"We have to get out," I whispered, lowering my hand toward the holster to undo the safety strap. "Outback. If Internal Affairs comes for me tomorrow, they can ask the chair."
Ayla nodded. She pulled her cap down to her eyes and popped the collar of that huge maintenance jacket she'd stolen, hiding half her face.
"You go first," she ordered softly, pressing to my back like a shadow. "You're the visual shield. I'll cover the rear."
We started toward the locker-room corridor. I tried to move naturally, but my boots felt like a ton and thudded loudly on the filthy floor.
We passed reception. The cat lady was still screaming.
We were two meters from the dark corridor. Two meters from escape.
"Officer Walker."
It wasn't a shout. It was a soft, polite voice, sharp as a scalpel.
I stopped cold—not because I wanted to, but because the tone had that weird authority that forces you to halt, like the sound of a gun being racked behind your back. I turned slowly.
In the middle of the waiting room, between a handcuffed prostitute and an addict cursing at the ceiling, stood a man.
He clashed with the scene so much it hurt to look at him.
An immaculate gray suit, the kind that costs more than three years of my salary. Italian shoes gleaming under the fluorescents. Not a speck of dust, not a wrinkle.
He was thin, silver hair slicked back, rimless glasses.
He was smiling at me.
"Yes?" I asked. My hand instinctively dropped toward the grip of my Glock.
The man stepped forward. People moved aside as he passed, unsure why, as if he repelled filth.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, stopping two meters away. He didn't look at Ayla. He fixed his gaze on me. "I'm Agent Graves. Pest and Exotic Fauna Control Service."
I frowned. Adrenaline buzzed in my ears.
"Pest control? Look, if it's about the raccoon in the park, call the council. That's not our job."
Graves let out a dry chuckle—sounded like leaves being stepped on in autumn.
"No, Evan. I'm not looking for raccoons. I'm looking for invasive species. The kind that can stop a ten-ton truck with bare hands in the middle of the avenue."
My mouth went dry instantly.
I knew. He knew everything.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, taking a sidestep to block Ayla with my body. I felt her breathing tense against my back. "And I'm busy. I'm in a hurry."
Graves removed his glasses calmly and wiped them with a silk handkerchief.
"Lieutenant Harper from Internal Affairs is very persistent, isn't she?" he said softly. "She just called you. She threatened to come by first thing tomorrow. Poor woman. She doesn't know she's playing with fire."
I took a step back, my fist tightening around my gun.
"Who are you? How do you know that?"
"I'm someone who can make Harper forget your name and burn your file," he said, putting his glasses back on. "And someone who can offer your… 'friend'… a safe place. A very comfortable laboratory where we can study her fascinating physiology without anyone getting hurt."
Ayla growled.
It was low, a vibration that rose from her chest and hit my ribs. Only I heard it. The sound of an animal about to strike.
Graves didn't flinch, but his smile sharpened. He slid his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket.
I half-drew my weapon.
"Hands where I can see them!" I shouted.
The room fell silent. Phones seemed to hush. The other officers turned, hands going to their belts.
"Walker!" Kowalski bellowed, charging out of his office like a bull. "What the hell are you doing pointing a gun at a civilian?"
Graves drew his hand out very slowly. He didn't have a weapon.
He had a card. White. Small. He extended it toward me with two long, meticulous fingers.
"Take it, Evan. It's an invitation. Because believe me… outside there are people far less polite than me waiting in black vans. If they try to run, they'll be hunted like animals. If you call me, we'll negotiate a peaceful handover."
I hesitated.
I glanced at Ayla. She was rigid as a statue, staring at Graves with killer intensity, calculating the exact distance to leap for his throat.
I took the card with trembling fingers.
Graves nodded, like a teacher satisfied with a slow student.
"I'll expect your call. Don't be late. The Cleaners don't have my patience."
