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My fist slammed into the vehicle's wall, making everyone jump. “Ye knew. All this time, ye fucking knew what he was meant for.”

“No.” Sterling's denial carried weight. “I suspected he was important, yes. Knew the mark made him different. But this?” He gestured at the devastation visible through the windows. “This was beyond anything we imagined.”

“Where is he?” The question came out more desperate than demanding. When Sterling hesitated, I grabbed his jacket again. “Tell me! Where the fuck did he go?”

“If I had to guess?” Sterling met my eyes steadily, and what I saw there made my blood run cold. “Hell.”

The word hung between us like a death sentence. Around us, agents pretended not to listen, but I could feel their attention sharpening.

“Hell,” I repeated, the word tasting like ash. “Not dead. Not gone. But in actual, literal Hell.”

Sterling nodded slowly. “Most likely. Though I don't really know exactly where in Hell he'd end up.”

“Stop.” My voice cracked on the word. “Just... stop.”

Silence fell in the vehicle, broken only by the hum of medical equipment and the distant sound of sirens. Through the windows, I could see the sun rising over Manhattan like nothing had changed. Like the world hadn't just lost something irreplaceable.

Once the vehicle stopped, I stepped out of it, needing air that didn't taste like other people's fear and sympathy. The wind howled through Central Park's twisted remains, carrying hints of ozone and something darker.

Hell. The word bounced around my skull like a bullet, tearing new holes with each ricochet. Not dead, not gone, but in actual, literal Hell. The very thought shattered something fundamental inside me, something I hadn't even known could break.

My hands found the familiar grip of my gun, then my blade, seeking comfort in weapons that had never failed me before. But what good were silver bullets against this kind of loss? What could blessed steel do against walls between worlds?

The air trembled, shivering with something more than just movement. It wasn't wind but a presence, curling around me like unseen fingers. The sound that followed wasn't a voice, notreally. It was a whisper dragged through the ruins, laced with laughter that didn't belong to this world.

“No.” The word came out like a prayer, though I hadn't properly prayed since Dublin. “You're dead. We watched you fall.”

“Dead?” Asmodeus's voice scratched against my mind, more echo than substance but carrying all his perfect cruelty. “Oh, you simple creature. Did you think death meant anything to beings like us?”

My blade came up automatically, though what good steel would do against a voice only I could hear, I couldn't say. Around me, the twisted trees groaned in preternatural currents that defied the still air elsewhere, their branches reaching like grasping hands toward a sky that still held traces of wrong colors.

“Your marked one thinks he's won.” The Prince's last laugh carried harmonics that echoed through my skull. “But he's only delayed the inevitable. The First will rise once again.”

“Shut up!” I slashed through empty air, blade singing uselessly. “He beat you. He chose to become something you couldn't touch, couldn't corrupt.”

“Chose?” Hatred and amusement twisted through the word. “You think choice matters in the depths where he's gone?”

“Sean.” Sterling's voice startled me as he emerged from the vehicle, concern etched on his face. “Who are you talking to?”

I realized he couldn't hear the Prince's voice, couldn't feel the cold presence wrapping around me. To Sterling, I must have looked like a man arguing with thin air.

“Nothing,” I lied, forcing my shoulders to relax. “Just... processing.”

Lex appeared beside Sterling, his usual smooth confidence cracked around the edges. “You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost,” I muttered, too low for them to hear.

“They can't help you,” Asmodeus whispered, his voice slithering through my thoughts. “They can't even hear me. Only you, hunter. Only you know where he truly is.”

“It's suicide,” Sterling said quietly, misreading my expression. “Even if you found a way to bring him back...”

“When.”

“What?”

“When I find a way.” I met his gaze steadily, letting him see enough determination to hide the truth. “Not if. When.”

The Prince's laughter rose again, cruel and certain, but only in my mind. “You'll die trying. Break yourself against walls of flesh and power and torment.”