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“But it’s different now, Seb.” Kit’s certainty caught me off guard.

“You’ve got your feet on solid ground. You’ve got Killigrew Street.

The way you told it to me, back then you were adrift, nothing to anchor you.

James became your whole world. No wonder it destroyed you when it ended.

But now?” He gestured around the basement, then leaned forward, grabbing my wrist. “Look what you’ve built here.

You’ve made yourself a family. That changes everything. ”

“Thank you.” I held his gaze. “Your friendship means a lot to me, Kit.”

“Ach, you’re going soft on me.” He barked a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Course I love you. Wouldn’t have faced that tosser Thrift alone otherwise.”

“How did it go?”

“Got you five casks.” Kit’s lip curled. “Right piece of work, he was. Glad you weren’t there to deal with him.”

“Thanks. I should be able to make them last. I have a feeling the blood I drank from Flynn should keep me going for a while.”

“About that.” Kit leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You mentioned something about the demon’s mark affecting it?”

“Yes.” I closed my eyes, remembering the surge of power.

“It was… extraordinary. Like drinking liquid lightning. Every cell in my body felt charged, alive. The demon magic in his blood—it amplified everything. My healing, my strength, even my senses. I could hear heartbeats from sheep three fields away. I’m still feeling some of the effects now. ”

“Bloody hell.”

“Indeed.” I opened my eyes to find Kit studying me intently. “The power of it… I don’t think I’ve experienced anything like it. But it only goes to prove that we’re out of time. ”

One grim nod from Kit. “If he’s following a similar timeline to some of the cases we’ve got more data on, he has about—”

“Seven days left.”

“If we’re lucky.”

Kit and I looked at each other, the weight of it hanging between us.

I pushed myself up from the armchair to pull over our corkboard, the squeak against the floor harsh in the basement’s silence.

Papers and photographs cluttered the surface, connected by a web of red string. My fingers traced the string connecting Flynn’s name to the other victims. Was there a pattern here, just beyond my grasp?

Kit cleared his throat. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re about to go full conspiracy theorist with the strings.”

I narrowed my eyes, dropping my hand from the board. At least I hadn’t told him about my suspected hyena stalker.

“Vampires and demons don’t mix. The last time I saw them work together was Paris, eighteen thirty-two. My diaries imply that half the supernatural population died. The Seine ran red for days.”

“Cheerful as always, boss.” Kit said. “You think this is similar?”

“I don’t know.” I studied the photograph of “Damien.” The sight of his sneering face made me want to punch something.

Preferably him. We’d shown his picture to over fifty supernaturals, with little success.

Cambions were essentially foot soldiers, with a higher power often directing them.

We were keeping tabs on over thirty of them, but Damien had appeared from nowhere.

He came onto our radar after a contact reported overhearing him talking to another lesser demon in an ancient dialect, one typically reserved for those in positions of power.

“Someone with considerable influence must be pulling the strings.”

Kit stretched, his joints popping. “Could be that demon you mentioned? The one from the East End who’s getting a bit too big for his boots? ”

I shook my head. “ Lord Vasquez, as he calls himself, controls his territory too carefully to risk such a mess. Besides, he despises vampires. Claims we smell of death.”

“That’s rich.” Kit snorted. “So what about the Brixton clan? That Marcus Vale fancies himself in charge of?”

“That’s what worries me.” I leaned forward.

“The Brixton vampires have been a massive problem ever since Vale started building his little cult. Those vampires have always despised my interference. I can only imagine their anger towards me now I’ve killed two of them.

” When I finally met Vale face to face, he’d likely have some choice words for me.

“But Vale’s clan have never been particularly organised.

Never seemed to have an agenda, beyond their bloodlust. But obviously… ”

I stood, pacing to dispel my nervous energy, staring at the photographs on the board, the twelve victims of the dark demon magic. I refused to let Flynn become number thirteen.

“There’s something more at play here. We need to speak with White again.” Twenty years of loyalty, and I still wasn’t convinced she was always as forthcoming with her help as she could be.

“When’s your next scheduled check-in?”

“Given recent events, I’m going to have to bring our meeting forward.”

Kit’s eyes gleamed with familiar mischief. “Try to sound less enthusiastic about it. You know, some people actually enjoy their weekly therapy.”

I shot him a look that would have withered a lesser man. Kit just grinned, as immune to my glares as he’d been since we’d met seven years ago.

“Go home, Kit.” I waved him away. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Kit rose, but paused at the bookcase. “You should get some rest too. And by rest, I don’t mean brooding in your office all night.”

“I already made such a promise. ”

“Spending the night in Flynn’s room, then?” Kit’s grin turned wolfish. “How domestic of you.”

I refused to dignify that with a response.

Upstairs, the hotel’s corridors stretched dark and silent before me. As I passed Flynn’s door, his steady heartbeat called to me, tempting me inside. But work demanded my attention first. I had promises to keep, yes—but also a lesser demon to hunt.

Dawn would arrive soon enough. Perhaps then I’d allow myself the luxury of lying beside Flynn, watching his face in sleep, memorising the precise rhythm of his breathing.

As I slipped into my office, Flynn’s blood still sang through my veins, a reminder of both pleasure and peril. Of darkness and dawn.

Of promises made, and promises yet to keep.