Chapter Three: Days

We had driven for days.

Every morning, afternoon, and night, I called my mom’s phone—every one of them. And every single time, it rang out without an answer. I began to worry.

I begged Anthony to turn around. I pleaded. I screamed. I even tried to bolt once, but he never wavered. Two days into our long, winding drive out of Nevada, I’d planned to sneak off while we were at a run-down motel. But somehow, I woke up the next morning in the passenger seat, the city skyline fading behind us.

The farther we got from Yerrington, the more hope started slipping through my fingers. I didn’t even know what exactly had attacked us that night—it had all happened so fast. Still, some part of me clung to the belief that Mom had survived. She was a fighter. She’d faced down things that would leave most people sobbing in a closet.

Why would this time be any different?

Because it is, whispered the part of me that had seen her eyes as I was dragged away.

I barely spoke to Anthony during the long haul to Seattle. I made it a point to ignore him unless I absolutely had to speak. Every time he tried to initiate some sort of awkward conversation—asking about my life, my training, or my work—I shut him down. I didn’t want a bonding moment. I wanted answers. I wanted my mother.

By the time we finally rolled into the city, the sun had dipped below the skyline. The streets glowed with amber streetlights, casting elongated shadows between buildings. The towers gleamed with clean, fluorescent light, rising like silent sentries over the city.

I’d been half-asleep when we hit the suburbs, but now I was wide awake, sitting up straighter as I stared out the window.

“Where are we meeting them?” I asked. It was the first time I’d spoken in over forty-eight hours.

“I got a call at that gas station near the edge of Aurora,” Anthony said. “They’re being held at an old, abandoned theatre. A few miles from here.”

“Held?” My voice sharpened. “You mean… like hostages?”

“For now,” he said quietly. But something shifted in his eyes—a cold, focused glint that reminded me just how dangerous he could be. Any other time, it might have scared me. But not now.

“And after we get them out?” I asked. “What then?”

He didn’t answer.

He’d been ignoring this question since we left Yerrington, so I didn’t expect him to magically open up now. Still, it annoyed me. I pressed my lips into a tight line and shifted gears.

“You do know this is a trap, right?” I said. “Whoever made that call is waiting for you.”

“I know,” he said, glancing at me. “But that thing—whoever she is—has your siblings.”

I didn’t say anything.

I knew I should have felt something—panic, fear, concern for the siblings I’d never met. For Alexandra and Williams. Were they alive? Were they hurt? Were they even expecting someone to come for them?

But deep down… I didn’t feel much. I tried to justify it by reminding myself that I didn’t even know what they looked like. Why would I risk myself for two strangers when my mother might be dead or worse?

But of course, I couldn’t say that out loud. So I just kept my mouth shut.

By the time we pulled onto the street near the theatre, the building looked exactly like I’d pictured. Boarded-up windows, busted glass, graffiti layered thick over crumbling brick. The name of the place had faded into a ghost of white paint and rust stains.

A demon’s hideout, no doubt.

“What’s the plan?” I asked, digging through my bag for a weapon. But Anthony placed a hand over mine, stopping me.

I flinched instinctively but looked up.

“I’m going in alone, Katherine,” he said, voice low.

I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening.”

“I’ll get your siblings out and meet you back here,” he continued, ignoring me like I hadn’t spoken at all.

“Absolutely not, Dad!” I snapped. I pulled out my dagger and tucked it into the sheath strapped to my thigh. “You didn’t yank me out of my life, drag me across three states, and dump me into this mess just to leave me in the damn truck!”

“God, you’re just like your mother,” he growled, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, chin lifted.

He looked like he was debating tying me down or knocking me out—maybe both. But before he could respond, a loud crash echoed from the street side of the theatre.

We both turned toward the sound.

Without thinking, I took off at a sprint, boots pounding the pavement as I rounded the corner of the theatre.

“Katherine, wait!” Anthony called after me. But I didn’t stop.

I skidded to a halt just past the edge of the building, heart thudding. Lying in the middle of the sidewalk was a girl, no older than me. Her limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, her dark hair sprawled like a halo around her head. Her face was strangely serene, as if she’d just laid down for a nap.

Only the black pool beneath her told the truth.

I was still processing what I was seeing when Anthony caught up. He grabbed my shoulder with a grip that bordered on painful.

“What the hell—” I started.

“Come on,” he said, voice like stone. “We’re leaving.”

“But—what about her?”

“Plans have changed,” he said. “We have somewhere else to be.”