If I didn’t know better, Felix had taken Quen away intentionally so Trent and I could talk. The feeling strengthened when Trent glanced at me and turned away, making me feel as if we were two wallflowers at a dance, left by our respective dates so we could “get to know each other,” Trent in his three-piece suit that cost more than my car, and me in a slinky tawny number I’d probably never wear again ever.

Then the woman on the couch began sobbing again, and the feeling died.

“This is ugly,” Trent said. The mask was gone.

He hadn’t asked what Quen and I had been doing, and my shoulders eased. “How serious is the I.S. treating this?”

Trent’s breath came out a shade too forceful, the small tell ringing through me. He was worried—a lot. “Not seriously enough.”

That I could tell already, but Trent wouldn’t be out here for just this. “How many babies are missing?” I said, wincing as the mother balled up her tissue in a tight, white-knuckled grip, her eyes red-rimmed and drained. “Other than this one, I mean. The press said three.”

His gaze somewhere across the room, Trent whispered, “Eight total across the United States, but the I.S. is only admitting to those that get leaked to the press. The one just before this was a set of twins from a prominent political figure. They were over a month old. The parents are devastated. They don’t know why their babies were surviving. Most of the infants abducted are male, which is odd since the female gender has a naturally higher resistance.”

That was why he was here, and my eyebrows rose as he faced me, whispering, “It’s not me. Someone has been giving them the enzyme that blocks the destructive actions of the Rosewood genes or they would never have lived even this long. Now that whoever is doing this knows that it works, he or she is coming back and stealing the infants who have been treated.”

A sick feeling stole over me as I looked into the living room with its pain and guilt. “HAPA?”

He shook his head. “Felix says no.”

That info was questionable at best, but I’d go with it until I heard otherwise. “Well, who else knows what these babies are capable of invoking?”

Trent gracefully turned to look down the hall as if wanting to leave. He was tired, but it was only because he was letting his guard down that I could tell. “Anyone can piece it together—now that it’s common knowledge what you are.” His gaze came back to me, an empty regret in them. “The sole survivor of Rosewood syndrome happens to be a demon? Perhaps we were lucky it took this long. That an enzyme can keep them alive, though?” His lips pressed together. “A handful know that, and most of them work for me.”