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As Darien thought everything through, he scanned the office: the shelves that were filled with plaques and books that looked like the pages had never been cracked open; the collection of framed photographs on the desk; the black filing cabinet that was so pristine there wasn’t a single fingerprint marring its surface.

“This Detective Nolan…,” Darien began, looking back at Finn to see that he was still watching him. “Where is he? Maybe he’d like to speak to me himself.”

“He’s out today.”

“Figures,” Darien muttered. “How serious is he?”

“I’ve never met a more serious guy in my life, let me tell you that. He isn’t messing around.” Finn leaned forward in his seat again, his expression all business. He was a big fucker, the scars on his knuckles and palms suggesting he was one of the few people in this line of work who was actually willing to get his hands dirty. “If you do this, you’re going to need help. Who do you have that would side with you if—and I’m saying if, so don’t get your back up here—you took Randal Slade’s place?” Before Darien could object to the question, he added, “Just enlighten me for a minute, will you?”

Darien sighed. “All right, fine. I’ll enlighten you.” He drummed the armrests of his chair again, his eyes flicking to the ceiling. The Surge was threatening to come back. “The Vipers and the Angels of Death are some of the few people I call friends. They’d back me up on just about anything. I wouldn’t exactly call anyone from the other circles a friend, though they’re not all my enemies either.”

“It’s a good start.” Finn thought it through for a moment, rubbing the dark stubble on his chin. Darien could practically see the gears turning in his head, and because of this, he felt them turning in his own. Something told him he wouldn’t like where this was going. And he was correct in thinking so as Finn began, “You know… I think if you were to speak to Malakai—”

“No,” Darien bit out. The armrests of his chair crackled in protest as his fingers curled into the leather, squeezing tight.

“Just listen.”

“No, you listen,” Darien snapped. Finn sat up straighter, but he wisely kept his mouth shut as Darien went on to say, “Considering I killed two Reapers with no explanation as to why, Malakai will be more likely to throw hands than he will to listen to me.” To be completely honest, Darien was surprised Malakai hadn’t come for his neck yet. And it wasn’t just the head of Tyson Geller that Malakai cared about. It was the other guy, Liam, who was with Tyson that night outside of Blackbird—a Reaper Darien hadn’t recognized at the time. When a Darkslayer got killed, their circle came for the person who pulled the trigger. Killing Tyson and the other guy outside of Blackbird 88 Above had been an act of defense, it was true. But Malakai didn’t know that.

Usually, something like this wouldn’t bother Darien so much. He’d been handling Malakai—and people who were far more dangerous than him—for a long time. But since he’d started dating Loren, since she’d started sleeping under his roof…

He wouldn’t risk it. It was better to keep people like Malakai at a distance, where he couldn’t find out about Loren and decide to retaliate by targeting her.

“So, let him get it out of his system,” Finn suggested, his husky voice cutting into the bubble of bone-deep rage that had enveloped him. “Make him an offer he can’t refuse. If you don’t get the Reapers on your side, people like Lionel and Channary will be challenging your claim in no time. You need him for an ally, Darien, or this isn’t going to work—”

“I’ve heard enough.” Darien shoved away from the desk and got to his feet. His hands were beginning to tremble, and the Sight was threatening to swallow his vision again. His pathetic attempt at quitting smoking—an attempt he’d committed to only yesterday—was making it even harder to keep the Surge at bay. The cigar he’d smoked outside of AA had only caused his need for nicotine to resurface with a vengeance.

Finn made to stand. “Hold on just a second.”

But Darien was already across the room. “I don’t need you talking to me as if I’ve already agreed to this bullshit plan.”

“Cassel—”

“I’ll think about it.” He swung open the door, denting the drywall with the handle. “And the next time you need something, you will call or text me like a normal person instead of sending one of your dogs to track me down.”

The warlock who’d led him here was still lingering outside the door, and he straightened from the wall he was leaning against as Darien pinned him with a cold stare.

“And you,” Darien snarled, pointing a finger at his face. His voice was so fierce, he drew the attention of every person in the area. For the first time all day, the warlock had the wits to look worried as Darien bore down on him. “Don’t ever look at or speak to my girl again, or I’ll carve your eyes and tongue out of your head.”

—

Darien wasn’t sure how he made it through the sprawling headquarters of the MPU without stopping to wring the blood out of someone’s neck, but the next thing he knew, he was in the parking lot.

It was still pissing down rain, as if the ground wasn’t wet enough. Stormy weather was usually his favorite, but today was the first heavy rainfall they’d had in weeks, and already the drains were flooded with a soup of debris, animal waste, and litter. Combined with the heavy humidity, it only made the urban funk of Angelthene worse than usual, even in a district as clean as this one.

Jaw clenched, temples throbbing, Darien stalked over to where he’d parked his car, right at the very end of a line of cruisers and motorcycles that belonged to law enforcement and the MPU, pristine paint streaked with water.

He slumped against the driver’s door and fished a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket—the cigarettes he’d stopped to buy on his way here, forcing the disgruntled peace officer to wait for him outside.

He took a minute to breathe deeply, to listen to the sound of the palm trees swaying in the breeze and the cars zipping past on the highway not far from where he stood. The last thing he needed right now was a full-blown Surge, especially this early in the day. And especially when there was a target he needed to track down before his deadline at midnight. He would never make it in time if he had to stop at an underground fighting ring to wrangle his inner turmoil.

What a mess of a day. Was it too much to ask for life to be normal for just a little while longer before another, more irritating pile of shit hit the fan? After everything that happened on Kalendae…after he’d experienced firsthand what it felt like to be alive when his family was dead…when he himself had died…

A break—they couldn’t catch a break.

He took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips, and he was just about to spark his lighter when a familiar face made him freeze.

Malakai Delaney was walking out the doors of the building. Malakai. Fucking. Delaney. What were the odds of that? The last person he’d expected to run into was the same asshole he’d just been arguing about in Solace’s office. Sometimes, for a city with a population of over eight million, it felt horribly small here. If Malakai saw him, Darien wasn’t sure if they’d both wind up dead or in holding cells by the time they were through with each other.