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“How?”

“Doorbell cameras. Security footage. There must be someone on the street with something we can use. If there’s footage of two people coming into the house and then you not leaving until the next morning, that’s something.”

I sigh, rub at my forehead. “Why is it on me to prove my innocence? They have nothing solid to prove me guilty.”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” Aus’s gaze darkens. “But when more powerful forces are at work, people tend to bend.”

“What do you mean?”

He grits his jaw. “I’m just saying. Let’s go.”

I grab my coat and head to the car, unable to suppress the chill slithering down my spine.

The look on Aus’s face when he was talking about powerful forces… It was haunting.

He wasn’t just saying that.

He’s lived something.

Something awful.

We’ve spent the last hour walking up and down Wick’s street knocking on doors. About half the people have answered, and a few had cameras. Nothing helpful so far, though.

Finally we arrive at a house positioned at an awkward angle. It’s rundown with sickly yellow paint peeling and crooked shutters. I don’t give the house a second thought until Aus points out a camera on the roof pointed directly at Wick’s front stoop.

We knock on the door. Once, twice, three times…

No answer.

This is our last chance. I knock louder. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

The muffled sound of glass breaking, furniture groaning. The door opens and we’re faced with a large-bellied man wearing a stained wifebeater and greenish tortilla chip crumbs—Doritos, possibly?—littering his long salt-and-pepper beard.

“What?” he grunts.

“Excuse me, sir,” I say. “My name is Thea Storm, and I⁠—”

“You’re the chick from the news,” he says flatly.

“Yes, I am.”

He scratches his stomach. “You’re hotter in person.”

I draw in a long breath. “Thank you. Anyway⁠—”

Aus cuts in front of me. “Listen. We saw you have a security camera on your roof. Is it functional?”

The green-bearded man cocks his head. “What’s it to you?”

“It’s positioned toward the porch of a…friend of ours. We’d like to see it.”

He crosses his arms. “You cops?”

“No,” I say.

He smirks. “Yeah. Camera works. What’s it worth to you?”

Aus rolls his eyes, reaches into his pocket. “How’s fifty bucks?”