AaronPOV

The warehouse district stinks of rust and desperation.

I push through another steel door, Arthur's senses on high alert, scanning for any trace of wildflowers. The rogue Alpha inside—scarred face, missing teeth—backs against the wall when he sees me.

"Victor Scott," I growl. "Where is he?"

"Don't know nothing about—"

My hand wraps around his throat, lifting him off his feet. "Try again."

"East side!" he chokes. "Industrial complex! That's all I heard, I swear!"

I drop him. ...