Chapter 4

Ishould've been fast asleep while the morning sun battled to melt the remaining snow from the city's recent storm, but the tingling fire running through my veins would not let me rest.

Something is off.

Inhaling the cold air of my barren and makeshift bedroom, I stared up at the ceiling of the vacant warehouse now functioning as our temporary headquarters and serving as barracks for me and my warriors.

The tall, wide windows covered in black paint blocked out daylight—except for the one sliver of yellow light shining through the small hole in the far-right corner where the paint had chipped.

I laid under the sheets, staring at that one rogue ray shooting across the room, illuminating the dust motes suspended in the air. As a Second-Gen vampire, my centuries-old age and lineage made me more resistant to daylight. My sire had been the primordial vampire, a pure-blood created by magic. Unlike my sire, my brother and I were born human, but given our vampiric age, our blood gave us certain advantages over younger vampires. The sun wouldn't burn me to ash immediately upon contact, but it would still singe me like a motherfucker, and looking at it even from a distance made my eyes sting.

A constant reminder of my curse in this world.

I glanced at my watch and ran an agitated hand through my hair.

Damn this shit.

Winter awarded our kind a reprieve from the long daylight months, but it didn't make waiting for nightfall any easier. Eight more hours until sundown meant eight hours of wasted time until the hunt could resume.

Our UV protective gear enabled us to work amongst the mortals during the day, but it also made it a bitch to stay inconspicuous. And right now, we couldn't risk being exposed—not when so much was at stake.

Unable to remain idle, I sat up, causing Ice to stir next to me. I caressed her pale cheek. Strong, beautiful, and loyal, she would make the perfect mate for any male of my kind. But for us, our relationship was much simpler. All we had were the wars we'd fought, the mental scars left behind, and the occasional fuck to numb it all to hell.

She deserved better.

And now everything was about to turn every shade of fucked up all over again. Seemed we were always fighting the same battles—protecting the humans from the supernatural. Made me wonder why we bothered.

Perhaps we were fighting to protect my people from the humans instead. Their inability to accept our kind would drive them to hunt us down to extinction. The only way to co-exist in peace was by keeping our world in the shadows.

But after centuries of the same shit, perhaps letting darkness devour this world would be easier.

But not wiser, I reminded myself. There were worse things than humans.

A few days ago, we were alerted of a powerful magical signature detected in New York City. A resurgence of high-vibration energy not felt in five hundred years.

It was the reason for our trip across the pond. And the reason I couldn't find rest.

The last time Earth encountered this surge of power, we'd nearly lost the battle against the Vates Ordo, the most powerful dark arts witch hive in the world. Their sole purpose was to rip open the veil between our world and their ancient birthplace, a realm long thought to have been decimated by their own magic.

They believed opening that portal would enable them to reclaim their lost power, laying ruin to all mankind to make way for a new world filled with their potent magic, one that would grant them dominion over every realm.

And the only way to garner enough power for the level of magic required to open a portal between worlds was to tap into this rare energy given off by the earth's core.

To do that, they needed a Spirit-Marked witch, one who could not only summon all four elements, but embody their power.

To our knowledge, the last Spirit-Marked had died during the Prophecy War, when, after her betrayal, the witch was burned at the stake by the Vates Ordo and the Sisterhood of the White Light—a sect of witches banded together to fight against their dark counterparts.

And although a Spirit-Marked witch was as rare as the earth's energy spikes themselves, according to the Sisterhood, both occurrences seemed to be linked.

Having borne witness to the destructive power of such a creature, I knew all too well what awaited humanity and all of us who inhabited this planet if that portal opened.

I would burn to ash before letting those wretched witches even try to unleash their dark magic into our world once again.

Trouble was, as quickly as the signature was detected, it went dormant. Now more than a week since I'd left my homeland, we were no closer to finding the Hive.

Seemed the witches were doing everything in their power to shield their magic. Not even Anya could sniff out a rat. All this inaction wore on my last nerve.

But something else also scraped at my insides. While my abstinence from human blood was taking a toll, it wasn't the clenching in my gut or the hankering in my veins that made me want to rip out of my skin.

"What troubles you?" Ice asked, sitting up next to me, her jade-green gaze drinking every ounce of my restlessness. My body stiffened at her probing stare.

Not wanting to acknowledge the fear burrowing in my muscles, I looked away. "We have no new leads."

