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He joined her, his expression turning grave at the sight of the blood.

The trail continued down the corridor, fading into the blackness of the tower.

“We have to follow it,” she said.

“We can at least be assured the vampyr isn’t here.”

“True. It would’ve smelled our blood already.”

Vampyrs fed often, and seeing it was almost night, if a vampyr slumbered here, its hunger would’ve woken it with them so close.

As they left the once grand hall, their steps echoed in the corridor, and Evelyn tried to keep her footsteps light, fearful her boots would wake whatever did live inside the wretched place.

They passed a series of vacated rooms until a flash of gold caught Evelyn’s eye.

“Wait!”

This time, Cyrus grabbed her hand, halting them both in the hall. They stared at their joined hands. Evelyn forgot how to breathe. Her magic flared to life, reaching out to Cyrus with a surge of curiosity. She couldn’t think, couldn’t meet his eyes as she pulled her hand away, yet again caught off-guard by the searing sensation his touch gave. She snuffed her magic down.

McKenna. The vampyr. Solve the murder. Leave Callum.

She continued to remind herself of those things, ignoring Cyrus’s prickling stare on the back of her neck.

A set of golden goblets sat on a maroon blanket, mirroring the wine still in the cups. A wicker basket on the edge lay open, fruit and bread left behind. The scene appeared special, serene, even intimate.

Like the bite mark on McKenna’s thigh.

“It’s a picnic,” Evelyn said with disbelief. Vampyrs were ruthless, hungry creatures. How in the Sun had it accomplished this with McKenna? Evelyn couldn’t imagine it. Their razor teeth. Their animal-like movements. The picnic was far too . . . normal.

Cyrus dropped to his haunches, assessing the blanket, sniffing the goblets. Wilted flowers rested in the corner while an empty bottle of wine lay on its side.

“It doesn’t make any sense. There aren’t even signs of a struggle,” Evelyn noted.

No wrinkled blanket. The goblets still stood. It appeared as though the lovers had merely abandoned the picnic.

“No,” Cyrus said, “but it does fit with everything we know. Daniel McCarthy said McKenna was sneaking out at night. Penny, McKenna’s friend, said she had a lover.”

In love? With a vampyr? The vampyrs Evelyn had faced were crazed, bloodthirsty creatures who couldn’t form sentences. Evelyn shook her head, pacing in the small room. “I don’t understand . . . Why hang her body? Why gouge her eyes out?”

Cyrus furrowed his brows as he rose, seeming to consider the same thing. “Maybe to send a message?”

“A message for what? For whom?”

Why did it feel like every time Evelyn discovered something, she had only more questions that needed answers? She struggled to articulate them out loud, afraid she’d reveal her close ties to the vampyrs and shatter the disguise she’d worked hard to build these last two years. Working on this case and with Cyrus was already a risk in itself. Having been on her own for so long, she’d forgotten what it meant to work closely with others.

Guilt spread through Evelyn like ink seeping into paper, quick and permanent. She’d run from her duty to protect her people, but it seemed the vampyr extended their wrath farther than she’d ever imagined. Was she a fool to think she could solve this murder? She’d already failed once. What was to say she wouldn’t fail again?

“Where do you go? When your eyes get lost like that? What are you thinking of, Saige?”

Evelyn blinked and refocused. Cyrus watched her. Intently. His eyes looked like butterscotch in the dim light, sweet and . . . concerned.

For a fraction of a moment, Evelyn didn’t want to lie. The truth sat on her lips, ready to fall and reveal what she could never take back.

“You promised no more questions, Huntsman,” she said.

“I’m afraid I may break that promise from time to time,” he said with a sad smile. “Tell me, Saige.”

Her name on his lips, though it was her fake name, sounded kind and true, like she could tell him anything and he’d listen.