Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXXCJ5WW5S4MXVDRZCFF3N

The knock came twice. Sharp. Deliberate. Rory's hand froze on the deadbolt. Nobody knocked like that except coppers and people who meant trouble. Given the hour and the fact she'd been keeping her nose clean lately, that left the second option. "Open up, Rory. I know you're there." The voice hit her like a fist to the solar plexus. French accent wrapped around her name like silk and broken glass. She hadn't heard it in three years, two months, and sixteen days. Not that she'd been counting. "Go away, Lucien." "Can't do that." A pause. "The hallway smells like curry and disappointment. Your neighbours must love you." She pressed her forehead against the door. The wood was cool, solid. Real. Unlike the ghost haunting her landing. "What do you want?" "To talk." "We did that already. Didn't end well." "Open the door, Aurora." Her full name. He only used that when things mattered. When the game turned serious. Her fingers worked the locks without permission, muscle memory overriding common sense. Three deadbolts. Click. Click. Click. Each one a small betrayal. The door swung inward. Lucien Moreau stood in her hallway like he'd stepped out of a magazine spread on how to dress for your own funeral. Charcoal suit cut to perfection. Platinum hair slicked back. Those impossible eyes — one amber, one black — studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "You look well." "You look the same." The words came out sharper than intended. "Still playing dress-up, I see." His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "May I come in?" "No." He shifted his weight, ivory-handled cane tapping once against the floor. "The Bengali family in 3B are about to have dinner. They'll invite me to join if they see me loitering. Lovely people, but their idea of mild curry could strip paint." "Not my problem." "It will be when they start asking questions about your gentleman caller." Rory stepped back. Just enough. He slipped past her, bringing the scent of expensive cologne and something darker. Sulphur and cinnamon. The demon side of his heritage always smelled like bonfire night. Her flat looked smaller with him in it. Books and papers covered every surface, Eva's research bleeding across the coffee table like spilled ink. Ptolemy lifted his head from the sofa, yellow eyes narrowing at the intruder. "You've been busy." Lucien picked up a scroll, careful not to disturb the salt circle drawn around it. "Sumerian?" "Put that down." He did. Immediately. Which somehow made it worse. "Why are you here?" "I need your help." A laugh escaped before she could stop it. Bitter as burnt coffee. "That's rich." "I'm serious." "You're always serious. Seriously manipulative. Seriously self-serving. Seriously—" "In danger." The words hung between them. Rory's hands found her hips, defensive posture she'd perfected during their last argument. The one that ended with her throwing his cane out a third-story window and him suggesting she had anger management issues. "Not my circus, not my monkeys." "Charming." He moved deeper into the flat, each step measured. "Though technically, I believe the Polish say 'nie mój cyrk, nie moje małpy.'" "Get out." "I can't." For the first time since she'd opened the door, something cracked in his perfect composure. "They have leverage." "Who's they?" "The kind of people who make my usual associates look like choir boys." He paused by her bookshelf, fingers ghosting over the spines. "You still have it." She followed his gaze to the leather journal wedged between two grimoires. His gift from their first month together. Back when she thought mysterious could be romantic instead of exhausting. "I keep meaning to burn it." "But you don't." "I've been busy." "For three years?" "Some of us have actual jobs." She grabbed the journal, shoving it into a drawer. "We can't all be professional shadows." "Information broker." "Same difference." Ptolemy chose that moment to investigate, winding around Lucien's legs with feline curiosity. Traitor. "He remembers me." "He remembers everyone who feeds him. Don't read into it." Lucien crouched, scratching behind the cat's ears with practiced ease. The movement made his suit jacket ride up, revealing the edge of a bandage wrapped around his ribs. Fresh blood had seeped through, staining the white fabric rust-red. "Jesus." The concern slipped out before she could catch it. "What happened?" "Occupational