Johan had said that Kitty was his friend, but this scene told a different story—one that Tera was still trying to piece together. She continued around the building, following the subdued glow from her cell phone, looking for Johan’s point of entry. She found it soon after: an open window, its lower pane broken. Tera peered inside, determining what would once have been an office. A few pieces of furniture remained: an overturned chair, a desk, a filing cabinet with two of its empty drawers yawning. She pocketed her phone, climbed through the window, and fumbled her way toward the crack of light beneath the office door. Broken glass crunched underfoot.

There was no peephole in the door through which Tera could assess the hallway beyond, so she did the next best thing: She held her breath and listened. No voices. No footsteps. Judging by how far she’d skulked around the side of the building, Tera estimated that she was between thirty and fifty yards from the lobby. She opened the door a few inches and checked both ways. The emergency lighting hummed hesitantly, just strong enough to reveal an empty hallway. Tera pulled her Beretta and stepped outside.

She moved toward the lobby, walking as softly as she was able in her bootheels. Johan’s voice drifted to her. It was deep and aggressive. She heard Kitty, too, pleading, racked with fear. Tera reached the end of the hallway, peeked around the edge of the wall, then crept through the gloom and huddled behind the concierge’s desk. A scorpion scuttled across one of its lower shelves, its tail hooked.

“You can consider this retribution for all of your sins,” Johan boomed. “Not just the sin of crossing me, and trying to fuck up my canary business.”

“Johan, please . . . please let us go.”

Tera advanced behind the desk—she scuttled, much like the scorpion, her tail also hooked—and moved into the darkness of the adjoining restaurant. She had a better view from here. She watched and listened.

Luke’s vision swam. The gaps between the tiles rippled and merged. Johan circled him, dragging his ax. He appeared calm, but Luke heard the agitation in his breathing. Adrenaline? Anticipation? He was like an animal, about to feed.

“Are you familiar with the blood-eagle ritual?” he asked.

Kitty cried out and lunged forward again. Xander halted her with another ringing slap. She rocked on her feet and he pressed the barrel of his pistol to her skull.

“Try that again,” he snarled. “Please, I’m begging you.”

Johan inhaled, growing a full ten inches, expanding in his savagery as Luke shrank.