I hand the vigilante’s gun over to Naito, and we maneuver them down the alley. They walk without a word and without one ounce of resistance until we hit the main street. Harper glances at Briefcase Man, then, simultaneously, they run opposite directions.

Running from the fae never works out well. Aren and Trev both fissure directly in their paths, taking them down to the ground and ending their escape attempt three seconds after they sprung it.

“You’re going to go to your vehicle,” Aren says, loud enough for both vigilantes to hear him. “You can go there conscious or unconscious. It’s up to you.”

Both decide to remain conscious. A few minutes later, Naito uses Harper’s keys to beep a black van unlocked. Lee searches it and, conveniently, he finds rope and a few pairs of handcuffs.

Silver-plated handcuffs.

I remember the question Harper asked earlier. He didn’t just want to know where to find my fae escort; he wanted to know what types of magic he could wield as well. At the time, I assumed they wanted to know how to defend against any attack the fae could throw at them. Now, I think I was wrong.

I look at Harper. “You wanted to capture the fae.”

He gives me a murderous look as Naito shoves him into the backseat. Naito uses a pair of handcuffs on the vigilante, slipping them behind something under the seat before hooking them to both of Harper’s wrists. Harper has to sit bent over and with his head practically in his lap. Not the most comfortable of positions, but he’s not going anywhere.

“A few vigilantes want to use their magics,” Lee says, taking the briefcase from me.

I watch him open it on the hood of the van. “Use them?”

He nods. “You know how much money con artists make from supposedly healing the sick?” He glances at Aren. “Imagine what someone could make if they could really heal people.”

“Except healers can’t heal diseases or genetic conditions,” I say. If they could, Lee and Paige wouldn’t have to worry about the Sight serum being lethal. Aren could heal the problem away.

He shrugs and sorts through the briefcase. It’s filled with papers and several small, black cases. He opens one up while Naito handcuffs the other two vigilantes inside the van.

Aren places his hand on the small of my back. “Trev and I are going to go back to Corrist.”

Since the nearest gate is over an hour away by car, it makes sense.

“Are we taking the vigilantes there?” I ask, turning to- ward him.

“The high nobles are already complaining about the other one,” Trev says before Aren can answer. “Lena won’t be happy to have to make excuses for three more suddenly appearing.”

The “other one” is Glazunov. We’re going to have to do something with him. We can’t just leave him in the Realm forever.

“We can take them to my place,” Naito says, sliding the van’s door shut. “It’s a longer drive, but there’s a gate within walking distance. We can decide what to do with them and the serum when we get there.”

“Vials from both batches are here,” Lee says, closing the black case. “There’s also a barbiturate that can knock a human out in a few minutes or a fae in thirty seconds or less if it’s injected.”

Naito looks at his brother. “You spent a lot of time with Dad.”

Lee’s mouth tightens. He closes the briefcase without a word.

Aren’s hand is on my hip. He slides his thumb over it, back and forth in an absent caress.

“See you at Naito’s then?” I say.

He looks down at me, smiles, then nods. “Tonight.”

I love hearing the promise that rides on his words.

• • •

BECAUSE of a wreck on the highway, it takes two hours to get to Naito’s house on the south side of Denver. Trev’s waiting for us. Aren needed to talk to Lena before he fissured back here, so he sent Trev to help us get the vigilantes inside. As soon as we secure them in the basement, Trev collapses on the couch.

I don’t think he intends to go to sleep, but within two minutes, he’s out cold and snoring.

An unexpected tendril of sympathy twists its way through me. While Naito and Lee hole up in Naito’s study, I grab a blanket out of a closet and lay it over the sleeping fae. I know he’s not the only one of Lena’s people who is tired—they all are—and I wish there was something I could do to help them get rest soon. But all I am is a reliable set of eyes and a shadow-reader. A shadow-reader who might have lost some of her skills.

Quietly, I leave Trev and head to the kitchen. I haven’t eaten anything since we left Nick’s, and I’m sure Naito and Lee are hungry, too. I check the pantry for options, then the fridge. Apparently, Naito hasn’t been here in months. The milk is way past expired, and the leftovers in a plastic container are fuzzy and unidentifiable.

I toss both into the trash and am about to open the freezer when tension spikes through Kyol. I pause with my hand on the door, tilting my head as if I can hear his thoughts, but he slams his mental walls into place, making himself the hard, unemotional soldier again.

I open the freezer, look inside, but my thoughts are completely centered on Kyol. He feels . . . strange. I don’t understand what’s going on. He’s not fighting—I’m certain of that—so why is there a strand of horror woven into his emotions?

My brain registers a frozen pizza in the freezer. I pull it out as I try to draw Kyol’s emotions across the life-bond. They’re faint behind his wall. I wouldn’t feel them at all if I weren’t concentrating on him.

Another surge of emotion pounds through him. He shuts it down before I can identify it, but screw that. I won’t stay here wondering what the hell’s going on there.

“Trev,” I call out, throwing the pizza back into the freezer.

He doesn’t respond, and when I get to the living room, he’s still lying unmoving on the couch.

“Trev,” I say again, stopping less than a foot away from his head. He turns his head to the side and lets out another snore.

Really? Fae have better hearing than humans, and they’re supposed to be bad-ass fighters. You’d think they’d all be light sleepers, springing to their feet, ready to defend themselves at a moment’s notice.

Maybe Trev is just that tired.

“Trev!” I say, shaking his shoulder.

Trev twists off the couch so quickly, he nearly barrels into me. He lets out a curse when he hits the ground, his nose inches away from the sword he left lying in its scabbard on the floor. He reaches for it, but I step on its hilt first.

“Relax, it’s me,” I tell him.

He looks up, still half-asleep, I swear. “McKenzie?”

“I need you to take me to the Realm.”

“What’s wrong?” he demands, waking all at once. He scans the living room as he jerks his sword out from beneath my shoe.

“I don’t know,” I tell him.

He rises, his gaze finishing its sweep of the room before resting on me. “You don’t know?”

“I need to talk to Kyol.”

Trev scowls. “It can wait until the morning.”

“No, it can’t. I need you to fissure me there now.”

“I’m sure Taltrayn is busy.” He sinks back down on the couch.