hazard." He straightened, face carefully neutral. "Nothing serious." "You're bleeding on my floor." "Barely." "That's not the point." "What is the point, Aurora? That you care? Or that you're angry you care?" The question landed like a slap. Three years of carefully constructed walls threatened to crumble from six words and a bloodstain. "Sit down before you fall down." "I'm fine." "You're swaying." "The floor's uneven." "It's a Victorian conversion, not a funhouse." She grabbed his elbow, steering him toward the sofa. "Sit." He sat. The fact that he didn't argue worried her more than the blood. "Take off your jacket." "Forward as ever." "Shut up." The jacket came off in stages, each movement deliberate despite the pain it obviously caused. Underneath, his white shirt was ruined. The bandage covered most of his left side, professional but hastily applied. "Hospital work?" "Private clinic. Discrete." "Discrete or discreet?" "Both, ideally." His heterochromatic gaze tracked her movements as she gathered supplies from the bathroom. "You kept the first aid kit." "I keep lots of things." She dropped beside him, scissors in hand. "This is going to hurt." "Most things do." She cut away the bandage with steady hands, revealing three parallel gashes across his ribs. Deep. Deliberate. Claw marks from something that wasn't quite animal. "What did this?" "Would you believe a very angry housecat?" "No." "Then I'd rather not say." "Lucien—" "The less you know, the safer you are." "Says the man bleeding on my sofa." "Fair point." He hissed as she cleaned the wounds with antiseptic. "Though technically, I'm bleeding on your cushions. The sofa frame remains pristine." "I'm going to stab you with these scissors." "Please don't. I've had enough sharp objects in me this week." Her hands stilled. "This week? How many times—" "Rory." The nickname stopped her. He'd called her Aurora since walking in, keeping that careful distance between them. But Rory was intimate. Personal. A reminder of better times before everything went sideways. "Don't." "I wouldn't be here if I had anywhere else to go." "I find that hard to believe. You know everyone in this city." "I knew everyone. Past tense. Things change when you refuse a direct order from the Covenant." The Covenant. She'd heard Eva mention them. Old power. Older than London itself. The kind of people who collected favours like stamps and called in debts with compound interest. "What did they want?" "What they always want. Information on someone under my protection." "And you said no?" She taped fresh gauze over the wounds, trying not to think about how familiar this felt. How many times she'd patched him up in the early days, before she understood the cost of loving someone who traded in secrets. "I said no." "Why?" "Because some things matter more than survival." The words hung between them, loaded with meaning. She finished with the bandage, sitting back on her heels. "There. Try not to bleed through that one." "Your bedside manner's improved." "I've had practice." "On who?" The question came out sharper than he'd probably intended. Jealousy didn't suit him, but there it was, green as spring grass. "Myself, mostly. London's not exactly safe for delivery drivers." "You're still doing that?" "Food doesn't deliver itself." "You have a law degree." "I have half a law degree and a mountain of student debt. We've had this conversation." "We've had many conversations." "And look how well those turned out." Ptolemy jumped onto the sofa between them, a furry referee in their verbal boxing match. Lucien scratched under his chin, earning a purr loud enough to wake the neighbours. "I missed this." "The cat?" "Everything." He leaned back, exhaustion finally showing through the cracks. "Your terrible tea. Eva's conspiracy theories. Even that bloody awful curry smell from downstairs." "Don't." "Don't what?" "Don't come here playing the nostalgia card. You left, remember?" "You threw me out." "After you lied about the Morrison job." "I withheld certain details." "You got me arrested." "Briefly." "Two nights in holding isn't briefly." "I got you released." "You got me released because you needed me to finish the job." The anger felt good. Familiar. Safer than whatever else was trying to crawl up her throat. "Just like now. You need something, so here you are. What is it this time? Translation work? Someone need their palms read? Or am I playing bait again?" "None of the above." "Then