FREYA
I climb the stairs out of the basement and my hands are still shaking.
The air in the upper corridor is brighter and cleaner than the air below but the smell of wolfsbane has crawled into my hair and the harsh white of the fluorescents above me hums against my skull. I press my palm flat against the cold concrete wall and breathe through my nose until my heart slows down.
The way those guys died. It could only be two things.
A kill switch built into their bodies before they were sent. Or sorcery. A witch's hand somewhere, listening through the air for the trigger word and reaching back through it to close two throats.
But witches haven't touched wolf business in years. Not since the old wars. Not since the treaty Eli's grandfather signed, the one Papa says cost three lives no
