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Darien stared at the group behind Malakai with a dazed expression.

Arthur. Jewels. Aspen. Lace. Travis.

Maximus and Dallas were last to come in through the shattered windows, the former tucking his pistol into his back waistband.

As soon as the witch caught sight of Loren, she shrieked. Grinned.

And then she took off running, making a beeline for Loren.

The mortal stumbled forward to meet her, Dallas’s name floating off her lips in shocked whispers. Dallas, Dallas, Dallas.

The witch collided with Loren with a slap, nearly knocking the human right off her feet.

Malakai glanced at Darien, who looked like he wanted to kill something.

And Malakai couldn’t help it—he laughed. And laughed and laughed.

Darien punched him in the arm. But soon, the rage on his face was thawing, because Loren was crying and laughing, Dallas too, the girls talking over each other, saying, “I missed you” and shit like that. Dallas was sobbing so hard, she started snorting, wiping the snot from her nose.

“Yard’s secure,” Max declared, his voice echoing. He took in all the gore, the blood and bodies in the pool that was tinged with pastels. “You okay?” he asked Darien.

Darien still looked like he wondered if he was dreaming—still looked like he wanted to save Loren from the clingy, sobbing witch.

But he nodded and said, “Could it have killed you to show up a few minutes sooner?” He took a step—and hissed, a hand drifting over his shoulder. “I need someone to get this glass out of my back.”

Several heads turned toward Arthur, who looked like he needed a really long nap and an extended vacation.

The old man sighed. “I suppose that someone would be me.”

The spell system had been restored, a thick coat of magic covering the property once more. As soon as it’d come back on, Roman’s stomach had twisted with the same nausea he experienced whenever he passed through the city’s forcefield. Time seemed to pause before lurching forward to catch up, yanking his soul out of his body and pitching his stomach about like a ship tossed by violent waves.

The lights were back on, thank gods. Outside, the fog had faded away, leaving the visibility throughout the city perfectly clear.

Now that his home wasn’t choked by darkness, Roman could see the destruction better. And damn, was there a lot. Too many dead bodies to count, and so much blood and guts, it coated the floor like thick, reeking paint.

The others were still catching their breath, putting away their weapons after checking corners, closets, and rooms. The second and third floors were secure—

Roman’s stomach dipped.

Darien. Loren.

He rushed to the staircase, feet pounding, and launched himself over the railing. The others sprinted after him as he barreled down the hallway—

They nearly ran right into him as Roman stopped short at the sound of voices bouncing up from the pool. Some of those voices sounded like…

No. No, it couldn’t be.

The others spread out on either side of him. Staring in the same direction. Waiting, listening. Shay claimed her spot at Roman’s right, the back of her hand grazing his. Roman hooked his pinky through hers. Held his breath.

Darien came up the stairs first, soaked in blood and water. Loren limped up the steps at his side, her bathing suit stained red, and behind them filed a line of people Roman hadn’t seen in a long time.

Probably the most shocking was Malakai Delaney. Just behind him came an auburn-haired female Reaper—Aspen Van Halen, who spoke to Lace Rivera like they were gossiping in a hair salon.

Behind Lace was Arthur Kind, a weapons technician and former doctor. Roman had met him only once before. Maximus Reacher was right behind Arthur, a witch with long red hair and white wings walking at his side. Roman didn’t recognize her.

Then came Jewels Delaney, Malakai’s younger sister.

The last person to enter made Roman’s heart stop dead in his chest.