The sleek, unmarked sedan hummed with a quiet authority as Officer Miller navigated the late-afternoon traffic of Port Haven. The interior was a cocoon of high-end leather and the faint scent of ozone—a far cry from the utilitarian patrol cars most citizens associated with the Occult Crimes Unit. Liam Livingston sat in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the urban landscape blurring past.
“We’re not heading toward central processing,” Liam remarked, his voice devoid of concern. He had spent enough time navigating the bureaucratic labyrinths of the Livingston Dynasty to know when a route was being diverted.
Officer Miller—known to the underworld as Morgan—glanced at him, a flicker of amusement crossing her sharp features. “You’re surprisingly familiar with the geography of our precincts
