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I f anyone deserves an easy-going honeymoon where there is nothing to do all day but lay in bed and make love, with no pressure and no worries, it’s Ares and me.

But that is not what we get.

It was a risk even taking yesterday off to get married. This maniacal therapist gave us a ticking clock. So, it’s back to dealing with shit for us.

She wants the Barons to clear the city. She knows our names. She knows our faces. She fucking listed us off: Sysco. Harry. Ares. I suppose she doesn’t know I’m technically a Baron, too, but that doesn’t even matter. She specifically said she might even use me.

Two days tick by as we attempt to track this woman.

We’d start with her name, but I don’t have one.

We’d try her face, but I can’t remember it.

Juliet shows me photo after photo, even sketches, asking me to pick out any familiar detail—eyes, lips, posture. But there’s nothing. It’s like my mind is a freshly wiped mirror. Clean. Empty.

We now have this facial recognition software and an expert in Roman who knows how to use it. But we have no face. We could scan all of New York City, but without even a hint of what she looks like, we have nowhere to start.

Fuck.

With nine days left, we go through old security footage from around the time Ophelia admitted seeing her.

We focus on “safe” meeting places close to Ophelia’s apartment and work.

Roman and Ares cross-reference building rental agreements and therapist licenses, not that those are easy to access.

Sysco, Juliet, and I spend hours combing the internet for any female therapist in the city.

There are so fucking many of them. And we get no hits.

When we’re left with only seven days, I’m coming back from the bathroom when I hear Roman and Juliet arguing down the hall.

“We need to go home,” Roman says, his tone low and serious. “We have our own lives to get back to.”

“I know,” Juliet replies with a frustrated sigh. “But how do we just leave them with this mess? I mean… I just can’t do that to Lana. She’s my friend now. Could you really just tell Ares ‘figure it out on your own? See you later?’”

My heart hammers in my chest. It’s true. Over the past few weeks, I’ve come to consider Juliet a friend, too. A good one. And I’ve seen the bond forming between Roman and Ares, and Sysco.

But it’s clear now, with Markus gone—the whole reason they came to New York, their responsibilities in Chicago are pulling at them like an undertow.

“A few more days,” Juliet says. “We can spare a few more days to help them figure this out.”

I hear Roman let out a huff of air through his nostrils, but he must nod in agreement, because the next sound I hear is footsteps walking away.

A breath of relief escapes me.

We need all the help we can get.

Six days. Six damn days left.

The room is dim except for the glow of a dozen screens. Everyone’s hunched forward, searching. Clicking. Scanning. Sysco mutters under his breath while Roman scrolls through therapist licensing records. Ares and I sit shoulder to shoulder, combing building rental records for alias names.

It feels like grasping at smoke.

The tension in the air is brittle. Ares is frowning so hard it looks like it might crack his face in two. His hand brushes mine every few minutes like he’s grounding himself—like if he stops touching me, he might get pulled under again.

Harry’s off in the corner, typing away on a laptop, a headset in one ear.

Then his phone rings.

“No way,” he breathes.

“What is it?” Sysco asks, sitting up straighter.

Harry puts it on speaker before answering. “Cliff?”

“Hi, Harry.”

Holy shit. My eyes go wide as I look at Ares.

That is definitely Cliff’s voice. And we’ve all spent weeks thinking Cliff was dead.

“I thought it was a ghost calling,” Harry says dryly as he looks up and meets Ares’ eyes.

“What the actual hell, Cliff?” Sysco pipes up so he can be heard. “You just disappear off the face of the planet and let us think you’re dead?”

“We all do what we think we have to,” Cliff says, his tone slightly biting. “Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t tracked down like my cousin.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ares asks. His voice is tight, a little fractured. He’s been living with this for weeks, thinking he killed one of the Barons, and we just hadn’t found the body.

“Didn’t exactly seem safe in New York, did it?” Cliff bites back. “I saw the signs, saw the danger. I won’t apologize for taking my family and getting them somewhere safe. Somewhere sane.”

“Wait,” I interrupt, trying to wrap my brain around everything I’m hearing. “You left New York?”

“Of course I left New York,” he says like the question is stupid.

“How many bodies have to drop before logic sets in and you see a lost cause? That fucking city has never been friendly to our kind. My family might have been there for decades, but I’m not sitting and waiting around for some psycho to take me out. ”

Ares stares at the floor and shakes his head. What Cliff doesn’t know is that Ares was said psycho taking out the vampires. He just had no damn control over it.

