They had turned the penthouse into a war room.

Maps lay splayed across the coffee table, annotated with scribbled notes and dark circles where Diana had guessed the Ashen Kin might hide. Candles guttered in small saucers of black salt; bowls of herbs steamed faintly, and a scrap of mirror glittered on a tray like a shard of truth.

Melinda moved with quiet efficiency, rinsing a bundle of thread in a cup of cold water while Zoe sat with a phone pressed to her ear, coordinating calls and contacts. ...