what?" He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a photograph. Worn edges suggested he'd been carrying it for a while. "I need you to find someone." She took the photo. A woman, early thirties, dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. Office clothes. The kind of person who'd blend into any crowd. "Who is she?" "Margaret Chen. Accountant. Worked for a firm in the City until she disappeared six weeks ago." "And?" "And she has something the Covenant wants. Something they're willing to kill for." "What kind of something?" "The kind that could reshape the balance of power in London. Human and otherwise." Rory studied the photo. The woman looked normal. Tired, maybe. Dark circles under her eyes like she'd been working too many late nights. But normal people didn't disappear with supernatural WMDs. "Why me?" "Because you're the only person in this city who found four missing people when everyone else had given up. Because you think sideways when everyone else thinks straight. Because—" "Because you're out of options." "That too." At least he was honest about it. Sort of. Honesty and Lucien had a complicated relationship, like everything else about him. "What makes you think I'll help?" "I don't." He stood, grinding his teeth against the pain. "But I had to ask." "Where are you going?" "Away. You're right. This was a mistake." "Sit down, you idiot. You'll tear the stitches." "They're butterfly strips, not stitches." "Same principle." She pushed him back onto the sofa, irritated at herself for caring. "You can't leave in this state." "Watch me." "I am watching. You're white as paper and sweating like you've run a marathon. When's the last time you ate?" "Tuesday." "It's Friday." "Then Tuesday." "Lucien." "I've been rather busy bleeding." She moved to the kitchen, muscle memory navigating the familiar space. The fridge held leftover takeaway from the Golden Empress, some questionable cheese, and half a bottle of wine she'd been saving for emergencies. This probably qualified. "Chicken or beef?" "I'm not hungry." "Wasn't the question." "Chicken, then." She heated the food, trying not to think about how easily they'd fallen back into old patterns. Him bleeding on her furniture. Her feeding him. The cat playing mediator. Some things never changed, apparently. "The photo," she called from the kitchen. "Where was it taken?" "Outside her office building. Three days before she vanished." "Security footage?" "Wiped. Very professionally." "Flatmates? Family?" "None and estranged, respectively." "Convenient." "Quite." She returned with two plates and the wine. He accepted both with a grace that made her remember why she'd fallen for him in the first place. Even half-dead, Lucien Moreau moved like a dancer. "So Margaret Chen stumbles across something worldshaking and decides to vanish rather than cash in. Either she's very noble or very scared." "Both, I suspect." "You've met her?" "Once. Briefly. She came to me seeking protection." "And?" "And I arranged a safe house. New identity. The works." "Let me guess. The Covenant found her anyway." "No." He set down his chopsticks. "She ran. Left the safe house after two days. Took whatever she was hiding and disappeared properly this time." "Smart woman." "Too smart. She knows they'll never stop looking." "Neither will you, apparently." "I gave my word." "To her or the Covenant?" "To myself." He met her eyes. "I told her she'd be safe. I failed. That matters." And there it was. The thing that made Lucien impossible to hate completely. Buried under all the games and half-truths was a man who kept his promises. Even when it cost him. "Fine." "Fine?" "I'll help. But there are conditions." "Of course there are." "First, full disclosure. No lies, no creative omissions, no 'I'll tell you later' bullshit." "Agreed." "Second, we do this my way. No improvising, no side angles, no surprise appearances from your colourful associates." "Reasonable." "Third, when we find her, she decides what happens next. Not you, not the Covenant. Her." "I wouldn't have it otherwise." "Fourth—" "How many conditions are there?" "Fourth, you sleep on the sofa. This isn't... we're not..." "I understand." "Do you?" "You're helping because it's the right thing to do. Not because of our history. Though speaking of history—" The window exploded inward in a shower of glass and fury. Rory hit the floor, pulling Lucien with her. Ptolemy yowled, launching himself toward the bedroom. Smart cat. "Friends of yours?" "Never seen them