Chapter 1

She pulled her hand back. Her brother used to call her Sparrow. Jonah. Dead eight years. Street accident, the cops said. Case closed.

She stared at the recorder.

"This is stupid," she muttered. But her hand was already reaching for it.

The plastic casing was cracked along one corner, heavy, old-fashioned. Twin cassette slots. The tape inside was wound halfway through. Someone had already listened to part of it.

She pressed play.

Static crackled. Then a voice.

"Sparrow, if you're hearing this, I screwed up."

Jonah.

Nia's throat closed. She gripped the edge of the table, legs suddenly unsteady.

"I don't have a lot of time." His voice was rushed, low, like he was talking into a phone in a moving car. Wind blurred some of the words. "If this gets to you, it means I didn't make it out. I'm sorry. I tried to keep you clear of this but I need you to know what's coming."

Her chest hurt. She couldn't breathe right.

"There's a pact in this city. Blood for protection. It's old, older than the bureau, older than the council. Someone's keeping it active and they're going to call it in soon. I found the records. I found the names. I was going to burn the whole thing but they found me first."

Nia pressed her palms flat against the table to keep her hands from shaking.

"Don't trust the bureau," Jonah continued. "Don't trust anyone in a government jacket. And Sparrow—" His voice dropped. Urgent. "Don't touch the second lock. I hid it where I thought it'd be safe but if someone's moving it, if it's active again, you need to stay away. The lock's not for opening. It's for keeping something in."

Silence. Then:

"I love you. I'm sorry I wasn't better at this."

The tape ended. The recorder kept spinning, playing nothing but hiss.

Nia stared into the safe. Next to where the recorder had been sitting, there was a plastic bag sealed with red tape. Something inside it. Something the size of a walnut, off-white, stained dark on one side.

She didn't touch it.

Her brother's voice was still in her ears. *Don't touch the second lock.*

What second lock?

Something slammed into the front door.

Nia jerked back, knocking the recorder onto the floor. It cracked against the concrete but kept playing static. The door shook again. Not a knock. A body hitting wood.

She grabbed the pry bar from the table and moved toward the front of the shop. Through the security grating she could see a shape. Someone tall, shoulders hunched, one hand pressed against the glass.

The shape slid down. Hit the ground.

"Damn it," Nia muttered. She unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door six inches. Pry bar ready.

A man was on her doorstep. Blood all over his shirt, dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He looked up and his eyes were wrong. Too bright. Reflective.

Like an animal's.

"Don't call anyone," he said. His voice was rough, barely there. "Please. They'll kill both of us."

Nia didn't move. "Who's they?"

"Bureau hunters." He tried to push himself up. Failed. His hand left a smear of blood on her doorframe. "I just need an hour. One hour and I'll be gone."

She should've slammed the door. Should've called the cops. But his eyes flicked past her, into the shop, and landed on the open safe.

His whole body went stiff.

"Where did you get that?"

"None of your business," Nia said.

"That safe." He was staring at it like it was a bomb. "Who gave it to you?"

"I said—"

"Did you open it?" He grabbed the doorframe, hauling himself halfway upright. Blood dripped onto the concrete. "Did you touch anything inside?"

Nia's grip tightened on the pry bar. "What's it to you?"

The man's eyes locked on hers. Desperate. Panicked.

"Because if you touched the second lock, we're both dead."

Nia glanced back at the safe. At the recorder on the floor, still hissing. At the plastic bag with the red tape, still sitting inside.

She looked at him.

"What second lock?"

He closed his eyes. "Shit."

Something metallic clattered in the alley behind her shop. Footsteps. More than one set. Moving fast.

The man shoved the door open and stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind him. He threw the deadbolt and turned to her, breathing hard.

"You need to run. Right now."

Nia didn't run. She stepped back, pry bar up. "Start talking."

He lurched toward the safe instead. Moved wrong. Too fluid, too sharp, like his body wasn't sure what it was supposed to be. He reached the table and stared down at the contents.

