Santiago was back behind the counter, cursing at two teenagers in rapid-fire Spanish as they scrambled for the door.
"Good for nothing idiot’as. They come in here with barely a dime in their pockets, then drink to their fill, hoping that a game would go through for them."
He rounded on his assistant next, the kid pressed into the corner like the wall might swallow him whole.
"And you—you’re fucking fired!"
Then he spotted Nico, and something in his face unclenched. He waved him over to the counter, and Nico dropped onto the stool across from him.
"Pour me a bourbon."
Nico said it tiredly.
Santiago pulled a glass from under the counter, then reached for a bottle from his good collection. He had it open and poured to the halfway mark before Nico finished sitting down properly.
"Your face reads worry, boss." He slid the glass over. "I’m guessing the dude is dead."
"He’s always been dead."
Nico threw it back in one go. The glass hit the counter with a hollow thud, and a wheeze slipped out of him before he could stop it.
"I need your guys’ eyes on the city streets. Be on the lookout for people with unusual patterns. Constant subconsciousness, always like bees of one hivemind. I’d start looking out for reanimated bodies if I want to actually find something similar."
Santiago reached for the bottle again, and Nico waved him off with two fingers.
"Something’s returned to town. And hopefully, it’s not what I think it is."
"Got it, boss." Santiago set the bottle back in its row. "What do we do when we see such patterns?"
Nico leaned an elbow on the counter, jaw tight.
"Interrogate them first. Make sure they speak of their plans. And report to me after. Don’t kill one unless it’s necessary."
The system screen bloomed into his vision the second the words left his mouth. Red. Blinking.
[Shadow Mark Alert: Mira Fenris]
→ Status: Distress detected
→ Location: 12 miles
→ Danger Level: High
His stomach dropped before his mind caught up. He didn’t need a second read to know what it meant. High level allocation. Mira. In danger.
There was no time to sit with it.
"I have to leave now." He was already moving, boots skidding on the tile. "I’ll be waiting on your feedback as soon as possible."
He was out the door before Santiago could get a word in. He threw himself into the driver’s seat, gunned the engine, and cut into traffic like the road belonged to him alone.
Horns screamed behind him the whole way. He blew past a red light and nearly clipped a sedan, and the driver leaned out his window, yelling something Nico didn’t have the bandwidth to hear.
’Fuck, this isn’t happening.’
The threat from earlier crawled back into his head, uninvited. Stefan’s face, puppeted, hollow-eyed, telling him he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing while his wives died right in front of him.
The occult. Whoever they were, they’d been watching close enough to know exactly when he’d be far from home. That kind of timing wasn’t luck. It was patience, and patience like that scared him more than brute force ever could.
And against people who could bend Stefan’s will like wet clay, he wasn’t sure his men stood a chance. None of them had come into their bloodline powers yet. Not one.
This last time.
He gripped the wheel until his knuckles went white.
Just this last time. If they made it through tonight, he’d swear off ever putting distance between himself and them again, not until he had something stronger standing guard in his place.
***
He made the mansion in thirty minutes flat, the same coordinates the system had marked for Mira.
Something was off before he even parked. The compound looked half-empty. Only the gatekeeper and the chauffeur came out to meet him, and neither had an explanation ready.
He didn’t stop to ask. He ran the rest of the way, shoved the front door open, and found his men gathered around the dining table, mid-lunch, like the world hadn’t just tilted sideways.
They shot to their feet the moment they saw him.
"Welcome home, boss!"
The greeting came out in unison, too cheerful for how his chest felt.
"Where’s Mira?" He was already scanning the room, not waiting for anyone to catch up. "Where’s my wife?!"
"Is something wrong?"
Her voice came from behind him, from the kitchen doorway. He turned and found her there in a red apron dusted with flour, a bead of sweat sliding past her eye.
His gaze snagged on it longer than it should have. He caught himself staring, shook it off, and crossed the room toward her at a pace that was trying very hard not to look urgent.
"You’re okay— I mean...of course you’re okay."
Except the alert hadn’t gone anywhere. It still hung at the edge of his vision, red and pulsing, insisting she wasn’t fine at all.
’I don’t get it. How’s she in danger, exactly?’
Then he saw it. A cut on her left pinky, shallow but still welling, a thin line of red against her knuckle.
He grabbed her hand before he’d even decided to.
"How did this happen?"
"I was just... cutting some fruits."
"Come with me."
He didn’t give her room to argue, just pulled her along up the stairs and into his room, steering her down onto the edge of the bed.
He crossed to the shelf where he kept a roll of bandages tucked in the corner, always within reach, and came back to sit across from her.
"Give me your hand."
"I’m fine, really."
"Your hand."
She gave in and stretched it out. He worked the bandage around her finger slow and careful, more focus in it than a scratch like this had any right to demand.
"Why do you even care, really? It’s just a small wound."
"All wounds seem small until they grow into something unstoppable." He kept his eyes on the wrap, not her face. "Question is, why did the chef let you into the kitchen?"
"I was the one who insisted." She watched his hands work. "He wouldn’t let me in until I wagered my mother’s mushroom soup recipe with him."
"Of course. Deceive a man with what he loves best." He tied off the last loop. "There, all done."
He stood and headed for the wardrobe, fingers already going for his shirt buttons. Mira knew better than to linger, and she’d nearly reached the door when something made her stop.
"Um.. I know you’re probably doing all these for us because that’s what your brother would have done...but..."
"Hm?"
She crossed back without warning, rose onto her toes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"Think of it as a thank you. For everything."