Sienna’s POV

The warehouse fills with cops in a rush, boots slapping concrete, radios spitting static, voices stacking over each other. I catch pieces—someone yelling for medics, someone ordering the doors covered, someone calling out positions.

None of it lands.

Vivienne and I are still on the floor beside Jareth, knees ground into grit, palms slick with his blood. Jonah stands behind us, steady and solid, one hand braced on my shoulder, the other on ...