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The car smells like leather and something else. Something wild I can't name.
Darius hasn't said a word since we left the diner. His hands are white-knuckle tight on the wheel, streetlights flashing past. I'm sitting here with three grand stuffed in my jacket because he shoved the rest back in his bag when those two guys showed up. The ones who knelt like he was royalty.
Mafia boss? Gang leader?
The search results didn't tell me much. Just that crescent moon symbol and Vivienne Lake's name next to expensive real estate and charity galas. And one photo from six years ago. A funeral. Darius in a black suit, face carved from stone. Vivienne standing three feet away in a dress that probably cost more than my mom's car.
Elise Cain's funeral.
I shouldn't have clicked it. But I did. Now I can't stop seeing the way Vivienne looked at him in that photo. Not grief. Something else.
Hunger.
"You gonna tell me where we're going?" I ask.
Darius doesn't look at me. "Somewhere safe."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
I should be scared. Should demand he pull over and let me out. But I don't know where else to go. My apartment isn't safe anymore. Not if those guys know where I live. Not if they've got that symbol tattooed on their necks and Vivienne Lake's connected to all this.
And my mom.
My mom's name made Darius look like he'd seen a ghost.
"Who was she?" I say quietly. "My mom. You recognized her name."
His jaw tightens. "Not now."
"Then when?"
"When I figure out what the hell's going on."
He takes a sharp turn off the main road, heading south into a neighborhood I don't recognize. The buildings here are older. Industrial. Warehouses and lofts with big windows, some dark, some glowing warm. Not the kind of place I'd expect someone like him to live.
Then again, I don't know what I expected.
We pull into an underground garage beneath a converted factory. The gate rolls shut behind us with a heavy clang that makes my stomach drop. Darius kills the engine and sits there, hands still on the wheel.
"Listen to me," he says, voice low. "The people upstairs are gonna have questions. Don't answer them. Don't tell them anything about your mother, that pendant, or why you were in that alley. You're here because I said so. That's it."
"Who are they?"
"My people."
That doesn't clarify anything.
But he's already getting out, so I follow.
The elevator ride up is silent. I watch the numbers climb. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth. When the doors open, I'm hit with noise. Music playing somewhere, low and steady. Voices. Laughter. The smell of food cooking.
We step into a loft that's bigger than my entire apartment building.
Exposed brick. High ceilings. Leather couches grouped around a massive TV. A kitchen area where two guys are arguing over something on the stove. A pool table in the corner. Floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city lights.
And people. Maybe a dozen of them, scattered around the space.
All of them stop what they're doing the second we walk in.
"Boss," one of the guys by the stove says. He's tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair pulled back in a knot. His eyes flick from Darius to me and back again. "Didn't know you were bringing company."
"Kyle," Darius says flatly. "We need to talk."
Kyle sets down whatever he was holding and comes over. Up close, he's got the same kind of presence Darius does. That weight in the air, like they take up more space than they should. His eyes are pale gray and they don't leave my face.
"Who's this?" Kyle asks.
"Someone under my protection," Darius says.
Kyle's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his posture. "Your protection."
"That's what I said."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
Kyle looks at me again. Slower this time. I feel it like a physical thing, that stare. Like he's seeing through my skin, cataloging everything I am and everything I'm not.
I force myself to meet his eyes. Don't look away.
"She's human," Kyle says.
Darius doesn't answer.
"She smells—" Kyle stops. Frowns. "Wait. No. She doesn't smell human."
My heart kicks hard. "Excuse me?"
Kyle steps closer. I step back without thinking, and Darius moves. Just a shift of his weight, but suddenly he's between us. Not touching me. Not touching Kyle.
Just there.
"Back off," Darius says quietly.
Kyle stares at him. "You've gotta be kidding me."
"I'm not."
"You can't be serious. After what happened—"
"I said back off."
The room goes dead quiet.
Everyone's watching now. I don't understand what's happening, but I feel it. That crackling tension, like the moment before a fight breaks out.
Kyle raises his hands slowly, palms out. "Fine. Your call, boss. But the pack's gonna want answers."
"They'll get them when I'm ready."
Kyle's mouth tightens, but he nods and steps back. The tension doesn't leave, though. It hangs there, thick and suffocating.
Darius turns to me. "Come on."
He leads me through the loft, past all those watching eyes, to a door on the far side. A hallway beyond. Another door. He unlocks it and gestures me inside.
It's a bedroom. Clean. Simple. A bed, a dresser, a window with blackout curtains. Smells like laundry detergent and nothing else.
"You'll stay here tonight," Darius says. "Don't leave this room unless I come get you."
"Wait—"
"I mean it, Isla. These people are loyal to me, but they're not gonna understand why you're here. Not yet. So stay put."
He starts to leave.
"Darius."
He stops, hand on the doorframe. Doesn't turn around.
"What did he mean?" I ask. "About me not smelling human."
For a long moment, he doesn't answer.
Then, quietly: "Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."
The door closes behind him.
I hear the lock click.
I'm alone.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and pull out my phone. My hands are shaking. Fear or adrenaline or something else, I don't know. I open the browser, pull up that photo again. Vivienne Lake at the funeral. That crescent moon symbol on the programs, on the flowers, on the gate behind them.
The same symbol tattooed on those guys' necks.
I close the browser. Open my photos instead. Scroll back four years. There's not many left. Most got corrupted when my old phone died.
But there's one. Just one.
My mom, standing in front of our old apartment building, smiling at the camera. She's wearing that pendant. The one I still have in my pocket right now. The cheap metal one I always thought was flea market junk.
I pull it out and hold it up to the light.
It's tarnished. Scratched. The chain broken. But the design's still visible if you look close.
A crescent moon.
And beneath it, three wavy lines.
Water.
My stomach drops.
No.
No, that's not possible. That's Vivienne Lake's symbol. The one all over those search results. The one that means money and power and a whole world I don't belong to.
So why the hell was my mom wearing it?