before in my life." Three figures poured through the destroyed window. Not human. Not entirely. Grey skin pulled too tight over elongated limbs. Eyes like black marbles. Covenant enforcement, if she had to guess. The kind of muscle that didn't ask questions because dead men had no curiosity. "Aurora Carter." The lead creature's voice sounded like grinding stone. "You will come with us." "Popular as always," Lucien murmured. "Shut up." She grabbed the nearest weapon — Eva's authenticated Saxon sword letter opener. "I don't suppose we can discuss this like civilised beings?" "The Covenant requires your presence." "I'm washing my hair." "You will come." "She really won't." Lucien stood, cane spinning in his hand. The hidden blade clicked free. "Gentlemen. Shall we dance?" The creatures moved faster than anything had a right to. Rory rolled left as claws raked the floor where she'd been. The letter opener found grey flesh, sinking deep. The creature screamed, black blood spraying across her books. "Eva's going to kill me." "Priorities, love." She wanted to snap back, but creature number two was already on her. She grabbed its wrist, using momentum to slam it into the wall. Plaster cracked. The creature bounced back, angrier than before. Lucien fought like he did everything else — with style and devastating efficiency. His blade painted arcs in the air, silver lines that grey flesh couldn't cross. But he was hurt, slow. The third creature caught him across the shoulders, sending him into the bookshelf. "No!" The word tore from her throat before she could stop it. Mistake. Creature two grabbed her distraction, claws finding her throat. Not squeezing. Yet. Just letting her know who was in charge. "You will come quietly now." "Actually," Lucien said from the floor, "she won't." He threw something. Small. Glass. It shattered against creature two's head, releasing purple smoke that smelled like burnt sugar and bad decisions. The creature's grip loosened. Its eyes rolled back. It dropped like a stone. "What was that?" "Thursday's backup plan." He accepted her hand up, wincing. "We should go." "My flat—" "Will be crawling with more of them in minutes." He kicked creature one, still bleeding from the letter opener. "These are just scouts." She grabbed her jacket, shoving the photo of Margaret Chen into the pocket. Ptolemy meowed from the bedroom doorway. "Take the fire escape. Mrs. Patel in 2A will feed him." "How do you know Mrs. Patel?" "Later." They climbed through the shattered window, feet finding the rusty metal of the fire escape. Behind them, something howled. More creatures. Getting closer. "My car's two blocks east," Lucien said. "You're in no condition to drive." "Then you drive." "I don't have a licence." "Since when has that stopped you?" Fair point. They clattered down the stairs, metal shrieking under their weight. The alley below stank of bins and broken dreams. Home sweet home. "This way." He led her through London's maze of back streets, moving with the confidence of someone who'd spent years learning every shadow. Even bleeding, even hunted, Lucien Moreau owned this city's darkness. His car sat under a broken streetlight. Of course it did. Black Mercedes, windows tinted past legal. The kind of car that whispered money and danger in equal measure. "Keys." He tossed them over. She slid behind the wheel, adjusting the seat. Everything smelled like leather and that damned cologne. "Where to?" "Anywhere but here." She gunned it, tyres squealing. In the mirror, grey shapes poured from the alley. Too late, boys. Rory Carter knew how to run. She'd been doing it all her life. "So," she said, taking a corner on two wheels, "Thursday's backup plan?" "I may have anticipated some complications." "You knew they were coming." "I suspected someone might take issue with my refusal." He pressed a hand to his ribs. Fresh blood seeped through. "Though I expected more finesse." "The Covenant's not known for subtlety." "No. Which is what concerns me." He directed her through a series of turns, each one taking them deeper into London's industrial heart. "They wanted you to see them coming." "Why?" "Because they want you scared. Reactive. Making mistakes." His reflection in the passenger window looked thoughtful. "The question is why you? I'm the one who denied them." "Maybe they know about my spectacular record of finding people." "Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. "Pull over here." Here was a warehouse that