“St. George,” I murmured as we slowly picked our way through the rubble and charred furniture. “Is there any way the Order could have done this?”

He frowned. “It doesn’t seem like them,” he answered, though he sounded unsure. “They would have no reason to attack this place unless there was a dragon living here. But even then...” He gazed around the devastated living room. “They wouldn’t take out the entire community. That would raise way too many questions.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Which is why I’m having a really hard time believing that Talon was behind this. They’re just as paranoid about discovery as the Order, if not more so. I mean, that’s their entire freaking philosophy—stay hidden, blend in, don’t let the humans know about dragons.” I stared through the giant hole in the wall to the house across the street. Unlike this home, it had been completely devastated, burned to the ground, only a few twisted frames poking up from the ashes. “Something this huge...it flies in the face of every single thing Talon taught us since the day the organization was founded. Why would they be breaking all their rules now? It makes no sense at all.” I raked a hand through my hair, shaking my head as I groped for an answer. “Maybe this wasn’t Talon or St. George. Maybe this was a random terrorist attack, or something else entirely human.”

“Riley,” Ember said from the living room, her voice urgent. “Take a look at this.”

I walked to where she was crouched beside an overturned coffee table, staring at a patch of cheap carpet. The carpet was gray and thin, but when she moved the table aside, a large brown stain came to light. I winced.

“Yep, that’s blood. Dammit. Well, I’d say we have a pretty good indication of what happened to the people here.”

“No,” Ember said, putting a hand on my arm. “That’s not what I wanted to show you. Look at this.”

She pointed to the coffee table, holding it on its side. It was scorched on one corner, a large black burn mark covering half the surface, but below that, raked across the wood, were four long, straight gashes.

“What do those look like?” Ember whispered, and I closed my eyes.

“Claw marks.”

“Excuse me.”

We turned. Two men were entering the trailer home, frowning at us as they stepped through the door.

“I’m sorry,” the older one said, gazing around at us, “but this is an ongoing investigation. Who are you, and what authorization do you have to be here?”

Before I could stand up or say anything, Jade turned, flashing her badge for both men to see. “Department of Homeland Security,” she said in a firm, no-nonsense voice. “We are here to assess the situation and determine whether or not we need to escalate the current threat level.”