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Roxie jumped back onto the table, settling between us like a furry referee. Her tail twitched as she watched our standoff.

“Besides,” Cade said, voice lighter now, “you've been hunting solo for six months. Don't tell me you're not dying to have backup again.”

Hard to argue with that. Six months of patching my own wounds, driving through the night with nothing but the radio for company, waking up from nightmares with no one to talk to.

“Having you watch my six wouldn't suck,” I admitted, stealing a piece of bacon off my abandoned plate. “Assuming you still remember which end of a gun to point at the bad guys.”

Something that might have been a smile touched his lips. “I think I can manage.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “Alright. Fine. What's the case?”

Relief flickered across his face as he turned the laptop toward me. Back to business. Safe territory.

“Dead guy in Jersey. Body drained, no blood at the scene.” His voice shifted into that professional tone I'd heard a thousand times. “Two more with the same pattern. No official cause of death.”

I looked at the photos and immediately felt sick. Three bodies, all male, looking like they'd been left in the desert for months. Skin pulled tight, eyes sunken, lips peeled back from their teeth.

“Psychic vampire,” I said automatically. “Haven't seen one in years, but those are the signs. They drain life force instead of blood.”

Cade nodded, perking up with interest. “That would explain the desiccation.”

“Yeah. They're territorial, usually stick to one hunting ground. And they're picky about their victims—target specific emotions.”

“What's this one feeding on?”

I studied the victim profiles. “All men, different backgrounds, different lives. But they all disappeared for abouttwelve hours before turning up dead. And they were all last seen at bars in the same area of Hoboken.”

“So our monster's working the bar scene.”

“Gets better.” I pulled up security footage on my phone. “Look at this—victim two leaving O'Malley's.”

The footage showed a thin guy in his thirties walking out of the bar, talking animatedly to nobody. Gesturing, nodding, following something invisible into the dark.

“Jesus,” Cade muttered.

“Classic psychic vampire. They project whatever the victim wants most—love, acceptance, whatever. The mark sees their deepest desire and follows it straight to their death.”

Cade absorbed this, mind already working the angles. “How do we kill it?”

“Iron through the heart, same as most vampires. Trick is getting close enough without letting it get in your head first.”

“Guess we're taking a trip to Jersey.”

“Already been tracking this one. Was going to handle it solo next week, but backup would be nice. These things are nasty when cornered.”

“You've been working this case?” Something like surprise crossed his face.

“Been working a lot of cases. Stayed busy.”

The words hung between us, loaded with six months of grief and anger and desperate searching. But at least now we had something concrete to focus on that didn't involve examining all the ways everything had gone to shit.

“We should check with Skye first,” I said, standing up. “Get some intel, maybe some gear to help resist mental intrusion.”

“Skye's in town?”

“They've been helping with research since...” I caught myself before saying 'since you died.' “They've been working out of the underground for months.”

Guilt flashed across his face. “I didn't know they were involved.”