The Reapers came back at two in the morning smelling of smoke.
I heard the bikes before I saw them — that low, rolling thunder I'd memorized by now. By the time I got downstairs, the garage was filling with wet leather and diesel and something sharper underneath: burnt plastic, burnt wood.
Kael was off his bike first. His face was unreadable, but his hands were black with soot. Ghost followed, wire-rimmed glasses smudged grey, a medical bag in each hand. Wolf came last, and for once he wasn't grinning.
Jax and Tank weren't with them.
"Where's—"
"South wing, third floor." Kael cut me off before I could finish. He knew what I was asking. "Nobody from your unit was hurt. Fire started in an empty storage room. Accelerant in the vents. They wanted smoke, not bodies."
"A message," Ghost sa