looked like it had died in the seventies and nobody had bothered with a funeral. Graffiti covered most surfaces. The rest was rust and regret. "Safehouse?" "Something like that." Inside was different. Clean. Organised. Set up like a high-end flat dropped into industrial decay. Trust Lucien to have backup plans for his backup plans. "Drink?" He moved to a well-stocked bar, movements careful. "Answers." "Those too." He poured two glasses of something amber and expensive. "Margaret Chen isn't just an accountant." "Shocking." "She's an actuarial savant. Sees patterns others miss. Calculates probability like breathing." He handed her a glass. "Six weeks ago, she was hired to audit a company called Meridian Holdings." "Never heard of them." "You wouldn't have. Shell company. One of hundreds the Covenant uses to move resources through the human financial system." "And she found something." "She found everything. Every transaction. Every connection. A financial map of the Covenant's operations going back fifty years." He took a slow sip. "Do you understand what that means?" Rory did. The Covenant's power came from shadows and secrets. Expose their financial network, and you exposed everything. Assets. Associates. Weaknesses. "She has leverage." "She has a nuclear bomb. And they want it back." "Or buried." "That too." She drained her glass, alcohol burning away the taste of fear and grey blood. "Why didn't she come to the police?" "With what? Spreadsheets showing supernatural creatures have bank accounts? They'd section her." "Fair point." She studied him over the rim of her glass. "There's more." "Isn't there always?" "Lucien." "She didn't just take the data." He refilled both glasses. "She took something else. Something physical from their deepest vault." "What kind of something?" "The kind that predates human civilisation. The kind the Covenant was founded to protect." His mismatched eyes met hers. "The kind that could end the world if used incorrectly." "You're joking." "I rarely joke about apocalypses. Apocalypti? What's the plural?" "You let me agree to find someone carrying a doomsday device?" "Technically, you insisted on conditions first." She threw her glass. He ducked. Crystal shattered against the wall, leaving an amber stain. "That was Waterford." "That was justified." "Perhaps." He picked up a shard, examining it. "But now we're down to five glasses." "I'm going to kill you." "Join the queue." "This isn't funny." "No," he agreed. "It's not. Which is why I need your help. You find people, Rory. People who don't want to be found. And right now, Margaret Chen is the most important missing person in London." "Because she has your magical WMD." "Because she's a good person who tried to do the right thing and is now being hunted by monsters. The WMD is secondary." "Is it?" "Yes." The simple answer surprised her. Lucien dealt in layers and complexities. Straight answers were as rare as honest politicians. "What happens if the Covenant finds her first?" "Best case? They kill her quickly." "Worst case?" "They take her apart looking for what she took. Then they kill everyone she's ever spoken to. Including me. Including you, now." "You bastard." "Yes." At least he owned it. She grabbed the bottle, forgetting glasses altogether. The alcohol helped. Not much, but some. "How long do we have?" "Hard to say. Hours. Days if we're lucky." "And if we're not lucky?" "Then those three scouts were just the beginning." He moved to the window, scanning the street below. "They'll mobilise everything. Hunters. Trackers. Things that haven't seen moonlight in centuries." "All for one accountant." "All for what she represents. Proof that their system can be beaten. That humans can fight back." He turned from the window. "They can't allow that precedent." "So we find her first." "We find her first." "Any ideas where to start?" "Several. But you're not going to like them." "I already don't like any of this." "Fair." He pulled out his phone, scrolling through contacts. "We need resources. Information. Bodies on the ground." "Your network." "What's left of it. The Covenant's been thorough. Half my contacts are dead. The other half are scared." He paused on a name. "But there are always those who enjoy chaos more than comfort." "Who?" "Someone you've met. Briefly." Her stomach dropped. "No." "He owes me a favour." "Absolutely not." "Three favours, actually." "Lucien, I swear—" "Hello, Viktor? It's Lucien. Yes, I'm aware of the hour." He