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The glass didn't break. It exploded.
One second I'm staring at Jonah's voice coming out of a dead man's safe. Next second the front window turns into a thousand pieces and something big hits the floor between me and the counter.
Not something. Someone.
A man. On his knees. Blood all over his jacket.
I dropped the recorder. It clattered across the tile and kept playing. Jonah's voice filled the shop. Don't touch the second lock. Don't let them know you heard this.
The man's head snapped up.
His eyes were wrong. Yellow-gold. Animal-bright. They locked on the recorder, then on me, and I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Because I'd seen eyes like that before. Once. On a late-night service call in the Flats. The client paid cash and left through the back before I could ask why his hands were shaking.
"You need to run." His voice came out rough. Shredded. Like he'd been screaming for hours. "Right now."
I didn't run. I looked at the window. At the street outside. Empty. No cars. No movement. Just the orange glow of the streetlights and the faint hum of the neon sign next door.
"Who are you?"
"Doesn't matter." He tried to stand. Failed. His left leg wasn't working right. The blood on his jacket was spreading. Fresh. Still wet. "They're coming. You don't want to be here when they do."
"Who's coming?"
He didn't answer. He was staring at the recorder again. Jonah's voice had looped back to the beginning. Nia, if you're hearing this, I'm already gone.
The man's jaw tightened. "Where did you get that?"
"None of your business."
"It is if you cracked the Fletcher lock."
I went still. The Fletchers owned half the waterfront. Old money. Nasty reputation. And I'd never told anyone I took that job.
"How do you know about that?"
He pushed himself up. This time he made it to his feet. He was tall. Taller than I expected. His jacket hung wrong on one side, like something underneath was broken. His hands were steady, though. And his eyes hadn't changed back.
"Because I was supposed to stop you." He took a step toward me. I took a step back. "But I was a little busy not dying."
"Stop me from what?"
"Hearing that." He pointed at the recorder. "Touching what's in that safe. Opening the second lock."
Jonah's warning. The second lock.
I looked at the man. At the blood. At the eyes that hadn't blinked once.
"You're one of them," I said. "A shifter."
"Yeah." He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "And you just became the worst kind of problem."
Outside, tires screeched. Close. Too close.
The man moved fast. Faster than anyone his size should move. He crossed the shop in two steps and hit the light switch. The overhead fluorescents died. The only light left was the green glow of the exit sign and the faint spill from the street.
"Get down."
"This is my shop."
"Get down or get dead. Your choice."
I got down.
He crouched beside the window. His breathing had changed. Slower. Deeper. Like he was listening to something I couldn't hear. Outside, car doors slammed. Boots on pavement. At least three people. Maybe more.
A voice cut through the night. Male. Amplified. Calm.
"Rafe Calder. We know you're in there."
The man—Rafe—didn't move.
"Come out now and we'll make this easy."
"They're lying," he said. His voice was quieter now. Almost soft. "They don't do easy."
"What do they want?"
"Me. Dead. And anyone who helped me." He looked at me. The gold in his eyes was brighter now. Burning. "Which, as of thirty seconds ago, includes you."
My stomach dropped. "I didn't help you. You broke my window."
"Doesn't matter. They saw me come in here. They'll assume you're involved."
"Then tell them I'm not."
"Won't work."
"Why not?"
He didn't answer. He was looking at the street again. At the shadows moving between the parked cars. I counted four. No. Five. All of them moving with the same smooth, coordinated silence.
Hunters.
The word hit me before I could stop it. That's what the guy in the Flats had called them. The ones who tracked shifters. The ones who made people disappear.
"Rafe Calder," the voice said again. "Last chance."
Rafe's hand went to his jacket. When it came back out, he was holding something small and silver. A tooth. Curved. Sharp. Stained dark at the root.
The same kind of tooth that had been in the Fletchers' safe.
"Is that—"
"Yeah." He shoved it into my hand. His fingers were hot. Fever-hot. "Hide it. Don't let them see it. Don't tell them you have it."
"Why?"
