“She starts with the one that hurts.”
I tap the first location on the map.
“The old Bellari vineyard.”