“Where’d you go?” Sysco asks, his brows furrowed.

“Somewhere with a lot more protection for vampires,” Cliff replies. “Let’s leave it at that.”

What does that mean? Maybe somewhere close to one of the Royal Houses? I don’t even know.

“Look, Harry, I just called to tell you I need to sell my half of the Atlantic Front development. I’m not coming back. It’s just not worth the risk anymore.”

Harry stares at the phone like it just insulted his mother. “You’re really walking away? From everything?”

“I’ve seen enough blood spilled in that city. Watched too many friends fall apart. If you’re smart…” his voice lowers, “you’ll leave too.”

The call ends with a click. No goodbye.

We sit there, stunned. The silence stretches so long it starts to feel heavy.

“Holy shit,” Sysco whispers. “He’s really alive.”

“Not just alive,” Ares mutters. “He walked away. He… chose peace.”

I look to Ares.

His head is bowed, eyes distant. I can practically feel the guilt draining out of him. His voice is barely a breath. “I didn’t kill him.”

“You didn’t,” I assure him as I take his hand. I give it a squeeze, trying to push every ounce of love I have into the touch.

None of us speak for a long moment.

Then Sysco says what we’re all thinking, his voice low and serious. “Cliff didn’t just vanish. He opted out. And maybe we should all be asking why that suddenly feels like the smartest move anyone’s made all year.”

There’s weight to the words he just spoke. To the idea he’s just sparked.

But holy shit. Cliff Morgan. Alive.

Gone.

Harry leans back in his chair like the wind just got knocked out of him. “I can’t believe he really left.”

I stare at the wall, but I’m not seeing it.

We’ve been sitting in this security room for days , sifting through information and every digital ghost trail we can find. But the therapist? The one who made Ares a killer with a touch and a whisper?

She’s a shadow.

We’ve been hunting a ghost—and we’re no closer to finding her than we were on day one.

I turn to the others. “When she starts the next purge…” My voice comes out hoarse, but I don’t stop. “She said she will use one of us. She was specific. Me. Ares again. Sysco. You, Harry.”

Sysco goes still. Juliet’s brows pinch.

“How will you stop her?” I ask, locking eyes with Sysco. “Or you, Harry?”

They both flinch.

Ares finally speaks. His voice is low and sharp with truth. “I don’t want anyone else carrying what I’m carrying. Waking up with blood on their hands and no idea who they’ve killed. Realizing they had no control.”

Juliet glances at him, somber. Roman remains stone-faced, arms crossed, but his jaw clenches.

Sysco exhales through his nose and scrubs a hand over his mouth. “We can’t all just… leave,” he says, though his words sound conflicted. “We own half the damn city. We’ve got businesses, real estate, staff. Roots.”

But the words sound hollow, even as they leave his mouth. His gaze flickers toward the door, like maybe he’s already picturing what it would be like to walk through it and not come back.

Harry, though—he doesn’t even flinch. He shakes his head. “No. I won’t let her win. I’m not giving New York up. We regroup in the morning,” he says, sharp and clean. “We keep looking.”

No hesitation. Of course. Harry’s one of the last standing Barons in New York now. He breathes this city. If anyone was born to belong here, it’s him. There’s no part of him that would even consider running.

One by one, everyone gathers their things. Quiet, subdued.

Goodbyes are mumbled.

No one mentions that it feels like the walls are closing in.

We step outside into the city’s dying light. Juliet and Roman fall into step beside me and Ares.

I keep expecting Juliet to crack a joke, to say something snarky just to ease the tension—but she doesn’t. Instead, we walk for a block in silence, the hum of the city swelling around us, making it all feel smaller somehow. Quieter.

I sense it before I hear anything. A tension. Uncertainty. Finally, I look back over my shoulder and see Roman giving Juliet this… look. I don’t know exactly how to define it. Hesitancy? Wariness? Juliet’s face is clearly saying come onnnn…

They both see me looking, their eyes snapping to me. My feet falter, and I pull Ares to a stop beside me.

Juliet casts one last look at Roman, one that says she’s doing this, and he better not stop her. Roman just raises his hands in surrender.

“Look, Chicago has always been a sanctuary of sorts,” Juliet dives in. Roman is staring at her in a fixed way, like he’s trying to telepathically tell her to watch how much she says. “Things are… different there. It’s a little less… human?”

“Juliet,” Roman growls. He folds his arms over his chest and stares at his wife with impatient adoration.