Mitchell POV
"Move your hands from the frame before I tear them off," I growled, my teeth scraping against the back of Jethro's neck as I shoved him toward the window.
The air inside father's bedroom tasted like burnt copper and old dust. It was too thick. Too heavy. Every wall in the room was humming with a low, vibrating pulse that made my gums bleed. I spat a glob of dark saliva onto the carpet and gripped the edge of the solid oak door.
Nothing. The wood did not even creak.
"The lock is dead," Adriel spat from behind me, his shoulder muscles bunching under his torn shirt as he slammed his weight into the panelling. "It is not a mechanical bolt, Mitchell. It is a binding block. The hinges are fused."
I reached out with my mind, throwing a hard line toward Betty.
Nothing. It was li