Ice leaned against me, feathering her soft lips across my shoulder blades. "You can't hide your afflictions from me," she said, her breath warm against my skin. "This isn't about the witches."

Sometimes I hated how well she could see through my bullshit, which meant I'd gone soft. I'd have to put an end to that.

"I felt him," I said, conceding.

"Your brother has been entombed for five hundred years. After all this time, he is in a somnolent stasis. There is nothing for you to fear."

That she knew exactly who I was referring to was yet another prime example of how much I'd let her in. I wasn't accustomed to this level of intimacy. Not anymore at least.

I enjoyed her company, but the pitfalls of being with someone like me—someone with a cold heart—would soon sour what we had.

Still, I couldn't hide the truth of what stirred the dread churning in my gut, not when everything we cared about was at risk. "He is awake. My blood senses it."

"Kane," she drawled, her soothing voice searching to balm the turmoil in my chest. "The only way Azrael could be awake is if someone unearthed him. Last I checked, he was still buried in his casket, deep below Bringham. And your son guards the bloody castle."

I grunted. Leaving Larick in charge hadn't been a willing choice.

"He can be petulant," she went on, fingers trailing paths down my back. "Even if he is seven hundred years old. But he's also loyal… more than you give him credit for."

"It's not his loyalty I question. He's a hothead with an army at his disposal. He thinks himself invincible."

Tracing another line of kisses across my shoulders, she said, "Lay back down. You need to rest."

My back muscles tensed, and my breath stilled. Receiving my message, she withdrew her touch. Our stolen night of pleasure was over, and now, it was back to business. We'd been through this plenty of times. I'd given what I could, and she wouldn't make demands for affection.

It's what we'd agreed upon. Sliding out of the covers, she stood and searched for her clothes. There was no longer a need to share my bed.

Averting my gaze, she picked up her black fatigues off the floor, her movements sharp as she dressed. Like all my warriors, her body was hard, muscles cut and well defined. Evidence of centuries spent fighting wars.

Short-cropped, bleach-blonde hair hardened the softness of her feminine features—a rounded face and long-lashed, almond-shaped eyes. She pressed her bow-shaped lips into a tight line. But it was the furrow etched between her brows that told me that despite her best efforts to seem aloof, my indifference had wounded her after all.

Fuck.

And that was exactly why there existed zero room for anything else between us.

Pushing to my feet, I reached for my black jeans lying crumpled on the floor and pulled them up, leaving them unbuckled as I walked across the room looking for my encrypted satellite phone.

No point in staying in bed either. I couldn't sleep, and idly waiting around would maul my mind. Rotating my neck, I stretched my arms and flexed my fingers, hoping to placate the rattled nerves.

The heat of her gaze left a searing mark on my back as I walked past her. She knew there was another reason for the ragged blade of my demeanor—something I always tried to hide. But she wasn't about to let me off that easily.

I prayed she would, but if there was one thing I knew about Ice, it was her sheer determination.

Whether it was killing her target in battle or searching for a way to get me to open myself up to her, she was not one to ever give up, no matter the cost. It was the reason she'd clung to her mortal life within a mere breath from death when we'd found her centuries ago.

My brother's men had attacked her village, leaving none alive, except for Ice. She'd fought with that one last breath for a chance at revenge.

I gave her that chance and allowed one of my vampires to sire her, even if her life hadn't been ours to claim.

Still, she knew me better than anyone and could sense the nuances in my behavior. The slight tremors in my hands. My rolling shoulders as I cracked my neck. Ice was all too familiar with my hunger pangs and the toll it took on my body.

"You need to feed," she said, her voice clipped. My rules about blood-sharing and my aversion to drinking from a human had always chafed against her skin.

Hunger would not derail me from my mission, though. I'd gone longer without blood before. "I'll hunt game once we get back to Scotland." Spotting my phone on the desk opposite the bed, I silenced the growling beast and focused on the documents and photograph of the most recent surveillance footage lying scattered on the desk's metal surface.

I picked up the photo and stared at the violet eyes looking back at me. The energy signature Anya detected had led us to a vampire-run underground nightclub deep in the heart of Manhattan. Gaining entry had proven more difficult than we'd anticipated, but my recognizance team had captured this image.

