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Dejected, we went home.

It was five o’clock by the time we staggered in, and we’d been up almost twenty-four hours.

Fifteen hours to the bomb deadline, but we needed sleep, and there was nothing we could do for now.

In the morning, we’d join the search teams and see if we could get lucky.

Some strategy that was.

NPPD and SPAR units out all over the city. There was no way Moreau would miss it, even without his men inside SPAR. He’d know I’d told them.

How was I going to explain that away, without putting Kara in his crosshairs?

Iyoni kicked her boots off and flopped down on the sofa, so tired she didn’t even reach for her phone.

I gave her a weak smile and followed Kara into our bedroom. She pulled her clothes off and climbed into bed, too tired to even shower. I would’ve liked to have joined her, but I needed to wash the blood off my hands—metaphorically. Not literally, thankfully.

I stood under the shower for a long time, the weight of my failure heavy on my shoulders.

Some part of me recognized that Moreau might’ve been planning this for months, and that the timing was just serendipitous. But it felt personal, like he’d used my awakening, the Bay Uni attack, and my presence in SPAR to give him an excuse.

I couldn’t help but think all those innocents would still be alive if it wasn’t for me.

First Bay Uni, now this. The death toll that history would one day tie back to the birth of a warlock. Or an Aetherborn.

Unbidden, the images that had plagued me all week returned like an unwelcome and grim tune stuck in my head: explosions, fire, shattered bodies. Death.

And I still had to figure out how to persuade him my flagrant disregard of his warning was somehow to his advantage.

Sighing, I got out and dried myself off, then padded through into the bedroom. Kara lay still in the dark, but as I climbed in beside her, she turned over and pressed her nakedness against me.

“We did all we could,” she said.

An attempt to reassure me. So typical. Where had the spoiled, entitled rich girl gone? Had she ever really existed?

“It wasn’t enough.”

“We still have a day. Firth may have made progress.”

I couldn’t see how. There were too many targets, too many unknowns. No gloating calls from Moreau with last-minute tips. Not yet, anyway.

“Get some sleep,” I said. “We’re going to need it.”

Her hand stroked along my chest and rested over my heart, and she snuggled in under my arm.

Her breathing gradually deepened as sleep claimed her. I held her, but the ache in my chest didn’t ease.

I lay in the dark, wondering what I’d missed, and what more I could’ve done.

*

My alarm woke me at seven, and I felt like I’d been asleep mere minutes.

I reached over and killed it, then sent Natalie a text.

Soon as you’re online, I need an update.

There wasn’t anything else to do.

Kara stirred beside me, stretching, the duvet slipping and the first hints of morning light reflecting off her curves. So beautiful. I took a moment to enjoy it—more refreshing than the hour of sleep I’d managed.

She opened her eyes and noticed my gaze, extending her stretch and arching her back. The duvet slid farther down.

“I suppose we don’t have time to dally, do we?” she asked, making the question rhetorical as she pushed herself up with a sigh and padded off to the bathroom. Her hips swayed for my pleasure, and damn , that ass.

I pulled fresh clothes on—jeans, a T-shirt, hoodie—no need for formal shirts, and I wouldn’t miss Dacien’s cufflinks. Then I went through to the main room.

For once, Iyoni was still asleep, curled on the sofa in yesterday’s clothing.

She looked peaceful, her platinum blonde hair spread out on a cushion.

I sat on the edge next to her, and gently rocked her shoulder.

She turned toward me, pulling my arm between her breasts like a soft toy, and didn’t show any signs of letting go. Her eyes hadn’t opened.

“Do you want a coffee?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Might need my arm.”

“Make Kara get it.”

“She’s in the shower.”

She gave a growl of discontent, then reluctantly let go of me. Sleepy Iyoni was cute, but this wasn’t the time to tell her that.

Natalie called me while the coffee was brewing.

“Morning, sir. I’m already in the office. The mood isn’t great here. Director Marlow and Firth are run ragged. What time are you getting in?”

Iyoni got up, stretched, and started pulling off her clothes.

“I wasn’t planning to come into HQ.” Even less so for a grouchy Firth-Marlow combo. “Where can I be useful in the city? Get Firth to put us somewhere.”

Find the bomb, risk Kara. Keep Kara safe, allow the bomb to go off. Some choice.

Iyoni had on a lacy black bra under her T-shirt. She turned away as she slowly pushed her jeans down, revealing a matching thong. I fought the urge to clear my throat, trying to concentrate on the call while Iyoni did her best to distract me.

“All the teams will be out today, sir.”

