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Kellan shoots me a questioning look. "You're going in alone?"

"A full team rolling up to her door will only put her on the defensive. I'll make the initial contact. You handle the bounties. And make sure to meet me near her apartment complex—I’ll need it to transport her once I convince her to come quietly."

Kellan smirks. "You're assuming she’s coming quietly."

"I'm assuming she's a survivor. I'll give her a reason to cooperate."

"Fair enough. But fair warning—her aunt mentioned she doesn't know protection's coming. Apparently, Miss Crowe has strong opinions about accepting help."

"Wonderful. A stubborn witch with trust issues."

"Takes one to know one, I suppose."

3

SERENITY

The Lincoln Park brownstone looks exactly as I left it three days ago. Ivy creeps up brick walls and wrought-iron railings gleam under streetlights while windows remain dark behind heavy curtains. It all appears normal and peaceful, resembling a place where supernatural investigators pretend they live ordinary lives between cases involving blood magic and ritual murder.

I climb the front steps, keys already in hand, observing the shadows for uninvited guests. The neighborhood sleeps soundly around me, oblivious to the fact that their resident witch infiltrated a cult ceremony tonight and probably signed her own death warrant in the process.

My apartment sits on the third floor, accessible through a narrow stairwell that amplifies every footstep. I pause at the building's entrance, my palm finding the brass handle while extending my magical senses through the structure's bones.

Something feels wrong.

The building's protective wards—subtle enchantments I wove into the foundation months ago—feel fractured. They remain largely intact; an expert, intimately familiar with their construction, dismantled them and bypassed the alarms entirely.

"Shit."

I slip inside anyway, because running away without my research files means rendering Chicago defenseless against whatever the cult plans next. The stairwell extends above me, each landing shrouded in darkness that feels too thick and hungry. My footsteps echo against worn wooden steps as I climb toward the third floor, jewelry chiming softly with each movement.

The hallway outside my apartment reeks of residual traces of hexed magic that make the small hairs on my arms stand on end. My wards were navigated by someone who left distinct calling cards as a mark of their presence. The technique shows high-level skill, far beyond that of a novice.

My door stands slightly ajar and exposes a slice of moonlit living room beyond. The lock mechanism hangs in twisted metal fragments, harshly scoring the wood where someone carved protective symbols into splinters.

"Points for creativity," I whisper and slide an athame from my jacket. Stored magical energy makes the blade hum, eager for violence. "Negative points for subtlety."

I nudge the door open with my shoe, keeping the weapon ready. My apartment spreads before me in careful chaos. Bookshelves lined with occult texts stand beside research materials scattered across every surface, while protective crystals arranged in geometric patterns catch ambient light like trapped stars.

Everything appears untouched, which makes the wrongness even more pronounced.

A vicious malice drives the shadows in my living room—they move independently of their sources and writhe against the walls. Three figures detach themselves from the darkness near my bedroom door, their faces hidden behind masks that distort my own startled expression into fragmented reflections.

The center figure speaks, each word heavily scraping and rasping against the air. “Serenity Crowe, you've caused considerable inconvenience.”

"Sorry about that. Next time I'll send a formal apology before exposing your murder cult."

The leftmost assassin raises his hand as sickly green energy crackles across his fingers, turning the air acrid. This hexed magic acts as a corrosive force that eats through protective wards like acid through paper.

"We require your cooperation. Surrender willingly, and we will ensure you remain unharmed during the extraction."

"Counter-offer: go fuck yourselves."

I channel power, feeling moonlike energy stream along my forearms in bright fire. The apartment's protective crystals respond as captured moonlight blazes bright enough to drive the unnatural shadows back toward the walls.

The assassins move as one, hexed magic lashing toward me in coordinated strikes designed to overwhelm rather than kill outright. They want me intact for whatever ritual their sick cult has planned.

Too bad I've never been particularly cooperative.