I flexed my free hand; heat burned at my fingertips, but it wasn’t showing. Not yet, anyway. From down the far end of the hallway came an odd scrape of sound, almost like a body hitting the ground.

Unease flicked through me. Jackson?

He didn’t respond. The unease sharpened. Damn it, Jackson, don’t play games. Answer me!

Still no response.

Fuck.

I thrust a hand through my hair, then glanced down the stairs again as the sense of something approaching also sharpened. I took a deep breath, then released the heat burning at my fingertips and flung it up the stairs, creating a thick, fiery barrier only the foolish would attempt to get through. It also had a secondary benefit—if someone were foolish enough, I’d know about it.

I cast another look down the stairs, but even though my fire had burned away the shadows, it still didn’t reveal the threat I was sensing.

I spun and raced down the hallway, my gaze sweeping each office as I passed, but there was nothing more than basic furniture and dust. This floor obviously hadn’t been used in a while.

Behind me, the stairwell door shut with a soft clang, the sound echoing ominously across the shadows. I reached the end of the building, but there was no Jackson, and no sign of where he might have gone.

Fear swirled through me, but I clamped down on it. If he were dead, I’d know about it. I’d feel the emptiness in that part of my brain that could hear his thoughts and emotions. That part might be silent, but it wasn’t severed. He was alive but unconscious.

But who the fuck had attacked him, and where the hell had they gone?

Though dawn was rapidly gaining accession over the night outside, darkness still reigned supreme inside. I cast a small ball of fire into the air, then glanced back down the hall. The door was still closed, and no one had made an attempt to get through my flames. And yet . . . and yet, something had changed. The air felt different.

Alive.

I frowned, studying the doorway for a second longer before pulling my gaze back to my immediate surroundings. And that was when I spotted it—blood.

My gut twisted as I strode over and bent down. It was fresh. Jackson’s, that inner voice whispered. I closed my eyes and tried to remain calm. He’s hurt, not dead. Hold on to that and just find him.

As I rose, I spotted another droplet of blood, then another. The minuscule trail led me directly to a blank wall.

Or was it?