The warehouse was a skeleton of steel and shadows, every beam creaking with the weight of the storm outside. Rain slashed against the broken windows, and the stench of oil and rust filled Raven’s lungs.

It felt like walking into a grave.

Jaxon’s hand was tight around hers, his grip almost bruising. His storm-grey eyes swept every corner, every dark hollow, his body tense like a predator who knew the hunt had turned.

“Stay close,” he murmured.

“As if I’d do anything else,” ...