The holding cell door clanged shut with a final sound. Chloe stood on the other side of the thick glass, her knuckles white where she pressed them against it. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but not from crying. From fury.“What do you mean you can’t bail me out?” Her voice wasn’t loud. It was a tight, rising wire of sound.On the other side, Leo leaned close to the phone receiver. He looked terrible. “It’s not that I can’t. It’s… it’s for the better if you stay in here right now.”“For the better?” The wire snapped. Her voice rose, sharp and disbelieving, bouncing off the concrete walls. “Are you insane? Leo, they think I murdered my mother! I need to be out there! I need a lawyer! I need to find out what’s happening!”“Chloe, please, just listen—”“NO! You listen! You get me out of this concrete box RIGHT NOW! Or I swear to God, Leo—”“Chloe, stop!” He begged through the glass. His own voice was frayed. “Please, just… don’t talk. Don’t say anything else. Especially not… not anything bad.”

The heat from the building was a living thing. It slapped Iden’s face, dry and vicious. The smoke wasn’t just smoke; it was a thick, black fog that clawed down his throat.He charged up the stairs. The wood shrieked under his feet. He could hear it—a child’s sharp, terrified crying, cutting through the roar of the fire.Fourth floor. The hallway was a tunnel of choking gray. The door to 4B was open. Inside, Leo was on his knees, coughing violently. He had a little boy, maybe six years old, clutched against his chest. Part of the ceiling had given way, a jagged mess of plaster and burning wood, blocking the doorway.“Iden!” Leo’s voice was a ragged scrape.Iden didn’t waste breath on words. He planted his feet, grabbed the largest piece of fallen ceiling, and pulled. The muscles in his back screamed. For a second, nothing moved. Then, with a grinding shriek, the debris shifted. He shoved it sideways, creating a narrow gap.“Go! Now!” Iden barked.Leo scrambled through, the boy in his a

The room was quiet when Chloe woke up. Not a peaceful quiet. A heavy, waiting quiet. She was in her own bed. She felt hollowed out, like she’d been sick for a long time.Leo was sitting in a chair by the window. Iden was leaning against the doorframe. They both looked at her as her eyes fluttered open.“Hey,” Leo said softly.Memory came back in pieces. The jail. The surprise dinner. The shower. Then… a blur of red anger and screaming. And a deep, final crack.She sat up slowly. Her body ached. “What… what happened?”Leo told her. Gently. About the Canker Spirit. About the lip gloss. About how Darwin had enchanted it to twist her worst emotions into reality.She listened, her face growing paler with each word. When he finished, she was silent for a long minute, staring at her hands in her lap.“So,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “It was me. I really did… kill her. My mother.”“No!” Leo said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Chloe, no. It was a demon. A thing Darwin made.

The knock at the door wasn't friendly. It was too hard. Too quick. Like someone who wasn't used to waiting.Leo looked through the little hole in the door. He saw a woman. He didn't know her. But her face... it was familiar in a way that made his stomach feel funny.He opened the door.For a long time, nobody said anything. The woman just stood in the hallway. Behind him, Chloe got up from the couch. She stood up real slow.They looked at each other. It was like looking at two different pictures of the same person. One picture was clean and framed. The other was left out in the rain.The woman had Chloe's mom's eyes. That same look, like she was adding up the cost of everything in the room. But her hair was a big mess of blonde curls. She wore a black leather jacket that was cracked and old."You look like her," they both said at the exact same time. The words fell into the apartment and just sat there. It was weird."Uh. Come in, I guess," Leo said, because someone had to talk.The w

The dress was a weapon. Bella stood before the smudged mirror in her dingy room, smoothing the sleek black fabric over her hips. It was cheap—a fast-fashion knockoff of something she’d seen in a magazine—but it did the job. It clung in all the right places, plunging in the front just enough to suggest, not scream. She applied a final coat of blood-red lipstick, blotting it slowly on a tissue. She wasn’t just dressing for dinner; she was dressing for a demolition.The plan was simple. Chloe had texted about meeting at Giovanni’s, some mid-tier Italian place, to finally discuss their mother’s burial. A depressing task. Bella had called Leo directly an hour later, her voice a careful blend of vulnerability and conspiracy. “I’d feel better,” she’d murmured, “if I could talk to you first. Just for a few minutes. Before Chloe gets there. I need to know the man my sister’s with.”He’d hesitated, but agreed. A good man. A predictable man.The cab smelled of pine air freshener and old sweat. “