ZAYNE’s POV

Sometimes the only way to protect a family is to hunt your own blood.

The night wind off the harbor cut like glass.

Every time I breathed in, salt and rust scraped the back of my throat, reminding me that nothing good ever came from the docks.

Especially not messages from my father.

The photo lay on the passenger seat beside me, the edges curled from where I’d been gripping it too tightly.

Celeste’s face stared back in grainy black and white, fear buried under exhaustion.

The ...