The sirens came first.

They wailed through the night like wolves, echoing across Valmont’s skyline. Red and blue lights painted the wet streets below as fire trucks swarmed, their ladders stabbing toward the blaze still devouring the Crestfall Hotel.

Raven sat slumped in the passenger seat of Jaxon’s stolen car, her dress in tatters, her arm sticky with half-dried blood. Smoke clung to her lungs with every breath. Her reflection in the cracked side mirror looked like a stranger's hair ...