The plastic bag. Red tape still sealed.

He let out a breath. "Okay. Okay, you didn't open it. That's good."

"I didn't open what?" Nia demanded.

He turned. Blood still running down his side, soaking into his jeans. His eyes were too bright and they didn't blink enough.

"The second lock," he said. "The one your brother died hiding."

Nia's heart stopped.

"What did you just say?"

The back door exploded inward.

Three figures in dark tactical gear poured into the shop, weapons up. Not guns. Something else. Silver, humming with a sound that made her teeth ache.

The man stepped in front of her.

"She's not part of this," he said. His voice had changed. Deeper. Rougher. "Let her go."

The lead figure tilted their head. "She opened the Lockwood safe. That makes her part of it."

Nia stared at the safe. At the plastic bag inside.

"What the hell is going on?"

The man glanced back at her. His eyes were glowing now. Full yellow. And his teeth were too sharp.

"You cracked the wrong safe," he said.

Then he moved.

Nia didn't see him cross the room. One second he was in front of her. The next he was on the lead hunter, claws out, teeth bared. The sound he made wasn't human.

The other two hunters opened fire. The silver hum filled the shop. Nia hit the ground, hands over her ears.

When she looked up, the man was standing over three bodies. Blood everywhere. His shirt was shredded. He was breathing hard, shoulders heaving, and when he turned his face was still wrong. Still halfway something else.

"We need to go," he said. "More are coming."

Nia stayed on the floor. "What are you?"

He wiped blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Someone who's about to owe you his life."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting tonight." He grabbed the plastic bag from the safe and shoved it into his jacket. Then he looked at her. "You want to stay alive, you come with me. You want answers about your brother, you come with me. You want to keep pretending you're not in this, you stay here and wait for the next team."

Nia looked at the bodies. At the blood on her floor. At the recorder still hissing static.

Jonah's voice in her head: *Don't touch the second lock.*

She got to her feet.

"What's your name?"

The man was already moving toward the back door. "Rafe."

"Where are we going, Rafe?"

He glanced back. His eyes were still yellow.

"Somewhere they can't follow," he said. "If we're lucky."

Nia grabbed the recorder off the floor and followed him into the dark.

Behind them, sirens started wailing. Distant. Getting closer.

Rafe pulled her into the alley, one hand wrapped around her wrist. His skin was hot. Feverish. He moved fast, too fast, dragging her past dumpsters and chain-link fences.

"Let go," Nia said, pulling back.

He didn't. "They'll track you if you run alone."

"Track me how?"

"You opened the safe. You heard the message." He glanced back at her, eyes still glowing in the dark. "You're marked now."

"Marked? What does that—"

Rafe stopped. Shoved her against the wall, one hand over her mouth. His body pressed close, trapping her. She could feel his heartbeat. Too fast. His breath against her ear.

"Quiet," he whispered.

Footsteps echoed at the mouth of the alley. Slow. Deliberate. Someone was walking toward them.

Nia froze. Rafe's hand was still over her mouth, his other arm braced against the wall beside her head. She could smell blood and sweat and something else. Something wild.

The footsteps stopped.

"I know you're here, Harlow." A woman's voice. Calm. Cold. "You can't outrun us. Not with a human slowing you down."

Rafe didn't answer. His jaw was tight, muscles coiled. Nia could feel the tension in him, like he was one second away from snapping.

"Bring us the second lock," the woman continued, "and we'll let her go. You have my word."

Rafe's lips pulled back. A growl, low and barely audible.

"Your word doesn't mean shit, Cross."

Silence. Then:

"Suit yourself."

The footsteps started again. Coming closer.

Rafe grabbed Nia's hand and ran.

They burst out the other end of the alley onto a side street. Empty. Dark. Rafe pulled her left, toward the old factory district where the streetlights had been out for years.

"Where are we going?" Nia gasped.

"Somewhere they can't follow."

"You said that already."

"Still true."

