Sienna’s POV

The wail of sirens swells, rolling nearer until it vibrates through the warehouse walls. Marlowe jerks toward the sound, and for the first time her mask slips.

“No,” she spits, the word sharp as a blade. “No. Not like this. Not now.”

The men around her falter, eyes darting. The one who shot Jareth edges toward the doorway, panic breaking through his bravado. “We have to leave. Right now.”

“We’re not ...