"Because if they find out you do, they won't just kill you. They'll take you apart piece by piece until you tell them where the rest are."
I stared at the tooth. It was heavier than it looked. Warm. Like it was still alive.
"The rest of what?"
Before he could answer, the front door exploded.
Not the window this time. The door. The whole frame. Someone had hit it with something heavy and it came off the hinges in one piece. It slammed into the counter and took out the cash register. The noise was deafening.
Rafe moved. He was in front of me before I registered he'd moved at all. His back to me. His shoulders wide. Blocking me from whatever was about to come through that door.
A woman stepped in. Tall. Dark suit. No weapon visible. But the way she moved said she didn't need one. Behind her, two more people. Both armed. Both watching Rafe like he was a bomb that hadn't gone off yet.
"Rafe," the woman said. Her voice was smooth. Professional. The kind of voice that signed execution orders without blinking. "You're making this harder than it needs to be."
"Yeah, well. I'm good at that."
She smiled. It didn't touch her eyes. "We just want to talk."
"No, you don't."
"We want the list. You give us the list, we let you walk."
"You'll let me walk straight into a cell."
"Better than dead."
Rafe's shoulders shifted. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel the change in him. Something coiling. Tightening. Ready.
"Not really," he said.
The woman's smile faded. "Then we do this the hard way."
She moved. Fast. But not as fast as Rafe.
He twisted left. His hand caught her wrist. There was a crack—bone or tendon, I couldn't tell—and she went down. Hard. One of the guards raised his gun. Rafe kicked it out of his hand. The gun skidded across the floor and stopped at my feet.
I picked it up.
I don't know why. Instinct. Panic. But my hands knew what to do. Safety off. Finger outside the trigger guard. Aim low.
The second guard saw me. His gun swung toward me. Time slowed. I saw his finger tighten. Saw the barrel line up with my chest.
Rafe moved again.
He stepped between me and the gun. His body blocked mine. The shot was loud. Louder than the door. Louder than the window. It rang in my ears and drowned out everything else.
Rafe staggered. Didn't fall. His hand went to his side. When it came away, it was red.
"Run," he said.
He didn't wait for me to answer. He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the back. Toward the storage room. Toward the alley door. Behind us, the woman was shouting. More footsteps. More voices. The whole block was waking up.
We hit the alley at a full sprint. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. Rafe's grip on my arm was the only thing keeping me upright.
"This way." He pulled me left. Toward the old rail yard. Toward the part of the city where the lights didn't reach and the cops didn't patrol.
Behind us, engines roared. Tires squealed. A loudspeaker crackled to life.
"Nia Vale. Stop running. We just want to talk."
I stopped. Rafe didn't. He pulled me forward. But I'd heard it. My name. My full name. They knew who I was.
They'd known before they walked in.
"How do they know my name?" I gasped.
Rafe didn't answer. He pulled me around a corner. Into a narrow gap between two buildings. We pressed against the wall. His chest was heaving. His hand still on my arm. His blood soaking through his jacket and onto mine.
"The tooth," he said. "You still have it?"
I nodded. I'd shoved it into my pocket. I could feel it. Heavy. Warm. Wrong.
"Good." His eyes met mine. Still gold. Still burning. "Then we have a chance."
"A chance at what?"
Before he could answer, the alley lit up. Headlights. Bright. Blinding. Four black vans rolling in from both ends. Sealing us in.
The loudspeaker crackled again.
"Nia Vale. Come out now. Rafe Calder is a wanted fugitive. We can protect you."
Rafe's hand tightened on my arm. "They can't," he said. "But I can."
"How?"
His eyes locked on mine. "Thirty days. You give me thirty days and your blood, and I'll keep you alive long enough to figure out what your brother died for."
I stared at him. At the blood. At the gold eyes. At the tooth in my pocket and the vans closing in.
Jonah's voice echoed in my head. Don't let them know you heard this.
Too late for that.
"Deal," I said.
Rafe smiled. It was the first real smile I'd seen from him.
"Then hold on," he said. "This is going to hurt."
His eyes flared. Brighter. Hotter. And the world went white.