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“More people equals more sin, which creates more of an imbalance. Cities generate corruption, and we go where we’re needed.” Rook’s shadows wiggled slightly. “Right now, Madison needs us.”

“Is this because of Richard Ashford’s trafficking network mentioned in that text last night?”

“Among other things. You might have read or heard about the gas explosion at some warehouses recently?”

Looking up, Ethan nodded. “The one where some reports claimed the smoke clouds actually had eyes that glowed in the darkness.”

Rook chuckled. “That was one of us - Cillian. He got a little annoyed when a drug overlord type shot at his mate, Julian.” Rook leaned forward. “But back to Ashford, yes, we have been tracking the disappearances for weeks. Your documentation of Voss just gave us the connection we needed.”

Ethan processed the information, organizing it into categories - it would probably need reorganizing later, but for now he was happy with what he had. “So, I think you mentioned that your team consists of you and three others. Silas, who texts you intelligence - I saw that on your phone last night. Who else?”

“Thorn, he’s the leader, and then Cillian.” Rook’s expression shifted, becoming almost shy. “Cillian has a human mate now. Julian. That’s sort of...relevant to why I’m here.”

Are mate and mine synonymous? “Define ‘mate.’”

“Right. Okay.” Rook ran a hand through his hair, and his shadows tangled around his fingers. “To us, very, very occasionally, some humans shine brighter than others. Their souls burn with this pure, honest light that anchors us and keeps us from losing ourselves in the void. We call them beacons.”

Ethan’s pen hovered over his phone. “You’re saying I’m one of these beacons.”

“Yes.”

You sound very sure, so of course, Ethan had to ask, “How do you know?”

“My shadows.” Rook gestured at the tendrils currently wrapped around Ethan’s chair leg. “They don’t touch humans, ever, unless we’re feeding. They could drain someone’s warmth, scaring and hurting them without meaning to. But you?” His voice roughened. “They’ve been reaching for you since we met. And you don’t feel cold when they touch you, do you?”

“No.” Ethan looked down at the shadow curling around his wrist like a bracelet. “I feel warmer and calmer for some reason.”

“That’s the bond. The recognition.” Rook’s amber eyes locked onto Ethan’s. “When I said ‘mine’ in my text, and you asked for clarification, here it is. My shadows know you’re my beacon. You’re the person who balances my darkness, and the light I’d burn cities to protect.”

The absolute certainty in Rook’s voice made Ethan’s pulse quicken, not from fear, but from something else entirely. “That’s possessive.” Ethan mentally patted himself on the back for how calm his voice was.

“It’s factual.” Rook shifted forward, elbows on his knees. “Julian explained it better when Cillian first found him. He said it was like two puzzle pieces that didn’t know they were incomplete until they fit together. Cillian’s four thousand years old, and he’d never wanted anything or anyone before Julian. I’m nine hundred, and I thought I was fine alone until I met you and suddenly fine wasn’t good enough anymore.”

Ethan set his phone down. His hands were still steady, but his chest felt tight in that unidentifiable way again. “I feel the need to say you barely know me.”

“I know you yelled at me for bad tactics. I know you catalog everything because patterns matter. I know you didn’t eat yesterday because you were too focused on finding your friend.” Rook’s shadows crept closer, and this time he didn’t pull them back. “I know my shadows wrapped around you, and you didn’t flinch. That’s not nothing, Ethan, not for a guardian.”

“It’s not sufficient data for claiming someone.”

“Then let me provide more data.” Rook’s grin showed too many teeth. “I’m patient. Well…no, I’m not. But I’ll pretend to be for you.”

Ethan looked at the shadows now curled around both his wrists. They pulsed gently, matching his heartbeat. Calm. Safe. His body kept insisting on these facts while his brain scrambled to organize an impossibility into something logical.

“I need you to understand something.” Ethan met Rook’s eyes. “I had one relationship before. Four years ago. It ended badly.”

Rook went very still. “To borrow one of your expressions, define badly.”

“He was older and well-established in his field. I was finishing my art history degree and thought he was brilliant.” Ethan kept his voice clinical, determined to stick to basic facts. “He said my honesty was refreshing at first. Then it became something he needed to fix. When I wouldn’t change, he escalated to other correction methods.”

“He hurt you.” The words came out in a growl.

“Systematically, for eight months, two weeks, and four days.” Ethan watched the shadows tighten around his wrists, but he sensed they were being protective rather than constricting. “The situation left me touch-averse. Most physical contact triggers my anxiety. Crowds, casual touches, and even handshakes require mental preparation.”

Rook’s expression darkened, and Ethan got a sense of the true essence behind Rook’s camouflage.

“Is he still in Madison?”

“He moved to Chicago three years ago. It’s not relevant.”