Rhys stared at the list of missing children, reading it once, then again, his hands shaking. He couldn't trust his voice. Not yet.
Nine names. The youngest, a girl, just five, snatched from her bed while her parents slept only a wall away. The oldest, a thirteen-year-old boy, vanished on his way home from chores. Gone. Just like that.
"This isn't Serrin," Bianca said quietly, reading over his shoulder. "I know her. Whatever she's become, whatever she's willing to do to get what she wants she's never shown interest in anything this indiscriminate. Everything she's done has been targeted. Precise."
"Then who," Rhys said, voice tight with barely restrained fury, "and why leave the message with my patrol instead of simply vanishing without a trace, the way you'd expect from someone actually
