The hotel.

The words detonated in Azrael's mind like a divine strike. He'd left twenty Forsaken there. Fifty mortals too injured or too frightened to move. Maya coordinating the final evacuations.

"How many?" His voice came out flat, controlled. The fire beneath his skin was anything but.

"Three squads of angels. Maybe more." Kara's hand trembled on her spear. "They hit at dawn. Came through the walls like they were mist."

Azrael was already moving, his exhaustion burning away in a surge of ...