switched to rapid Russian. Rory caught maybe one word in ten. Something about debts and daughters and Detroit. She grabbed the phone. "End it." "Rory says hello," Lucien said in English. "Yes, that Rory. No, we're not — it's complicated." "It's not complicated. We're nothing." "She says we're nothing," Lucien translated. "I know. Women, right?" She hit him. Not hard, but enough to make her point. He winced, hand going to his ribs. "Sorry. No, not you, Viktor. Yes, Tuesday's fine. Usual place? Perfect." He hung up. "He'll have information by then." "I'm not meeting Viktor bloody Volkov." "You threw wine at him. He found it charming." "I threw wine at him because he suggested I'd look better as a brunette while his hand was on my arse." "To be fair, you did break his fingers." "Only two." "Three. The pinky never healed right." "Good." Lucien's phone buzzed. He frowned at the screen. "That's interesting." "What?" "Motion sensors. We have company." She moved to the window. The street below looked empty. Too empty. The kind of empty that meant someone had cleared it. "Covenant?" "Wrong signature. These are... different." "Different how?" "Human." The door exploded inward. Not grey creatures this time. Men in tactical gear, moving with military precision. Red dots danced across her chest. "Nobody move." "I'm getting déjà vu," she muttered. "Ms Carter. Mr Moreau." The lead soldier kept his weapon trained. Professional. Calm. The dangerous kind. "You'll come with us. Please." "At least he said please," Lucien observed. "Not helping." "Just noting the improved manners. The Covenant could learn something." "Sir, we have a schedule to keep." "Of course." Lucien raised his hands. "Might I ask who's employing you? Professional curiosity." "Someone who wants Ms Carter alive and unharmed." "Just me?" "Our orders were specific." "How flattering." She glanced at Lucien. "Thoughts?" "Several. None helpful." "Going to fight?" "With what? Harsh language?" He stepped forward slowly. "Gentlemen. We'll come quietly. No need for unpleasantness." "Smart choice." They zip-tied their hands. Professional courtesy — in front, not behind. Someone wanted them comfortable. That worried her more than violence would have. "Black van?" Lucien asked as they were led outside. "Really?" "Budget cuts," the soldier said. "Everyone's feeling the pinch." "Tell me about it. I used to have three safe houses in London. Now look at me. Slumming it in Zone 3." "This is Zone 2." "Is it? I lose track." "Can you stop making friends with the people kidnapping us?" "I'm networking. You never know when a contact might prove useful." "You're insane." "Probably." They were loaded into the van. Clean. No windows. Two guards watched them while the rest took positions up front. The engine started, smooth and quiet. Expensive. Like everything else about this operation. "Any idea where we're going?" Rory asked. "Bearing and speed suggest northwest. Mayfair, possibly. Maybe St John's Wood." "How can you tell?" "The turns. London's medieval street plan makes navigation mathematical if you know the patterns." "Or you could just look at my watch," one guard offered. "GPS tracker. Wife got it for me. Doesn't trust me since the thing in Brighton." "What happened in Brighton?" Lucien asked. "Stag do. What happens in Brighton—" "Stays in Brighton," the other guard finished. "Except when it follows you home and starts asking about child support." "You had one job, Terry. Keep Dave away from the karaoke bar." "Have you tried keeping Dave away from anything? Man's like a labrador with opposable thumbs." Rory stared at them. "Are you seriously discussing your mate's love life while kidnapping us?" "It's a long drive," Terry said. "Got to pass the time somehow." "Twenty minutes in this traffic," Dave added. "Maybe thirty if there's construction on the Westway." "There's always construction on the Westway." "True. Remember when they said it'd be done by Christmas?" "Which Christmas?" "Exactly." "I've changed my mind," Rory told Lucien. "You're not the maddest person here." "I'm oddly offended by that." The van stopped. Door opened. Not Mayfair. Somewhere industrial from the smell. Diesel and rust and Thames mud. "End of the line." They were led into another warehouse. This one occupied. Guards at every entrance. Tech setup that would make GCHQ jealous. And in the centre, a woman who looked like she'd stepped from a boardroom by way of a military academy. "Ms Carter. Thank you for coming." "Did I have a choice?" "There's always a choice. I simply made one option more appealing." She turned to Lucien. "Mr Moreau. Your reputation precedes you." "Madam. