the cafe. I'm more worried about my own reaction, and what loyalty to my heritage would mean for my relationship with the guys. My whole life has gotten quickly out of control, and the last thing I need is some kind of new wrench thrown into our already complicated dynamic.
That doesn't stop me from having some bizarre dreams, though. The salacious kind. I chalk it up to exhaustion and push the confusion from my mind, throwing myself into my training like my life depends on it. Fighting those hunters gave me a much-needed boost, and I'm eager to seize that momentum for as long as I have it.
Silas and I are sitting in his living room a few days later, tea mugs in hand, as we stare out the back window. It's early in the morning, not even light out yet, but I couldn't get back to sleep and found myself at his door instead. He's usually the early riser of the bunch, and can usually be trusted to be brooding in his room by the time the rest of us roll out of bed.
"It seems so quiet out there," I observe, taking a sip of my tea and nodding out at the street below. The city is still waking up, and the calmness is vaguely off putting. Wrong, somehow.
"I don't like it," the dragon shifter confesses. "It always puts me on edge. Especially now," he continues. "I've learned better than to let my guard down, after everything that's happened. First Boston, then Mollie's place…" He shakes his head. "Not even here."
"It must be strange for you," I venture, turning to look at him. "Being back in one of these places. I know it's not exactly the same, but… how are you doing?"
"Honestly?" He meets my eyes. "I'm not sure. This all hits so close to home, especially knowing what's coming. I… I miss my parents."
I reach into my boot and withdraw the broken pendant, the last remaining reminder of poor Mollie. "I can relate," I say quietly. "You think you've hardened up, that you can handle the loss, but then something happens and it all comes back to bite you again."
"I'm really sorry, Boots," Silas says, covering my hand with his. "You've been through hell these past few weeks."
"We all have," I reply solemnly. "All we can do now is use it as ammunition against Hawthorne."
"We will," Silas replies. "We—"
But we're interrupted by a knock at the door. Frowning, I look at him.
He shrugs and shakes his head before getting to his feet. Before he even gets to the door, the knocking comes again, this time sounding even more insistent. He pulls the door open, but the face on the other side isn't one I'm expecting. For a moment, I don't even recognise one of Theo's bodyguards. He looks disheveled, and in the low light I have to squint to see the marks on his face. Scratches?
"What's going on?" asks Silas.
"Don't know," the man replies, sounding out of breath. "Theo told me to find Millie Brix, make sure she gets out of the building safely. There are hunters here. A whole damn army of them."
My heart leaps into my throat as I jump to my feet. "Was there a witch with them?" I demand. "Petite, dark hair, about our age?"
"Look, I have no idea," grunts the bodyguard. "No one knows what's going on. They're on the penthouse floor. We're working on evacuating the building." It's only as he's saying this that I pick up on the muffled sounds of shouts and blasts from somewhere further down the hall. I don't even have time to feel vindicated; the situation is too urgent for that.
"Where are the others?" Silas demands, already stepping out the door. "Are they still here? Are they in their rooms?"
"Don't know," says the bodyguard. "I was told to protect Brix. Theo said that's all that matters."
"Like hell," I say, already sidestepping him to get a look around. All down the hallway, confused faces are peering out their doors, neighbours muttering uneasily to one another. "I'm not going anywhere without my friends."
"There's no time," the guard snaps. "We have to get you out of here." And before I can say anything else, he's grabbing my wrist and tugging me in the direction of the emergency exit. I let out a frustrated yell, Shade's drills already emerging in my mind, and wrench my hand free in a clumsy imitation of a wrist lock he showed me the other day.