Priestess Liliuth, the Divine Mother's daughter and next in line to take over the Hive. Why she was in a vampire-infested club made my skin prickle. Last time our kind consorted with witches, I had to bury my brother inside an iron coffin.

Ice placed a soft hand on my arm, and I flinched. "You can't keep doing this," she said. "Hunting animals. You need human blood."

Recoiling from her touch, I crossed my arms and bit down on my jaw, landing her with a hard stare. She knew better than to press me about my feeding choices. "How I handle my sustenance is my business."

Her eyes flooded with the pigment of her blood as her fangs descended. It wasn't a warning but a blunt show of her displeasure. Stepping closer, she said, "That's where you're wrong. This is our business. Or have you forgotten we are out here fighting your war? An unfed vampire is dangerous."

I understood her resentment, but she had a choice—they all had. "You are free to leave whenever you please. I'm not keeping you here by force."

The scarlet sea in her eyes receded as she took a step back, a line of disappointment forming around her lips. "I fight for you—with you—because I believe in our vow to protect this realm. I made you an oath, and I intend to keep it. But as our leader, we need you to be sharp to defeat the Hive." Offering me her wrist, she whispered, "For saints' sake. Feed from me."

The sanguine thirst flaring through every fiber in my body stoked the fires of my hunger. I turned from her, dropping my chin to my chest as I grabbed the edge of the metal desk, knuckles turning white as frost.

Blood-sharing was off limits for me and her persistence to tempt me was unacceptable. "We've been through this?—"

"I don't need you to remind me of my promise, but I'm done seeing you like this. I fed yesterday and can sustain us both," she insisted. With her hand still extended, she stood next to me, waiting for an answer. "This isn't about binding you to me, Kane; it's about life. I can give you what you need."

The pounding in my chest beat in my ears, muffling all other sounds. She was right. I needed sustenance, and my refusal to take it from a human or to feed from her could hurt the team. I lived in a constant battle with myself, always on the edge of succumbing to my urges. Maybe caging them was the wrong approach.

One taste was all I needed to dull the knife edge cutting at my flesh.

Taking her wrist in my hand, my fingers felt the warmth of her pulse under her delicate skin, and the thrill of drinking living blood made my gums throb with blinding hunger.

My fangs descended as my animal instincts gunned for the driver's seat. Hunting game had kept me alive, but it was human blood that fortified a vampire's body. Drinking from another vampire wasn't the same as drinking from a human, but as she'd fed recently, the blood was still tepid and pure in her system.

Saints save me.

Awareness of the sickness I shared with my brother fired off warnings in my brain. Yet, I also knew my body would only grow weaker as more days passed without sustenance. My veins constricted, screaming for me to surrender to Ice's doomful proposition.

Take her, my beast growled.

Gripping her wrist tighter, I was about to give in when my phone rang.

Heaven's grace.

I dropped her hand and brushed trembling fingers through my hair. I'd been too close to succumbing. I needed to find another means of sustenance soon.

My satellite phone chirped again, and a surge of foreboding flooded through me. My blood never lied. Smudging the feeding images from my mind, I picked up the phone. "Trek," I said, "how bad is it?"

The device threatened to crumble under the pressure of my grasp as my tech expert related the news from Scotland. Ending the conversation, I rushed to the bed, found my black long-sleeve shirt, pulled it over, and stepped into my boots.

"What's going on?" Ice asked.

"Bringham was breached," I said as I finished tying my laces. Without further explanation, I flash-ran to our communications station located in the grand room of the warehouse.

Ice followed.

Trek sat in front of four computer monitors, his mocha-colored skin illuminated by the light coming off the screens. His long dark locks were secured at the nape and a muscle twitched in his jaw as his fingers raced over the keyboards.

"Show me," I said as I leaned over his shoulders.

Trek stroked his fingers against one of his keyboards, and after a couple of taps, images popped up on all the monitors. Surveillance footage of what transpired flashed on the face of the screens. The castle lay in ruins, smoke billowing into the sky as fires blazed. I felt the vessels behind my eyes swell as I watched in horror. "Get Larick on the phone."

Trek spun in his chair and looked up at me, worry creasing around his brown-colored eyes.

"What's the matter?" I asked, already reading the trouble brewing in his gaze. A knot formed in my throat when he remained silent. "Trek, did something happen to my son?"

