“Art fix,” she echoed. “Did you find something new? Where? Did you do it? We could run if you tell me where.”

He laughed. “Patient one,” he teased. “It’s just this way. Let’s walk.”

They walked along the street for a short distance, and then turned into a shadowy alley. Graffiti decorated the side of the buildings—intricate murals and abstract sketches, faces and artists’ tags.

Rika leaned her head on Jayce’s shoulder and looked up. “Good dimensions with the reds . . .”

“Too busy,” Jayce rebutted.

“Minimalist.” She mock sighed.

“The simple things are best.” He kissed her.

When he pulled away, she gave him a look of adoration. “Good argument.”

Then she looked back at the graffiti, smiling and leaning close to Jayce. They stayed together for several moments, and she marveled again at how much these past few weeks had meant to her. After long years where no one touched her in affection, now she felt like the span of minutes between caresses was too long.

Jayce motioned toward an opening between buildings, not quite an alley but more of a passageway. “Cut through here.”

They wound their way through it to a wider passage and then one alley and a second. Together, they crossed a small street, Jayce leading. Rika trailed behind him, holding his hand as they stepped into a third alley.

When she saw the ground, saw the body there, she yanked her hand free and ran. “No!”

“What?”

Jayce couldn’t see because he had only human sight, but there, unconscious on the ground, was Sionnach. He was the only faery in the desert that she’d called a friend, and he was bleeding on the ground.

She dropped to the ground and reached out to see if Sionnach was alive.

As she touched his arm, he became visible to Jayce as well.

Jayce dropped to his knees beside her, looking as shocked as she felt, and she wished now that she could shelter him from her world. Seeing bloodied bodies appearing out of the air was understandably startling; the ugly part of Rika’s world—the part where violence was not rare—wasn’t something she’d ever planned to share with Jayce.

He looked like he might be sick for a moment, but then he swallowed and asked, “Is he alive?”

“Yes. He’s alive still.” As she examined Sionnach, her hand brushed the weapon, still dirty with Sionnach’s blood. She recoiled in pain and disgust. “Iron.”

Jayce glanced at the weapon she was carefully not touching now.

“Can you pick it up so I can have someone get the . . . scent from it later? To track who did this?” She knew she was blushing, as if the faeries’ more natural animal traits were embarrassing. This, too, she would rather have not shared with him.