Page 10

The Underground was Skye's domain now. They'd turned the basement of my warehouse into something that looked like NASA and the Library of Alexandria had a baby. Computer monitors everywhere, books stacked to the ceiling, maps and symbols covering every available surface.

“They practically live down here these days,” I said as we headed down the stairs. “Got paranoid after some demons tried to raid the place a few months back.”

“Demons came here?” Cade's voice went sharp.

“Just a probing attack. Skye handled it before I even got back from a supply run.”

“Skye fought demons?”

“Skye's changed a lot.”

The stairwell opened up into controlled chaos. Monitors displaying news feeds and tracking algorithms, bookshelves groaning under ancient tomes, a massive table covered in maps and arcane symbols.

And in the middle of it all stood Skye, arms crossed, blue hair in a messy ponytail, wearing an oversized sweater and ripped jeans. They looked Cade up and down with narrowed eyes.

“You look like shit,” they said bluntly.

Cade smirked. “Good to see you too, Skye.”

They stared at each other for a tense moment. Then Skye moved forward and punched him in the arm, hard enough to make him wince.

“Don't do that again, asshole. Next time you want to play hero, maybe give us a heads up first.”

The tension broke. Cade rubbed his arm, almost smiling. “Noted.”

Skye turned away quickly, back to their command center. “Sean said you've got a case. Something draining victims?”

We showed them the photos, fell into the familiar rhythm of case analysis. It was surreal, watching them work together like no time had passed, like Cade hadn't been dead for six months.

“Psychic vampire,” Skye confirmed. “Territorial, predictable hunting patterns.”

“What's it targeting?” Cade asked.

Skye cross-referenced the victim profiles. “Loneliness. Bars are perfect hunting grounds for that.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “All three victims were single, recently out of relationships. Easy marks for something promising connection.”

As they huddled over the computers, I stepped back, watching Cade work. The careful way he moved, the measured precision of every gesture. He was functioning, doing the job, but something fundamental was missing.

“Hard to see him like this, isn't it?” Skye appeared beside me, voice low.

I didn't look away from Cade. “He's functional. But it's like someone dimmed the lights.”

“What do you mean?”

“He made breakfast this morning. Perfect bacon and eggs. Since when does Cade cook anything that doesn't come in a microwave box?”

Skye's eyebrows rose. “He cooked?”

“Like he'd been doing it his whole life. It's the little things that are wrong. Too controlled, too careful.”

We watched him examine something on one of Skye's monitors, his movements precise and deliberate.

“But he's here,” Skye said quietly. “He's trying.”

“Yeah. That has to count for something.”

The Impala's engine growled to life, six months of solo drives finally coming to an end. I adjusted the mirror, catching a glimpse of Roxie in the warehouse window, watching us leave with typical feline indifference.

Cade settled into the passenger seat, weapons bag at his feet, case file in his lap. The familiar weight of having someone in that seat again was both comforting and strange.

“You sure you're up for this?” I asked, pulling onto the main road.

He didn't look up from the file. “I have to be.”

Simple words that carried the weight of the world. I got it—the need for purpose, for something to fight. After my dad died, hunting had been my anchor, the only thing that kept me from drowning in grief and guilt.

Maybe Cade needed that same lifeline.

“I get it,” I said. “Needing to work, to focus on something real. I was the same after the gate.”

He glanced over. “Sterling said you hunted everything that moved for months.”

I shrugged. “What else was I supposed to do? Sit around feeling sorry for myself?”

“Knowing you, you probably did both.”

A smile tugged at my lips despite everything. “Might've shed a tear or two. But only when the whiskey ran out.”

We drove in comfortable silence for a while, the familiar rhythm of the road bringing its own peace. Jersey wasn't far, but it felt good to be moving, to have a destination that didn't involve examining all the ways my life had gone sideways.

“I know you have questions,” Cade said suddenly, still focused on the file. “About what happened. Where I was.”

I kept my eyes on the road. “Yeah. I do.”

“I can't...” He stopped, hands tightening on the papers. “I don't have all the answers yet.”

“You don't have to talk about it.”

“I know. But I want you to know I'm not keeping secrets because I don't trust you. It's just complicated.”

“When isn't it?” I tried for lightness and almost succeeded. “Our whole lives have been one complication after another. This is just one more chapter in the ongoing shitshow.”

Cade stared out the window for a long moment. “I'm not the same,” he said finally, voice barely audible. “I came back wrong.”

My knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “I know. But you're still you. Still Cade. Still mine.”

The last word slipped out before I could stop it, revealing more than I'd meant to. We'd never been good at labels, had danced around what we meant to each other for months before everything went to hell.

He looked at me then, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes. “Am I?”

The question cut deep. “Yes,” I said fiercely. “Whatever happened, whatever changed, you're still the same stubborn, overanalytical bastard I've always known. And nothing—not Hell, not demons, not whatever's going on with you now—changes that.”

Something shifted in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or regret. “I hope you're right.”

“I'm always right. Just ask Skye—they'll tell you what a pain in the ass I've been about it.”

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I can imagine.”

The silence that followed felt different. Less strained. We'd acknowledged the elephant without forcing a full confrontation, which was about as close to healthy communication as we ever got.

I shifted gears, easing onto the highway toward Jersey. The road stretched ahead, leading us toward whatever waited in Hoboken.

Back to the hunt. Back to what we knew best. And maybe, if we were lucky, back to each other.