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The knocking came from under the floor.
Not pipes. Not settling wood. Three hard taps. Then three more.
I stood in the middle of what used to be our safehouse kitchen with Mom's brass key burning against my palm and ash stuck to my wet boots. Ronan had one hand pressed to his side, blood leaking between his fingers. He was staring at the blackened floorboards like they might bite him.
“Tell me you heard that,” I said.
“I heard it.”
“Great. Love that for us.”
The old house smelled like smoke, melted plastic, and something sweet underneath it. Burned wolf blood, maybe. I hated that I could tell the difference now.
The ring on my finger pulsed.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The brass key jerked in my hand.
I almost dropped it. “Okay. Nope. That’s not normal.”
“Nothing about tonight has been normal.” Ronan crouched with a sharp breath and dragged his fingers over one of the floorboards. “Your mother hid things.”
“You knew my mother?”
His eyes flicked up to mine.
Too quick. Too careful.
That was answer enough.
“You are such a terrible liar,” I said.
“I’m an excellent liar.”
“You literally look guilty right now.”
“I’m bleeding out in a burned house while a cursed ring turns you into something neither of us can control. Maybe my face is doing a lot.”
I wanted to keep pushing. God, I wanted to. But the key was getting hotter. The metal had gone from cool brass to something I could barely hold.
The floor knocked again.
Then headlights swept across the blown-out front windows.
Ronan went still.
Not normal still. Predator still.
My new nose caught the scent a second later.
Gasoline. Wet leather. Cheap mint gum.
And old coffee.
I knew that smell.
“No,” I whispered.
A car door slammed outside.
Ronan looked at me. “Who?”
I swallowed. “Debt collector.”
His mouth flattened. “Vera?”
“Worse.”
“Worse than Vera Sane?”
“You’ve never met Mick Voss.”
The front door was already gone, hanging crooked from one hinge after the blast. A man stepped through the opening like he owned the wreckage.
Mick wore the same charcoal suit he always wore when he came to collect. No tie. Silver watch. Big body. Shaved head that shined under the moonlight. He looked more like a nightclub bouncer than the man who bought people’s unpaid medical debt for pennies and then made their lives hell.
Two guys followed him inside.
One had a crowbar.
The other had a gun tucked low against his thigh.
Mick took in the burned kitchen, Ronan’s blood, then me.
His smile landed on my hand.
“Well,” he said. “Quinn Harper. You’ve had a busy week.”
I closed my fingers around the key.
“House call?” I asked. “You charging extra for that now?”
Mick’s smile didn’t move. “Cute.”
Ronan shifted closer to me.
Mick noticed. His eyes went to Ronan’s bloody side, then back to my face. “And who’s this?”
“Nobody.”
Ronan gave me a look.
I ignored him.
Mick walked farther into the kitchen, shoes crunching over broken glass. “Your mother owed my employer a lot of money. Then she died. Sad. Really sad.”
My jaw locked.
“Then you started making payments,” he went on. “Little delivery jobs. Picking up packages. Dropping off envelopes. Keeping the account from going bad. Smart girl.”
“Get to it.”
“Oh, I’m getting there.” His gaze dropped to the ring again. “I was told you found something that belongs to us.”
The ring went cold.
Ronan’s hand brushed the small of my back. Not romantic. Not even close. He was warning me.
Don’t show fear.
Too late. I could smell his.
It came off him sharp and metallic, like blood on a knife.
Mick lifted one eyebrow. “That thing on your finger. Hand it over, and maybe we can talk about your balance.”
I laughed once.
It sounded wrong in the burned-out house.
“You drove all the way here for jewelry?”
“For a ring.”
“You should’ve said that. I’d have put on perfume.”
One of his guys snorted.
Mick didn’t.
“You’ve got your mother’s mouth,” he said.
That hit harder than it should have.
Ronan’s fingers tightened against my back.
Mick saw it. Of course he did. Men like Mick noticed every weakness because that was how they made rent.
He stepped closer.
“Your mom used to talk tough too,” he said. “Right up until she was begging people to give her one more month.”
My vision flashed gold.
Ronan said my name under his breath. “Quinn.”
Mick kept going.
“She always thought she was smarter than the people holding the leash. Stupid mistake. She ran. She lied. She got herself killed, and then she left her debt to you.”
The room narrowed.
I smelled his lie before I knew what it was.
It had a stink to it. Sour sweat. Adrenaline. Something rotten hiding under his mint gum.
He knew more.
“You don’t know shit about her,” I said.
“I know she was desperate.”
“You didn’t know her.”
“I knew she came to us crying.”
My hand moved before I decided to move it.
One second Mick was standing there smiling.
The next, I had him shoved against the wall hard enough to crack old plaster.
His guys raised their weapons.
Ronan growled.
Not a human sound. Low. Huge. It rolled through the kitchen and made the windows buzz in their frames.
Everybody froze.
Even me.
My fingers were around Mick’s throat.
Not fully. Not squeezing yet.
But I could feel his pulse jumping under my thumb. Could hear his breath scraping in and out. Could smell every nasty little spike of panic he tried to hide.
His eyes widened when he looked at me.
At my eyes.
“Oh,” he rasped. “That’s what you are now.”
“What did you mean?” I asked.
“Quinn.” Ronan’s voice was close, careful. “Let him breathe.”
“Did you kill her?”
