Dante
The smell of burning rubber and scorched metal coated the air like a death omen.
Her car was totaled—windows blown out, engine blackened, frame curled in like a dying animal. But there was no blood. No body.
She got out.
I crouched low, heart thundering in my chest, scanning the area with a predator’s focus. Tracks were everywhere—too many, scattered, deliberate. Someone wanted to cover their trail.
And someone else wanted to leave a message.
I spotted it as Talon jogged back, eyes wide with unease.
“Here,” I muttered, pointing to the hood.
Scratched into the scorched paint with something sharp—maybe a claw—was a symbol. Two crossed arrows with a sun between them.
WHO.
“This wasn’t random,” Talon muttered. “They’re escalating.”
I nodded, but I was already thinking ahead. “