He turned and walked to the main exit with a disgustingly elegant gait. No one stopped him. No one asked for ID. He simply left, leaving a trail of expensive cologne and fear in the precinct's stale air.
---
POV: Ayla
The gray-suited male crossed the glass door and disappeared into the street.
My muscles screamed. They trembled under my skin. They wanted to chase him, leap on his back, sink teeth into the soft flesh of his neck and drag him into the dark.
He smelled like a lab. Sterile chemicals, cold steel, and the dried blood of other things he'd caged before.
He knows what I am. Or at least he knows I'm valuable prey.
"Ayla…" Evan whispers.
I turn. He's pale, almost green. His hand trembles violently around the small rectangle of paper the male gave him.
I look at the card.
It has no name.
No number.
No address.
Only a drawing in the center, in glossy black ink.
Three lines converging into a spiral.
The same symbol that was on the melted rock where his partner Miller died.
The same symbol on the black stone.
But this one isn't burned in fire. It's laser-printed.
"What does this mean?" Evan asks, hypnotized by the design. "It's the same as the rock. Did this guy kill Miller?"
I rip the card from his hand and sniff it.
Ink. Expensive paper. And beneath… an electronic trace. A high, almost imperceptible whine that drills into my sensitive ears.
"No," I say, feeling the vibration under my fingertips. "He's not the monster that eats flesh. He's the one who collects the pieces to study."
I feel the card pulse.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
It's a tracker. Active.
"Throw it away," I growl. "They're tracking us right now."
I toss the card onto the filthy floor and stomp on it hard, crushing the chip inside. Crack.
"They know we're here. The suited male just came to confirm visually that I was with you. Now the capture team has the green light."
I glance at the back door, toward the lockers. My instinct roars. I have to get out. I have to hide in the shadows. But I can't leave Evan. He's my guide, my camouflage. If they catch him, they'll use him to find me.
"Run," I order, shoving him toward the corridor. "Don't go out the front. They've got nets and darts waiting."
Evan starts for the emergency exit but suddenly stops dead in front of the "Staff Only" door.
He turns and looks at me. His eyes are wide, sweating, full of panic.
But it's not panic at the hunters. It's panic at me. Reality has just smacked him in the face.
"Why?" he blurts, breathing ragged. "I could've handed you over and saved my skin. My career is over, Ayla. My life is over because of you. Internal Affairs, the Feds… I'm a damn fugitive."
He runs his hands through his hair, desperate, on the verge of collapse.
"Why do I keep protecting you? What are you really? Tell me. A demon? A radioactive monster? A biological weapon? Tell me something real!"
I step closer, invade his space until I pin him against the cold metal door. I can smell his doubt—vinegar and stifled tears. He's one second from breaking, from running to Graves to beg for mercy.
I have to bind him to me. Not with fear, but with something stronger. With his own nature.
"You're weak, Evan," I whisper, locking my eyes on his. "Your instinct tells you to flee, to give up, but your feet are still here."
"Tell me what you are!" he shouted in a desperate whisper, grabbing my shoulders hard.
I tilted my head, keeping my expression neutral. I couldn't tell him the truth. His small mind wouldn't process the concept of a "Devourer of Worlds."
"Labels," I said with disdain. "'Demon,' 'Monster.' Humans name what scares them to believe they can control it."
I put my hand over his chest, right above his racing heart. I felt the frantic beat under my palm.
"I'm not a name, Evan. I'm a fact. And I'm the only thing standing between you and the things that live in the dark and killed your friend Miller."
Evan swallowed. He looked at my hand on his chest. Then he looked into my eyes.
I saw the exact moment his logic surrendered to his madness. That immaturity, that reckless need to belong to something big, won out.
He didn't know what I was. But he knew that without me, his world would go back to gray and boring—and Evan, deep down, hated gray.
"To the sewers," he said, voice broken but steady. "I know an entrance through the maintenance basement. If they catch us, I swear I'll kill you myself."
I smiled inwardly.
"Deal."