"Your brother…he…"

Losing patience, I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off his chair. "Out with it."

"Azrael is risen, Kane."

My eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

"The breach was a rescue mission. Our forces were outnumbered."

"We have cameras positioned all around the perimeter, men on the battlements. How was this possible? I need to speak to Larick."

Trek paused again, eyeing my hands still gripping his collar. "He's in bad shape."

I released my hold and spun from him. Larick was Third-Gen and one of my mightiest warriors. He wasn't an easy vampire to wound. "Can you patch him through?"

Trek sat back in front of his computer, fingers tapping commands. "There is something else you should know." The dread riding on his voice chilled my marrow. "Azrael fed from him… Larick's blood woke him."

The video call to Scotland began to stream, and sorrow and rage weaved through my heart when the first images appeared. Someone held a mobile device, transmitting the call as our medical team worked on Larick. He lay on a gurney as tubes roping around his arms fed him fresh blood.

Leaning in closer, my eyes widened. His right arm was mangled, hacked off at the elbow.

Trek leaned back in his chair and rubbed a palm down his face. "I've been on the phone with Bringham for the last twenty minutes, gathering intel before alerting you. They attacked in the middle of the afternoon, when they knew the castle would be vulnerable. The assailants came equipped with weapons we've never seen before. Their bullets and blades were laced with some kind of toxin."

My jaw tightened. "Toxin?"

"Whatever it is, vampires can't heal fast enough. Worst yet, it corrupts the body, accelerating decomposition. Our men didn't stand a chance. It was a massacre."

"How is Larick still alive?"

"He tried to stop them from entering your brother's tomb, but Luther?—"

My heart dropped. "Luther did this?"

"He took Larick's men hostage, cutting off their heads one by one until Larick agreed to open the sanctum. Forced him to cut his wrist and…"

I clenched my teeth. "Feed my brother."

"Larick fought back but lost part of his arm to Luther's sword. The blade was laced with the toxin."

Back on the screen, doctors messed with all sorts of machines. "What are they doing to him now?"

"They've been trying to flush the strange substance out by filtering his blood, but even our high-tech medical machinery is not working fast enough. His Third-Gen genetics is probably the only reason he's still breathing, but we don't know for how long. Unless we find an antidote, Larick will likely die."

"We'll find the antidote, even if I have to rip my own brother's heart out to do it."

Ice stepped forward, muscles tense. Hearing Luther's name no doubt riled her beast. "Bringham is impenetrable. Luther must've had inside help."

Trek pulled up camera footage from the keep. After a few taps, he zoomed in one of Luther's men.

I slammed a fist against Trek's desk, rattling his computers. "Fucking Hogan."

"I never trusted that slimy bastard," Ice growled. "Caleb's the one who screens the sons of bitches. How the fuck did he let that rat through?"

Trek shook his head. "They didn't just show up with those poisoned-tipped bullets; they attacked our security systems."

The blow must have been especially hard for him since he had designed those systems.

Placing a hand on this shoulder, I tried to assure him that I didn't blame him for the attack.

I glanced back at the screen. Watching Larick fight for his life sent a shudder down my spine. We had argued before I'd left Bringham. He'd been angry I was leaving him behind to guard the bloody castle like a fucking steward while choosing to bring Balthazar, his brother, as my second to the States.

It wasn't just stupid sibling rivalry. Larick hated those damn witches as much as I did and felt I was robbing him of his right to aid in the fight to end this war.

The sound of combat boots thudding against the concrete floors of the abandoned warehouse snatched my attention, heralding the approach of Larick's brother.

Balthazar pushed through the huge, metal-framed door. Raven hair slicked back and dressed in black tactical UV gear, he dropped his assault rifle at the nearby weapons table, but kept his Sig Sauer pistols strapped to his thighs. What you couldn't see was the array of blades I knew he kept tucked in hidden pockets.

With his impressive six-foot-six heavily muscled frame, he towered over most human men. His broad chest puffed as he stopped in front of the communications desk. "How's he doing?" he asked as he looked at the screen, his green eyes shadowed with worry for his brother as he watched the same horror unfold.

Under Larick's skin, a black and greenish substance branched out through his veins. His body convulsed and several doctors had to hold him down.

"Docs are trying to flush whatever that is from his blood," Trek said.

