Marked, Not Kept
"Marlowe's layout. How many floors does this building have?"
Kade came in slow, one arm across his ribs. He looked at the paper in his hand. He looked at the floor. He looked at her.
"One," he said.
Nobody breathed. Thirty wolves in a concrete box, and not one of them so much as shifted their weight.
And under Maya's palm, six inches down through cold concrete, so faint that the woman she'd been a week ago could never have caught it in a hundred years, something enormous turned over and moved.