The cold hit first.

Not just a draft of a living thing. It crawled over the floorboards, wrapped around his bare ankles, slid under his skin until even the roots of his teeth ached.

Then the weight followed.

Julian’s hand was still over Noa’s mouth when the city wind knifed through the broken window. Shards glittered like teeth in the moonlight, each one a tiny blade waiting for someone to step wrong. For a second Noa’s pulse forgot which way to run up, down, anywhere. It just stuttered, ...