The rain had just begun to fall when the world shattered again.
It was a soft drizzle at first—barely more than mist—but the sky hung low and mean, like it was bracing for something. The city moved as usual, unaware that something monstrous had just stirred beneath its skin.
Sloane's phone buzzed once.
A message from Vicente: Tracker lost. Avery's not answering. Last ping—lower east side.
Sloane didn't breathe.
He didn't wait.
He didn't speak.
He just moved—through the penthouse, through the elevator, into the car. Every second was a blade pressed to his throat.
Hunter's letter still sat on the office table, its words soaked in blood that hadn't spilled yet.
You took the first swing. Now I take mine.
And now Avery was gone.
---
Somewhere in the rain, Avery ran.
It had happened so fast.
He'd just stepped out for air. Needed to clear his head, needed to think. The city had always been loud enough to drown the static in his chest. But then—
a van.
A shout.
