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“Regis killed people here, in the city. Our people. That’s why he got that joke of a sentence, having to work at the Guard in the first place, wasn’t it?”

Gideon’s voice rarely rose in anger—excitement, yes. Ire? Almost never. But it did then.

“He got that sentence for killing a rapist . A guy who would hunt down vulnerable young girls in the underside, isolate them, then torture, rape, and kill them. Is that our people because he lived above ground? If so, let me stock up on vitamin D and move to the fucking underside, then.”

“Silver,” I said gently, “Please, can we focus on actual suspects here? I don’t want to waste time on nonissues.”

Gideon couldn’t speak about his investigation openly without informing his superior, so he texted his mother that he was bringing both of us onto the job as an extra pair of hands—without further details, bless him—and then ran us through what he knew.

Which unfortunately wasn’t a lot. He only just got the file.

The victims were carved up like me, only, all over their skin, and their runes were also cauterized. Gideon made me run through how I’d stopped the spell several times. The fact that a plain circle of salt worked seriously bugged him.

“So simple. People need to know,” he grumbled. “The boss doesn’t want anyone to panic…but we need people to start carrying salt. What to do in case something happens.”

“It’s basic witchcraft,” I told him. “Everyone likely already knows salt fucks up spells. I mean, it’s probably one of the first lessons we get at school.”

“That’s not enough,” he snapped. “In this city, there are shifters, fae, sorcerers, and whatever else, who haven’t opened a witchcraft theory book in their lives. They can still carry salt. A warning might have saved three people already.”

I shut the hell up. He was right. But if he couldn’t share his investigation, spreading the word wouldn’t be easy.

“I’ll do an interview,” I offered, grimacing at the thought.

I sincerely hated the local papers—every single one of them.

The serious ones loved to make fun of me.

The fun ones loved me, full stop. My parents used to parade me around them for photo ops as a kid, but I’d avoided them most of my adult life.

For that very reason, there was no doubt that they’d interview me if I allowed it, and they’d publish whatever I said.

Of course, they’d be far less interested in safety guidelines than my personal life—or lack thereof—but I could demand to have part of my speech printed.

Gideon stood up, and grabbed me with his ridiculously arms, crushing me in a bear hug. “You’re too good, Kley.”

He squeezed me tight.

It wasn’t until he’d let go that I noticed Silver had remained silent.

And determined.

Shit . She was going to be a problem, wasn’t she? I attempted a distraction, clearing my throat. “So, was that a bag of goodies in your hand earlier?”

Silver wrinkled her nose, as if deciding whether I deserved pretties after concealing something from her for the better part of a month. Reluctantly, she said, “I guess,” and slid the familiar leather pouch across the table.

Inside, there were a number of shiny stones—one deep green, another as bright as an amethyst, several little blue ones just the perfect size for beads.

“I think that’s just what I needed to make you a new Christmas bracelet,” I tell them, grinning.

Silver groaned while Gideon smiled back, delighted.

I’d always loved shiny things. They didn’t have to cost a ton for me to find them pretty.

I wasn’t by any means a good jewelry maker, but it was just a hobby; I wasn’t supposed to be great at it, the point was simply enjoying it.

Everyone on my Christmas list received little bracelets or pendants, and this year, I’d even given making rings a try—though I was keeping that under wraps for now.

I also bought my loved ones present they’d actually enjoy, given that my wonky little handmade knickknacks were more for me than them, but Silver, Gideon, and I agreed to only give each other handmade things years ago—mostly because Silver didn’t have tons of money.

Her foster parents—a daughter of the ruling king and queen of the underworld, and a son of a honest-to-god archangel—were renowned and wealthy, but she never asked them for anything.

She’d never said as much, but knowing her, I thought the fact that they’d raised her from birth and hadn’t adopted her created a rift between them.

She loved Demetria and Gray fiercely, but refused to depend on them.

It might also have to do with the fact that they were both so busy, and rarely ever there—not unlike my own parents.

I didn’t see the point in letting her spend money on me.

Besides, she made the best metal sculptures and weapons ever; something to do with her ability to bend metal with her bare hands.

Gideon, naturally, knitted. And he was great at it, too.

I pocketed the stone, thanking her, before clapping my hands together. “Right. Chocolate cake, anyone?”