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage." "Director Sarah Chen. Homeland Security. Recently seconded to a task force that doesn't officially exist." Rory's brain stuttered. "Chen?" "Margaret's my sister." The director's composure cracked slightly. "Half-sister. Different mothers. Same stubborn streak." "Government?" Lucien's voice carried careful neutrality. "How refreshing. Usually, we're kidnapped by the private sector." "This isn't a kidnapping. It's aggressive recruitment." "With zip ties?" "With incentives." Chen gestured to a guard, who cut their restraints. "Tea?" "You're offering tea?" "Earl Grey or English Breakfast. We also have coffee, but it's been sitting since morning." "This is the strangest kidnapping ever," Rory said. "Not a kidnapping," Chen repeated. "And you haven't been to Moscow. Now that's strange. They gave us champagne and concert tickets. Insisted we review the performance before negotiations." "What did you see?" Lucien asked. "Swan Lake. Adequate production. The principal dancer had weak arabesque but excellent grand jeté." "You know ballet?" "I know many things, Mr Moreau. Including why my sister came to you six weeks ago." She poured herself tea. Steady hands. "I also know why the Covenant wants her dead." "Your turn to share with the class," Rory said. "Margaret didn't just take their financial data. She took the Codex Malfectus." Lucien's teacup rattled against the saucer. "That's impossible." "What's the Codex Malfectus?" Rory asked. "The original treaty," Chen explained. "Signed in blood and worse when the Covenant was founded. It binds them. Defines their laws. Their limitations. Without it..." "Without it, they're just another criminal organisation," Lucien finished. "No mystical authority. No protection from the powers they claim to serve." "Exactly. And my sister, brilliant fool that she is, walked out with it tucked under her arm like a library book." "How?" "Because she looks like an accountant. Because she's human. Because they never imagined someone like her could even touch it, let alone steal it." "But she did." "She did. And now everyone wants her dead. The Covenant because she has their holy grail. Various supernatural factions because without the treaty, old wars can resume. Even my own government would prefer she disappear quietly rather than upset the balance." "But not you," Rory said. "She's my sister. Half-sister. Whatever. Family's family." Chen set down her cup. "Which is why I need you to find her before anyone else does." "Why us?" "Because Mr Moreau is the only broker in London who told the Covenant no and lived. Because you, Ms Carter, found four missing persons everyone else gave up on. Because together, you have a chance." "We're not together," Rory said quickly. "No? Then why did you patch his wounds? Why did he come to you when injured? Why are you both here, risking everything for a woman you've never met?" "It's complicated." "Most important things are." Chen moved to a wall covered in maps and photos. "Margaret's smart. Too smart. She'll have gone to ground properly. New identity. New appearance. Somewhere nobody would think to look." "Any suggestions?" "Several." She tapped a photo. "She loved urban exploring as a student. Abandoned places. The forgotten corners of cities. If I had to guess, she's hiding in plain sight somewhere empty." "London's full of empty." "Yes. Which is why I need the best." She turned back to them. "Find my sister. Bring her home safe. I'll handle the Covenant." "How?" Lucien asked. "Above your pay grade." "We're not being paid." "Figure of speech." She checked her watch. "You have maybe twelve hours before they mobilise fully. After that, it's a race." "And if we refuse?" "Then my sister dies. The Covenant tears London apart looking for their Codex. War breaks out between factions. And you both end up collateral damage." She smiled thinly. "But sure. Refuse." "When you put it like that," Rory muttered. "I'm glad we understand each other." Chen gestured to the door. "Dave and Terry will drive you wherever you need to go. Try not to corrupt them further." "Ma'am, we're incorruptible," Dave protested. "Since when?" "Since you started signing our cheques." "Fair point. Go. Time's wasting." They were almost at the door when Chen called out. "Ms Carter? A