Grace and Glory (The Harbinger #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,20

far away for me to make out the little boy’s features, but I knew he was a spirit. Perhaps their child? A younger brother? I wasn’t sure, but I knew he’d crossed over and was now back.

I slowed down as the young men stepped out into the damp night air. The little spirit suddenly rushed forward, brushing past the one with rich brown skin. The guy stumbled, looking down as the spirit passed by and disappeared in a blink of an eye.

“You okay, Drew?” the other man asked, touching his arm.

“Yeah. I...” Drew stared at the spot where the child had disappeared. “Yeah, I am. Everything is good.”

Watching them, I wondered just how much Drew had felt or was possibly aware of. People often could feel the presence of a ghost, especially if they did that creepy and annoying thing where they walked through a person. And depending on how active and strong the ghost was, they could even catch sight of one. Spirits were different, though. People often caught that familiar scent. Sometimes they would suddenly feel warm or inexplicably be reminded of the person who’d passed on. To feel one as intensely as the man called Drew just had made me think he had a little angelic blood in him.

Dez had stopped, and I got myself moving again. My empty stomach rumbled, and I realized I had no idea when I last ate. Normally on these patrols, I’d already eaten three days’ worth of meals and half of whatever...whatever Zayne had picked up.

My appetite immediately vanished.

Foot traffic picked up once the bars started shutting down, making it a lot more difficult to walk the sidewalks, but I stuck close to the businesses. Roughly around the same time, I did feel the presence of demons. Nothing serious like an Upper Level demon, though, and the building frustration was quickly becoming desperation.

Where could he be? Lifting my gaze to the sky, I saw nothing but darkness. What was he doing? I trudged on, refusing to acknowledge the aches and pains I hadn’t felt earlier but that were now rearing their ugly heads. What if he left the city? Panic blossomed, giving way to a sense of helplessness. God, I couldn’t even consider that. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

Minutes turned into another hour. The streets quieted. The traffic slowed. Each step became more sluggish.

Dez finally stopped. “Trinity,” he said, his voice weary and heavy. “It’s time.”

I knew what he meant, but I still asked, “For what?”

“To head home.” He walked over, stopping to stand beside me. “We can pick this back up tomorrow, but if he’s out here, he doesn’t want to be found.” There was a pause. “You need your rest, Trinity. Finding him while you’re bone-dead tired isn’t going to do any of us any favors.”

Dez was right, but I wanted to argue. I wanted to stay out here until I found Zayne, but I nodded and I followed Dez back to the car. I climbed into the passenger seat, closing my eyes and praying to whoever that was listening that Zayne was still in the city, that he was safe and that it wasn’t too late.

6

It was close to dawn by the time I limped into the dimly lit apartment. I came to a stop as the elevator door slid closed behind me, unable to move as I looked around.

Everything I saw reminded me of Zayne. Not the Fallen Zayne, but my Zayne.

The exposed metal beams of the ceiling and the bare walls gave the apartment a very industrial vibe. Most of the living area was taken up by a large gray sectional couch wide enough for two Wardens to lay side by side. The simple chrome-finished end tables and coffee table were void of any personal touches. There was a punching bag hanging above rolled-up training mats, in the corner of a space I assumed was normally used for a dining area. Looking down, I saw a pair of Zayne’s sneakers by the door, placed there in preparation for a run. No one had touched them in the days since his death. Not Roth or Layla. Not any number of the Wardens who’d been in and out of the apartment. My heart ached as I lifted my gaze.

Well, almost everything reminded me of Zayne. The TV left on in the empty room wasn’t something Zayne would do. That was courtesy of either Cayman, the demon broker, or Peanut, the ghostly roommate. The rolled-up bags of chips, the empty