He dragged her around a corner, through a gap in a fence, into the remains of an old textile mill. The roof was half-collapsed, machinery rusted and silent. Rafe didn't stop until they were deep inside, hidden behind a row of dead looms.

He let go of her wrist. Leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Blood was still seeping through his shirt.

Nia backed up a step. "You're bleeding."

"I'll heal."

"You'll heal."

"Yeah."

"What are you?"

Rafe looked at her. His eyes were fading back to normal. Almost. Still too bright around the edges.

"You really don't know?"

"Would I be asking if I knew?"

He laughed. It sounded bitter. "Your brother knew. He was hunting us for three years before he figured out what was really going on."

"Hunting what?"

Rafe pushed off the wall. Took a step toward her. Nia's back hit a loom.

"Werewolves," he said.

Nia stared at him.

"That's not real."

"Yeah?" He held up his hand. Claws slid out, slow and deliberate. Sharp. Still stained with blood. "Looks pretty real to me."

Nia's breath caught. She couldn't look away from his hand. From the claws. From the way they retracted smoothly back into his fingers like they'd never been there.

"This isn't happening," she said.

"It's happening." Rafe stepped closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him. "Your brother found out about the pact. Found out what the bureau's been doing. Found out who's been feeding us to them."

"The pact. The one on the tape."

"Blood for protection. The city stays safe, we stay hidden, and every ten years someone pays the price." His jaw tightened. "Your brother was going to expose it. So they killed him."

Nia's hands were shaking. "Who killed him?"

"The same people who just tried to kill me." Rafe pulled the plastic bag out of his jacket. Held it up. "The same people who want this."

Nia looked at the bag. At the thing inside, pale and stained.

"What is that?"

"The second lock," Rafe said. "The key to breaking the pact."

She reached for it. Rafe pulled it back.

"Don't."

"You just said it breaks the pact."

"It does. But it's not a lock you open with your hands." He met her eyes. "It's a lock you open with blood. Your brother's blood, to be specific."

Nia went cold. "He's dead."

"Yeah. But you're not." Rafe's voice dropped. "And you've got the same blood running through your veins."

She took a step back. He followed.

"I'm not opening anything," she said.

"Good. Because the second you do, every wolf in this city will know. And they'll come for you."

"Then why did you take it?"

"Because if the bureau gets it, they'll find someone else with your bloodline and force them to open it. And then a lot of people die." He tucked the bag back into his jacket. "At least with me, it stays closed."

Nia's mind was spinning. Werewolves. Pacts. Blood locks. Her brother's voice on the tape: *I'm sorry I wasn't better at this.*

"I want answers," she said.

Rafe looked at her. "You'll get them. But not here. We need to move."

"Where?"

"Somewhere safe."

"You keep saying that. Where is somewhere safe?"

Rafe smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "You're about to find out."

He turned toward the far end of the mill. Nia grabbed his arm.

"Wait."

He looked back.

"My brother," she said. "On the tape. He said I was in danger."

"You are."

"From who?"

Rafe's smile faded. "From everyone."

Sirens wailed outside, closer now. Rafe's head snapped toward the sound. His whole body went tense.

"We're out of time," he said.

Nia didn't move. "Tell me the truth. Did you know my brother?"

Rafe looked at her. For a second, something passed over his face. Guilt, maybe. Or regret.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I knew him."

"Did you kill him?"

"No."

"Then who did?"

Rafe's eyes flicked toward the sound of the sirens. Then back to her.

"The person who's going to kill you," he said, "if we don't leave right now."

Nia's throat tightened. She thought about the tape. About Jonah's voice. About the second lock and the blood and the pact she didn't understand.

She thought about her shop. Her rent. Her life, small and quiet and safe.

Gone now. All of it.

"Fine," she said. "Let's go."

Rafe nodded. Started toward the exit.

Nia followed. But she kept the recorder in her pocket. And she didn't take her eyes off him.

Because if he knew her brother, if he knew about the safe and the lock and the pact—

Then he knew more than he was saying.

And she was going to find out what.