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“Or where,” I added, tracing the theoretical point of convergence. Multiple possibilities existed based on the currently identified pattern. “We need more data.”

“That's where Sean comes in,” Sterling said. “He's been tracking the New York cell for weeks. Has surveillance set up, informants in place. If anyone has the latest intelligence, it's him.”

I nodded once, decision crystallizing. “Then we need to see him. Now.”

Sterling studied me for a long moment, weighing options with a hunter's pragmatic assessment. “You're right,” he admitted finally. “But approach matters. He's fragile, even if he'd kill me for saying so.”

“How do we proceed?” I asked, deferring to Sterling's deeper understanding of Sean's current psychological state.

Sterling considered, weighing options with the careful deliberation of someone accustomed to life-or-death decisions. “Direct approach. No games, no ambiguity. I call ahead, tell him I've found something he needs to see. We go together.”

I nodded. The protocols were familiar, logical. “And after?”

Sterling's expression softened slightly, revealing the genuine care beneath his gruff exterior. “That's the complicated part. He's been running on rage and denial for six months. Seeing you alive...” He shook his head. “Could go either way. Relief or breakdown. Possibly both.”

“I'll manage it,” I said with confidence.

Sterling's gaze sharpened. “Can you? You're different now. Something happened to you in that gate. And Sean will notice, he knows you better than anyone.”

The question landed with unexpected weight. Could I navigate this interaction when I myself didn't fully understand what had changed? When everything that had once felt important now seemed distant, academic?

“I'll adapt,” I said finally. Simple, direct. The only commitment I could honestly make.

Sterling studied me for a long moment, then nodded once, decision made. “Let's go, then. You know where to find him.”

4

SIX MONTHS TOO LATE

SEAN

Ihadn't slept in three days. Not since I picked up Asmodeus's trail heading toward the old subway tunnels. Sleep was for people who didn't have the world ending on their watch, and right now, that felt like everyone but me.

The warehouse looked like a tornado hit an army surplus store. Maps tacked to every wall, photos scattered across tables, weapons stacked in corners like some kind of apocalypse yard sale. Six months of hunting demons solo had turned my home into a war room, and honestly? I liked it better this way. Gave me something to focus on besides the gaping hole where my partner used to be.

Roxie, my pain-in-the-ass Himalayan cat, was perched on a stack of demonology books, giving me that judgmental stare cats had perfected. Found her in a vampire nest about four years ago—sole survivor after I torched the place. Smart enough to know trouble when she saw it, dumb enough to stick around anyway. Story of my life.

When someone pounded on my door, I had the Colt in my hand before my brain caught up. Not many people knew where I lived, and fewer still dropped by for social calls.

“Expecting company?” I asked Roxie, who just flicked her tail like she couldn't be bothered with my paranoia.

I checked the security monitor and my world tilted sideways.

Sterling stood on my doorstep looking grim as death. Next to him was a tall figure in a dark jacket, face turned away from the camera. Something about the way he stood, the set of his shoulders...

No. Fucking. Way.

My hands shook as I cycled through the monitor feeds, trying to get a better angle. When the figure turned toward the camera, I dropped the remote.

Cade. Standing there like he'd just stepped out for beer instead of being dragged into Hell six months ago.

“Jaysus Christ,” I breathed, scrambling for my testing kit. Silver knife, holy water, salt—everything I'd need to prove this was just another sick joke from something wearing his face.

Because it had to be. Demons loved this shit, loved twisting the knife. I'd killed three shapeshifters in the past month alone, all of them wearing Cade's face, all of them getting close enough to hurt before I figured out the con.

I yanked the door open, gun raised and ready.

Time stopped.