They brought her back to the penthouse like they were carrying a small, terrible god.

Valerius moved with a priest's economy, swift, efficient, careful. At the same time, Zoe scrambled, murmuring apologies through wet cheeks and fumbling at the cuffs that Valerius had used to restrain Chloe on the mountain.

The penthouse smelled faintly of wax, cold iron, perfume, and ozone; it had never felt so small. Chloe's skin was paper-thin beneath the flash of the city lights. Her pupils were blown ...