The door swings wide and a guard with a flat face and bored eyes says, “Petrov. Lawyer’s here.”
Relief pulses through me, hot and vicious, but I keep my expression smooth as I rise. Inside, I am already out of the cell, already walking down the hall toward her.
The interrogation room is small, cold, and reeks faintly of bleach. I push through the door and the first thing I see is Gwen pacing tight, restless circles, the click of her heels tapping against the tile like a countdown.
The moment her eyes find me, she crosses the room and wraps her arms around me. I let her, even though everything in me is rigid.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” she says against my shoulder.
“I’m fine.” The words are automatic, meaningless. “How’s Lily?”
Nothing else matters. Not the metal chairs, not the stale taste of recycled air. My world has narrowed to one point: where is she?
Gwen sighs as she pulls back, already expecting the question, and gestures for me to sit. “I don’t know,” she admits. “They aren’t telling me anything. I haven’t been notified, no phone call about where they’re keeping her. Nadia and Nik are already looking into it.”
Her words hit like a blow to the gut. My hands tighten into fists on my knees. I need to be out there—not here trapped in this concrete box—searching every back alley, every precinct. I need to rip the city apart brick by brick until she is back where she belongs.
The rage swells, molten and ugly, threatening to burst out of me. Gwen, quick as ever, smacks me on the arm. The sharp sting pulls me back, her stare as sharp as glass.
“I can’t believe you punched five fucking cops, do you know how many favors I had to call in to get you out of this?” Gwen hisses, grabbing her hair at the scalp and blowing out a sharp breath.
I force a breath, slow and even. She’s right. Anger won’t open the doors. Anger won’t get me to Lily.
“They hurt Lily,” I manage, low and quiet.
“Those fucking bastards,” Gwen growls, a look of pure vengeance on her face. “I’ll kill them myself.”
I chuckle painfully and correct her, looking up at the camera in the corner of the room. “Language.”
I have to trust Nadia—she loves Lily almost as much as I do, in her own way. And Nik will keep her steady, keep her from doing something reckless. If I can’t be the one to shield Lily right now, they will.
“Did we ever look into this Dahlia character?” Gwen asks suddenly, sinking back into her chair, her brows furrowed in thought. “Best case scenario, she’s just some random woman caught in the crossfire. Worst case, she’s a cop.”
Right. Dahlia. That loose end I should have tied up myself.
I lean forward, voice flat. “Let’s assume she’s a cop. What does that mean for Lily?”
“It’s not great,” Gwen says, her eyes flicking past me to the blank wall like she’s assembling a puzzle there. “If they’ve figured out she lied about her name and job, it gives them leverage. But that could mean a hundred different things. Until I get face-to-face with her, we won’t know what story they’re trying to build.”
Leverage. They’ll use every angle to try to corner her.
I can’t picture my little book nerd, sitting there locked away. I want to tear the walls down, walk in, put my hands on her shoulders, and tell her it will be all right.
If I have to burn the city to do it, I will. If I have to dig up every ghost in my past to keep her safe, I will.
Gwen stands, brushing down the hem of her shirt, already signaling the end of this short, controlled reprieve. “Well,” she says, tone even, “you ready to get processed so we can get you home?”
Home. There is no home without Lily.
“I’m ready to go get her,” I say instead, rising to my feet. And I mean every word.
19
LILY
I always thoughtthe New York skyline would feel like safety. Like home. But as the cruiser cuts through Queens, sliding into Brooklyn, then toward the jagged brilliance of Manhattan, all it gives me is dread. The city glows, all glass and steel, but it does not warm me.
The car is silent. Toscani and the officer in the front do not speak, and I am left with only the sound of my own breathing and the endless churn of my thoughts. Time folds in on itself. Every turn, every stoplight blurs, and yet my chest tightens with each passing block.
