The warehouse rose out of the snow like a tombstone.
I stood at the edge of the industrial district, my breath fogging in the frozen air, staring at the address Celeste had given me. It was a crumbling concrete building with shattered windows and a rusted loading dock. No lights inside. No cars parked outside. Nothing to suggest anyone was here except the faint pulse of something wrong—a pressure in the air, a hum beneath the silence, the same feeling I'd had in the arena when Jace's eyes turned gold.
My phone said 11:47. Thirteen minutes until midnight. Thirteen minutes until whatever trap his parents had set closed around him.
I checked the video Marcus had shown me one more time. Detective Cross and Gregory Kingston, standing together in the motel parking lot, heads bent in conversat
