Chapter 12 · City-Wide Hunt

"Get your head down or lose it!"

Carson’s voice barked in my ear a split second before he slammed me against the damp brick of the alley.

I gasped, air leaving my lungs in a rush. His chest was a wall of heat against my back. His hand clamped tight over my mouth, smelling of ozone and expensive leather. Above us, the sky wasn't dark anymore. It was pulsing. A sickly, neon gold light—the map I'd just unleashed—was bleeding through the pavement and painting the clouds in the colors of a death sentence.

"Move!" he hissed, hauling me up by the waist.

I stumbled, legs feeling like wet cardboard. The phantom lock on my arm hummed, a dull, throbbing heat that felt like a brand.

"I can't... I can't feel my feet," I choked out.

"You'll feel them when the Cartel's hunters start peeling your skin off," Carson snapped.

He didn't let go. His grip was bruising, dominant, and completely necessary. He spun me around, pinning me against a rusted service door. His eyes scanned the rooftops, dark and predatory.

"Who told you to open it?