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21

OMEN

Something was wrong with the city.

The air crackled with unseen energy, like the moment before lightning strikes, but darker. Even Manhattan's usual chaos felt muted, as if the world itself was holding its breath before something momentous.

Or terrible.

Across my loft, Cade sat perched on the edge of the couch, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee gone cold hours ago. His fingers twitched involuntarily, like something was moving beneath his skin. He'd been quiet since Sterling's revelations, but this was different. His gaze had gone distant, unfocused, seeing something the rest of us couldn't.

“Jaysus,” I muttered, checking my weapons for the tenth time. “You're doing that thing again.”

He blinked slowly, coming back to himself. “What thing?”

“That thing where you look like you're somewhere else entirely. That whole thousand-yard stare routine.” I moved closer, noting the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. “Like you're seeing something the rest of us aren't meant to.”

“Maybe I am.” His attempt at a smile didn't reach his eyes.

I'd seen that look before. But this was worse. This was Cade seeing pieces of a puzzle no one else knew existed, understanding connections that shouldn't be possible.

And that scared me more than any monster we'd faced.

“Right then,” I said, falling back on professional focus. “Let's go over the plan again. Step one: don't die. Step two: kill the bad guys. Step three: grab a beer. How's that sound?”

My loft had transformed into something between an armory and a command center. Gear cluttered the tables beside my hunter weapons, silver rounds stacked next to blessed blades. Skye's tech dominated one corner, their fingers flying over multiple screens as they coordinated with Sterling's teams and our scattered allies.

“The supernatural activity in Central Park is intensifying,” they reported without looking up. “Energy readings are off the charts. Whatever's coming is bigger than anything we've seen before.”

I watched Cade methodically check his weapons, his movements precise but his shoulders carrying the weight of destiny itself. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “We don't have much time.”

I caught Cade's arm before he could move away, pulling him into the relative privacy of the weapon's alcove. “You don't have to do this alone,” I said softly, letting my accent thicken with emotion I usually kept in check. “Whatever's coming...”

“You heard Sterling,” Cade cut me off, his voice tight with barely controlled fear. “I'm what they need. What they've been planning for all along.” His laugh was hollow, bitter. “My parents' death, the mark, even meeting you… none of it was chance. It was all orchestrated. Like some cosmic chess game, and I've been a pawn from the start.”

“Not everything,” I countered firmly, gripping his shoulders. “Whatever they planned, this, us, is real. They didn't orchestratethe way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. They didn't plan how my heart stops every time you smile. That's ours.”

Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes, but before he could respond, the first crack of unnatural thunder shattered the morning silence. We both turned toward the windows, where the sky had transformed into something from a nightmare.

“Sweet Mother of Christ,” I breathed, watching darkness spread across Manhattan's skyline. “That can't be good.”

The clouds had turned a bruised purple, shot through with veins of black lightning that writhed in unnatural patterns. Each flash sent static crawling across my skin, raising every hair on my body and leaving cold sweat in its wake. My vision blurred at their edges, as if my mind itself was rejecting what it saw. Reality itself seemed to bend around the gathering storm, like fabric stretching too thin.

Sterling's voice crackled over our comms, tight with tension. “CITD teams are in position. We've got the park locked down, no civilians allowed in. But we've got problems. Phoenix security just tripled, and they're not even pretending to be human anymore.”

“How the hell are we keeping this quiet?” I demanded, watching shadows move unnaturally across neighboring buildings. “Bit hard to hide the apocalypse from morning commuters. Next thing you'll tell me is we've got a press release planned.”

“I've got that covered,” Sterling replied. “Called in a favor from an old friend, a witch who specializes in perception wards. She's got a glamour over the whole area. Normal folks will just look away.”

“For how long?”

“Few hours at most. This kind of magic isn't meant to last.”

I cursed in Irish, watching winged creatures crawl down glass skyscrapers like spiders. Their forms shifted between shadows and substance, too many limbs moving in ways that defied physics. “Better than nothing, I suppose. Always did want front-row seats to the end of the world.”

“Movement on the ground,” Skye reported, their fingers flying across keyboards. “Multiple entities emerging from the subway tunnels. But that's not the worst part.” They pulled up a map of Manhattan, markers blinking at specific points. “The churches, all five of them, they've been breached.”

“What do you mean breached?” I moved closer, recognizing the pattern the churches formed around Central Park.