I placed a hand on Bal's shoulder. There was nothing we could do for Larick. I needed him on task. "Do we know anything else about the nightclub or why the priestess was there?"

Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from the screen. Took him a couple of breaths to change gears. "Gideon was out last night and got lucky with some intel. That underground nightclub Anya tipped us on? Get this… It's Luther's fucking lair. Scumbag is dealing plasma."

I bit down hard, almost cracking teeth. "The attack has to be connected to the resurgence if the club belongs to Luther," I said to Trek.

He shrugged. "It's too coincidental not to be."

"That's not all," Bal went on. "We think he's running some type of human trafficking ring. Young girls are being turned into hosts."

Ice grunted as she paced, trying to reel in her anger. "Un-fucking-real. That's how low he's stooped?"

Bal cocked his head as he mulled over something. "That might explain the other thing we found."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Caleb's team smoked a strigoi they found in an alley near the nightclub. A young woman. She was feasting on a freshly deceased human, likely a homeless person."

A sheet of ice covered my body. Unlike sired vampires, strigoi were mindless, savage beasts with one sole purpose—to feast on human flesh.

Neglecting to sever the spine of a dead host not chosen for rebirth was not only reckless but dishonorable. "He's unleashing those wretched creatures into the general population. Fucking nut bag. I knew he shared his father's ruthlessness, but not his insanity. Releasing that thing into the gen pop could lead to an infestation."

Bal drew closer, his gaze hard. "Luther's been lying low for centuries. Nothing's adding up. Why wait until now to poke his head out of his hiding hole? To rescue his father? It's been five hundred years and my cousin never once tried to come for Azrael."

"Unless…" I paced, piecing together the only evidence we had. "What if all this time Luther never tried to rescue Azrael because he was simply buying time? Waiting for just the right moment."

Ice cocked her head. "The right moment for what?"

"The resurgence clearly connects the witches to Luther and now to my brother as well."

"But why would Luther be aiding the witches?" Bal scratched his short beard, eyes crinkling with doubt. "How does reviving his father tie in with the resurgence?"

Dropping her hands to her hips, Ice added, "Bal's right. To open the portal, the witches need a Spirit-Marked, not a vampire. And even if they did, why bring back Azrael? Arabelle's death is tied to the Vates Ordo. He'll only want to seek revenge."

I blew out a slow breath. "I don't know, but they planted Hogan months ago. They must have predicted the resurgence and that we'd follow the signature here, leaving the castle vulnerable to an attack. To unearth the creature that sabotaged their first prophecy, Azrael must have something they need."

Trek pressed on his com as he received an incoming call. "Copy that."

"What is it?" I asked.

A wild look crossed his eyes. "Caleb's team. They were heading back in from the night's patrol when Anya detected another signature. This one is more powerful than the last."

"Where?"Bal, Ice, and I asked in unison.

"Right here, in Brooklyn. And only a couple of blocks away."

"Meet them," I said to Bal. I don't care if the sun is still up. The time for careful tactics is over. I need to know what these witches are planning and waiting around is no longer an option."

"Patching the coordinates to your phone, Bal," Trek said.

Bal walked to our weapons cache and loaded up with ammo, secured twin military titanium knives to ankle holsters, and strapped his rifle back over his chest. "I'll radio in once I arrive."

"Trek, send them to me as well," Ice said as she prepared her gear. "I'm taking my own car." She secured Sigs inside a double shoulder-holster and slid her arms into a black UV-protected leather jacket, concealing her guns and loading up the inside pockets with extra ammo.

I walked over to her as she finished zipping up her jacket. "Be careful out there."

She smiled. "When am I not?"

"I know how personal this is to you. We never expected for Luther to be involved?—"

She cocked her head. "Are you suggesting I don't know how to do my job?"

"I'm saying your mission is the witches; I'll handle Luther and my brother."

"As long as I get to be the one to hack off Luther's head, I don't care who captures him." Her green eyes darkened with hatred before she slid her UV-protective helmet and goggles over her head.

I watched as she exited the warehouse, a prickle running the length of my spine. She'd managed to keep her personal vendetta in check for centuries, but that's because Luther had gone into hiding.

Taking care of rogue vampires, deranged sorcerers, or humans who'd gotten mixed up in our affairs had kept her occupied. But now? I knew how fierce she was when she wanted something and finding out Luther was involved had opened old wounds.

