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She looked hungry for blood. Of course, she did; the last time I saw her I tried to kill her. Or something like it.

Dr. Finis glided towards me, corvine feathers shedding from her shoulders, singeing as she emerged from the explosion—like she’d been born from it.

I glanced to my right. Ryder blocked the path to one of the main gates. My heels shifted to turn, then sand and gravel crunched a few paces away—a purposeful sound. Leif wanted me to know he had moved behind me. The urge to look over my shoulder left me.

“River. I told you we’d meet again.” The demon’s words tried to catch the breeze, but the element simply refused. In a motion that made the blood leave my face, she turned to each brother, the corners of her lips upturned as she nodded in acknowledgement. In thanks. “Night Stalkers.”

The phrase set off an internal alarm even though I’d never heard it before. A persistent clawing in my gut told me to run or brace myself for the worst, but the confusion held me in place like a fishhook.

“River,” she purred. “You look confused.”

Not only was I racking my brain for some sort of indication as to what Night Stalker could mean, I was also trying to process the link between these three inhumans who clearly all wanted to end me. My eyebrows pushed together so hard it felt like they had fused together. “No shit.”

A hoarse laugh left the demon, as if her windpipe hadn’t been used in years. Tiny moths flew out of the black pit of her mouth. I recoiled a half step backwards, until I remembered Leif blocked my exit.

“Did the boys not fill you in on their end of the bargain?” Glancing their way, she tsked.

“W-what bargain?” My breaths were so shallow I could hardly form the words.

Onyx liquid pooled with her saliva and coated her lips. “To find you and deliver you to me,” she said, spittle clinging to her chin. A pallid tongue darted out, licking it clean. So very reptilian. “Don’t be sad, River; these aren’t your friends. These are Night Stalkers, nothing more than hit men with no strings attached. With the way they parade it all over their skin and clothing, I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner.”

Unfazed by Finis’s praise, unfazed by my hurt, Ryder remained still as a statue, with an arrow nocked. At least he pointed his weapon at the ground. Though I’m sure if I so much as flinched, he’d aim it right at me. My eyes glossed over his hand holding the bow, the tattoos etched on his knuckles, the inverted abbreviation between his thumb and index finger. NS. I craned my neck, the eyes of a snake head wrapped around the S triggering a flurry of images.

This whole time, it’d been staring me dead in the face. Scribbled on building corners, patched onto moto vests, forever inked on his and his brother’s skin. It’s more of a syndicate, really, Leif had started to tell me. You got peddlers, thieves, and…assassins. I finally filled in the blank.

Finis was right: Ryder wasn’t my friend. He was my enemy. I clenched my fists so hard to keep myself from biting my fingers that my jagged nails pierced my palms. I’d found his introversion to be different and charming…Was that even him? Was his fascination with me all just a ploy to get me to trust him? Did he even care about who I was? Did he ever even see me?

My eyes fluttered open and shut. That rare, dimpled smile; that feverish green stare; the way his calloused touch gently scraped my skin—it had all felt so real.

The writing had been there on every damn wall. It’d been inked onto his fucking hand. My gaze shot up his arm, recalling the only hint of color amongst a sea of black and gray art hidden behind his jacket: the blue streaks and white brushstrokes that flowed under his bicep.

A river tat, I realized then. The mark of his prey. How original.

Could I even call it betrayal though, if it was never anything more than a shady business transaction to him?

“Why?” I croaked out, unsure who I was directing it to.

Finis pirouetted closer, in an answering dance of sorrow and devastation. The rotten stench of eggs and burnt rubber polluted the air with each twirl. I clutched my stomach.

“When Mira deserted eternity, we figured we’d won—that the absence of the Daughter of Gabriel, the Wielder of Water, would destroy the power and protection of the Watchers, and Chthonia would be able to seize Mortal Earth.” Her eyes were obsidian inkpots, incapable of reflection, so dark and bottomless they swallowed the light. “Imagine our shock when the western watchtower did not fall. That it still stood because she hid from the consequences for eight years, and when she was finally captured, a child took the place of the Angel of Water.”

As if I wore a dozen soaking layers, I buckled to a force that weighed on every fiber of my being. It wasn’t just about my mom losing her immortality for my dad—she had sacrificed herself for me.

“Because of you, the Watchers get to keep their power. Faulty, but strong enough to hold up a ward. The only way to break them is to break you…” She broke off to grin at Ryder, revealing her nubby, ground-down teeth—stained by the black-tinged saliva that drizzled out the corners of her mouth. I knew she was evil, but right now, she didn’t hold any part of that demon back. She clasped her hands, nails bruised and sharp as daggers. “Now, give me that Empyrean water stone so I can fulfill this sacred oath.”

Ryder’s grasp loosened around the handle of his weapon and an orange bracelet slid out from his cuff. The paper wristband was frayed, the numbers were faded, but the white text still legible said Boardwalk, printed in diagonal patterns behind the date of our first real hangout.

“You never took it off,” I whispered. I hadn’t meant for him to overhear it, but it traveled to his ears and ripped his moody stare from seeing through me, to me. A tremble rocked his grip, fracturing his hardened shell, and we locked eyes.

The prolonged creak of string being stretched against wood sounded behind me.

Uneasiness struck the top of my spine like a bullseye. I didn’t need to turn and see to know Leif had nocked his own arrow at me. But his words were directed at Ryder.

“Don’t forget who you are, little brother. Don’t forget where we came from.” His voice reverberated down the bow, tickling the hairs standing on the back of my neck. “The Sainthood takes our wings because of people like her—people like her mother.”

W-what did he say? I couldn’t have heard him correctly, but then I remembered the way Ryder’s entire demeanor had shifted when he’d spoken about the Saints. The scars prickled on my shoulder blades—perfect vertical slits, as if they were purposefully cut, too precise for a childhood accident. Could that be where…? Could I have had…?

Every muscle in me constricted. I was going to be sick.