An argument ensued, during which Ángel learned that weasel-face’s name was Ron and he was the older guy’s son. Ángel gathered that Logan had sought out the local anti-elf cell and sold them on his foolproof plan, and that now he was in deep shit.

“He must have figured it out somehow.” Logan waved a hand at Ángel. “Dumbass little cocksucker.”

There was so much venom in his voice that Ángel was unable to control a cringe.

“If he’s such a dumbass, how’d he figure it out?” Aaron, his new best friend, stood like a rock, arms folded across his big chest. “Unless someone even dumber tipped his hand. Huh, Logan? How do you think that happened?”

“Enough.” The leader’s voice was sharp and cold. “None of that matters now. Tommy is dead, the elf is alive. We have to decide what to do next—are we safe here, or do we run? And what do we do with him?”

They all looked at Ángel.

Ángel frantically tried to think of something to say—some reason they should keep him alive. Dizzy and ill, he couldn’t think of anything.

They argued some more. Ángel strove to keep from hyperventilating with terror. Eventually they decided they’d “put him on ice,” and he squeezed his eyes shut, stomach clenching with fear. He opened them again when Aaron grabbed him by the collar of his coat and hauled him outside. Ángel couldn’t quite control a high cry of alarm; he struggled and Aaron punched him in the kidney. His legs gave way and he collapsed, gagging. Aaron unceremoniously dragged him through the snow to a small wooden shed. He threw him in, and Ángel sprawled on the concrete floor, staring at Aaron’s silhouette in the doorway.

“Listen up. You stay here while we figure out what to do. If you piss us off, we’ll shoot you, and we know where to put your body where no one will ever find it. Got it?”

“Yeah,” whispered Ángel.

“Good.” Aaron paused. “There’s a space heater and some blankets. Piss in the bucket, please. Don’t set the shed on fire. We’ll come get you when we decide what to do with you.”

Ángel nodded. Aaron slammed the door, and Ángel heard him lock it.

Ángel bowed his head in despair. Tears dropped onto the concrete floor, and froze there.

After a few minutes, he forced himself to teeter to his feet. He tugged a chain to turn on the light—a single bulb hanging by its cord from the ceiling—and looked around.