Mick tried to grin. “You think I’m scared of—”
I slammed him into the wall again.
The crowbar guy took a step forward.
Ronan moved faster than he should have with a hole in his side. He caught the man’s wrist, twisted, and the crowbar clattered across the floor.
The gun guy went for his weapon.
Ronan hit him once.
Just once.
The man folded over the kitchen counter, making a wet choking sound.
I didn’t look away from Mick.
“Did you kill my mother?” I asked again.
His face had gone red. “No.”
Lie.
Not exactly. Not clean either.
“You sent someone.”
“No.”
Another lie.
My nails dug into his skin. They looked sharper than they had this morning.
That should have scared me.
It did, somewhere far away.
Mostly I wanted him to hurt.
Mick swallowed against my hand. “Your mother stole from people she shouldn’t have stolen from.”
“Who?”
“You really don’t know?”
“Try me.”
His eyes cut toward Ronan.
That was all I needed.
I turned my head slowly. “Ronan.”
He stood by the counter, blood on his shirt, one hand braced against the wood. His face had gone hard.
“Mick,” he said, “choose your next words carefully.”
Mick gave a strangled little laugh. “There it is. Kade. I knew you smelled familiar.”
Ronan’s eyes went dark.
I looked between them. “You know him.”
Mick’s smile came back, thinner now. “Everybody knows the Kades. Old money. Old blood. Fancy parties where they pretend they aren’t animals.”
“Shut up,” Ronan said.
“Oh, come on. She deserves to know who she crawled into bed with.”
“I did not crawl into bed with him,” I snapped.
Ronan glanced at me.
“Not helping,” I told him.
Mick coughed, then looked back at the ring. “Your mother knew exactly what that was. Wore it too.”
My hand loosened.
Just a little.
He felt it.
The bastard leaned into it.
“She came to my people with the same ring on her hand. Said she needed a way out. Said she had something worth more than every debt she ever owed.”
My stomach dropped.
“That’s not possible,” I said.
“It is.”
“My mom never wore this ring.”
Mick gave me a look that said poor stupid girl.
I hated him for that look more than I hated most people.
“She wore it on a chain,” he said. “Kept it under her shirt. Wouldn’t let anybody touch it.”
The brass key in my fist burned hot enough that I hissed.
Ronan stared at it.
Mick stared too.
Then his expression changed.
Not fear exactly.
Recognition.
“You found the key,” he said.
I squeezed his throat again. “What key?”
“The key she was supposed to give us.”
“Who is us?”
He laughed through my grip. “You still think this is about your mom’s hospital bills? Jesus, Quinn.”
Ronan took a step toward us. “Enough.”
Mick’s eyes stayed on mine. “Your mother was a thief. A good one. Better than you, honestly. She took something from the Sane family, then tried to sell it through my boss. That ring was part of it.”
Vera.
Her name crawled through my head like something with too many legs.
“She didn’t steal from them,” Ronan said.
Mick looked at him. “No? Then what would you call it?”
Ronan’s jaw flexed.
He didn’t answer.
That silence was worse than anything Mick could have said.
I shoved Mick away from the wall.
He staggered, coughing, hand flying to his throat.
Ronan caught my wrist before I could go after him again.
His grip was firm. Warm. His thumb pressed against the pulse in my wrist like he was checking I was still here.
“Quinn,” he said. “Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“No. You’re looking for somebody to tear apart.”
“Maybe I found one.”
“You don’t know what he’s trying to do.”
“I know he knows something about my mother.”
“So do I.”
The words landed between us.
My breath caught.
Ronan looked like he wanted to take them back.
Too late.
“You knew her,” I said.
His fingers loosened around my wrist.
Before he could answer, Mick reached inside his jacket.
Ronan moved.
I moved too.
But Mick didn’t pull a gun.
He pulled out a black envelope.
Heavy paper. Silver wax seal stamped with a crescent moon split down the middle.
Vera’s symbol.
He held it out toward me.
“Don’t,” Ronan said.
Mick’s smile came back. “Your choice, Harper. Keep playing house with the exiled prince, or come hear what the Sane family has to say.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Not with me.” He nodded at the envelope. “Tomorrow night. Moon Rite. Sane estate.”
Ronan’s hand dropped to his side. Blood slipped through his fingers again.
Mick saw it and smiled wider.
“Bring the ring,” he said. “Bring the key too.”
I didn’t take the envelope.
Mick stepped close enough to press it against my chest.
Then he leaned in, his breath hot and sour near my ear.
“Ask Ronan why your mother wore that ring,” he whispered. “Ask him why she died the night he was exiled.”
My whole body went cold.
Mick pulled back before I could grab him again.
His men stumbled after him, one holding his wrist, the other wiping blood from his mouth. At the doorway, Mick looked over his shoulder.
“Oh, and Quinn?”
I didn’t answer.
He tapped the black envelope with two fingers.
“Your mother left you something under that floor. Vera wants it. Ronan wants it. Me?” His eyes went to the ring. “I just want to see which one of you lies first.”
Then he walked out.
The car engine turned over outside.
For a second, all I could hear was Ronan breathing too hard behind me.
The black envelope felt like a brick against my palm.
I turned toward him.
“You knew my mother.”
Ronan didn’t deny it.
The floor knocked beneath us.
Three hard taps.
Then the brass key twisted in my hand by itself, and a thin line opened between the burned floorboards.