“Right, we need all the feet on the ground, and that includes mine.”

Moreau would know I hadn’t stayed quiet. Might as well go all in.

“Let me check.”

Iyoni unclipped her bra, let it fall, and turned with her arms crossed over her chest. She gave me a mischievous smile, then headed for the bathroom.

Minx.

I waited while Natalie spoke to someone, but she was back in a moment. “There’s a team at the Strand Ballroom on Washington Street. I’ll text you the details.”

That wasn’t far from Kara’s apartment. “Great, we’ll be there within the hour.”

“You were supposed to be at the Supe-Norm Outreach today.”

I caught my breath. “You’re kidding me. Is that still going ahead? That would be a prime target for Moreau. Has it been searched?”

“I was joking, sir.” She sounded remorseful. “Sorry, terribly inappropriate timing. I just knew how much you were dreading it. No, it’s been cancelled. We’d already discounted it—it was due to finish well before eight—but we shut it down to be sure.”

“Thank God. Both for it being cancelled and for me not having to go.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “Good luck, sir.”

“To all of us,” I replied grimly, and ended the call.

Harrow had said the same, but luck wasn’t a strategy.

We were floundering, and we all knew it.

*

The Strand Ballroom was a two-thousand-seat music venue on two layers, with a single NPPD officer at the door.

I flashed my card and was waved by. Inside, it was already crawling with NPPD. A handler with a black Labrador sniffer dog worked his way through the seats, while on the upper level, a shifter in wolf form pushed his way through the narrow rows.

We were met by both the venue manager and a SPAR agent I didn’t know.

“Captain Williams, sir,” the man introduced himself in clipped tones. “This is Mr. DiFranco, the owner.”

I shook hands and made the introductions. “Kara Hargrave, my assistant, and Iyoni Saelan, on assignment with SPAR.”

“You’re the warlock,” Mr. DiFranco said.

“Yes,” I said curtly. I wasn’t here for autographs. “Where are we up to, Captain?”

“Floor-by-floor search, sir. We’re starting in the basement now.”

“Fine. We’ll head on down.” I gave him a nod and left him to it.

“I still don’t see why this is necessary—” Mr. DiFranco said as we walked away.

Idiot.

“So you remembered my name,” Iyoni murmured as we walked. “You heard it, what? Once?”

“You made a strong first impression,” I replied, and she laughed.

“Still surprised,” she said. “I hadn’t threatened to kill you by that point.”

“I assure you I pay my parking tickets.”

“I know full well you don’t get any. Have you ever owned a car?”

“Touché.”

The banter served no purpose other than as an outlet of tension, the air heavy with it. All around were NPPD dotted with the occasional SPAR agent, grim-faced as they hurried through their tasks. We were the only ones dressed as civilians, and we garnered a few raised eyebrows.

The basement was a maze of mechanical rooms housing HVAC systems, electrical panels, and other essential infrastructure; storage areas full of props and costumes; dressing rooms and pre-stage areas. All of which took time to search.

Minutes turned into hours. It didn’t help that we had no idea how large the bomb was, what form it took, or how stable it was.

Every possible location had to be handled with kid-gloves.

Wall panels tapped, air vents dismantled, crates unloaded and repacked.

Laborious, tedious, the fruitlessness of it wearing on us all.

Captain Williams called a halt after three hours. “Ten-minute break, then we’re going to a nightclub across the way.”

He didn’t say what we all knew: we were grasping.

We walked out into the late morning sun, the day still cold but the sky clear for once.

“Assistant Director!” a shout rang out, a group of reporters held back by some pissed-off looking NPPD officers. “What are you looking for?”

Shit. Someone had told them I was here.

I walked over with my best media smile, Kara and Iyoni hanging back.

“Good morning all of you. SPAR is running some drills, so … thanks for the welcome break.”

There was a polite chuckle.

“What sort of drills, Mr. Sullivan?”

“Well, with recent tensions, we’re taking the opportunity to show some force around the city, and combining it with some training.”

“What training do you need, Assistant Director?”

“Don’t forget, I’ve only been in the role a few weeks. So probably more than the rest of them.” I smiled self-deprecatingly and earned another chuckle.

“Are you claiming this is just an exercise? NPPD and SPAR have been seen all over the city. What about the rumors of a bomb?”

This wasn’t my forte, but I was damned if I was going to admit to anything else. “Inter-agency exercises are critical in these times.” I gave them a smile and turned away.

“And the bomb? Is there a bomb?”

I gave a half-turn back. “Every good exercise has an objective, right? Now, if you’ll excuse me, my team wants to win the crate of beer.”