He turns to me, and the look on his face is hard. “Certainly someone seems to know, don’t they, Anora?”

I decide not to say anything else, but I wonder why he’s still here, offering to take me to Shy’s, if all this reminds him of the day his mother died.

Shy’s house is a charming two-story cottage. I try imagining Shy and the others fitting their massive wings through the doorway of such a normal-looking structure, but I can’t. Even with everything I am and everything I saw tonight, I find it hard to accept shape-shifters. Maybe it’s because I can make sense of everything else. Souls are lost, and their energy creates creatures like the one I saw tonight, but whatever Shy, Natalie, and Jacobi are, well…that has no explanation.

We exit the car and approach the house. The windows are open, and I can hear Natalie’s raised voice.

“What are you thinking? Not turning her over to the Order?”

“I told you. I want to hear her story,” Shy responds.

“As if that changes anything! She’s still the Eurydice. She’s still the Order’s responsibility.”

“We’re part of the Order, and we’re being responsible.”

Thane slams the door closed behind me, announcing our presence, and all goes quiet. After a moment, Shy appears in the entryway. I meet his gaze, finding it angrier than I anticipated. That earlier feeling of recognition is back, knotting up my chest. Why does his disapproval hurt? His eyes slide behind me to Thane, who’s standing so close, I can feel the brush of his body against mine. His gaze falls to our feet.

“Shoes off.”

He turns and goes into the living room. I glance at Thane, who has already stooped to unlace his boots. I follow his example, shucking off my shoes beside the others piled close to the door. I guess everyone but me is used to this when visiting Shy’s house.

We meet the others in the living room. Jacobi’s sitting on the couch, bent over a laptop. Natalie’s beside him, and Shy’s in the armchair across from me. We stare at each other, not even trying to hide it. I don’t know his excuse, but I’m trying to figure out why I suddenly feel like I’m having déjà vu.

Thane clears his throat. “Get your interrogation over, Savior,” he says.

“First, I want to know what that thing was and why it looked like my poppa,” I say.

Shy’s eyes seem to soften at the use of my endearment.

“The creature is called a cercatore,” he responds. “It morphs into what you want most, to set a trap and drain your blood.”