"Kane?" Trek interrupted my thoughts.

"What is it?" I snapped, unable to keep my rattled beast in check.

He hesitated, but not because of my anger. He'd known me long enough not to be frazzled by my mood. Something else made him uneasy. Squaring his jaw, he handed me the sat phone. "Caelian's on the line."

Fuck, word of Azrael's escape had spread fast.

The last thing I needed now was to answer to the Shadow Knights.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I took the call. "Cousin."

"The council is disappointed, Kane. You assured us Azrael was secure." Her voice was steady, cold.

"He was."

"Then how do you explain his escape?"

"I'm handling it, Caelian."

"This wouldn't be an issue if you'd done your duty in the first place. We knew the risks. You, more than anyone, understood what was at stake, yet you chose to ignore our laws."

"I drafted those laws."

"Yet you chose to let your brother live."

"I don't need to be lectured by you. I was the leader of the Knights and made the choice that was best for my family."

"Failing to execute a traitor is what stripped you of your seat. And for what? Entombing him was worse than death. Did you ever consider what would happen if he escaped? The wretched beast is not going to want redemption. It wants one thing alone: ultimate power at any cost, except now he's awake in a modern world. Have you any idea what this means?"

"I know the risks, Caelian."

"Then you know the council will not accept anything but his death. You will capture Azrael and bring him before the Shadow Knights or consider yourself excommunicated."

The line went dead.

"Fuck," I hollered, frothing at the mouth as I crushed the satellite phone in my hand before pitching the remains through the air. A large chunk collided with a blacked-out window, shattering the glass and shooting a beam of sunlight into the room. Both Trek and I flinched.

To hell with the saints-damn sun.

Centuries of careful tactical planning, heightened security, and technological upgrades… all for nothing. In the blink of an eye, it had all gone down the shitter.

"For nearly five hundred years my brother lay buried, protected." I grabbed a metal chair near the desk and flung it across the room. "I should've never left Bringham. This would've never happened if I'd been there."

"Kane," Trek said, "we had no choice. Anya sensed the magical signatures. We couldn't stay."

"I know," I spat, shaking my head. "But it's only a matter of time before Luther's men revive my brother to his full strength. Everything we've fought to protect will be lost." I rooted my gaze to his, daring Trek to dispute my fears. He said nothing.

The silence in the room was broken by the sound of a call coming through Trek's comms. "Field team is checking in."

"That was quick. Patch them through."

Trek tapped a few keys on his keyboard and video streamed through the monitors. Bal stood in the middle of a bedroom. "We tracked the signal to an old apartment building. We were able to gain access with minimal effort."

"Where are you exactly?"

"Anya guided us to a small apartment on the fifth floor. But whoever lives here is out for the moment."

"Bal, come take a look at this," Caleb's voice carried through the feed. Bal brought his camera to where Caleb stood and pointed it to a drawing on a desk.

I peered in closer. "Is that…"

"It's a drawing of Bringham in flames. But that's not all… the whole place is littered with drawings." Bal panned the camera around the room. Sketches upon sketches depicted scenes from my past: battles, locations, even a portrait of Arabelle.

I bit down on my jaw. "Put Anya on."

"Anya," I said as the dark-skinned vampire appeared on the screen. Her snow-white curly hair cascaded to her shoulders, and her deep-set sandy-colored eyes were blood-shot and haggard. "Tell me what I'm looking at? Why are there drawings of my castle? Of our past?"

"There is powerful magic here," she uttered, her voice breathy. "Power beyond anything I have ever seen."

"Who lives there?"

She closed her eyes, a low humming vibration echoing through the speakers.

"What is it?"

Before she could reply, a loud squawk boomed through the feed. The camera shook as someone attempted to refocus the lens, then a new image appeared. A crow sat perched on top of a metal-framed bed as it flapped its wings. Loose papers flew around as a strong wind swirled in the room.

"Bal, what's going on?" I demanded over the feed.

"Bird appeared out of nowhere, seems to be startled. Not sure where this gust of wind is coming from."

"We must leave at once," Anya's voice boomed with alarm. "It's a sylph?—"

Her last words were cut off as the video feed died.

A sylph?

The lump in my throat fell to my stomach. Seemed the resurgence, Luther, my brother, and now whoever lived in that apartment were all linked. I only prayed we weren't too late.