Callum's POV
The wind had picked up. Cold. Damp. Carried the scent of soil and old smoke.
I stood still for a second, staring down at the scarf in my hand—the pale pink one Elena wore the morning she walked out of my apartment. Stained now. Faded at the edges. But unmistakably hers.
I swallowed the tightness forming in my throat.
She had been here.
She bled here.
And they moved her again.
Behind me, Julian was issuing orders—sharp, controlled. The kind of voice you use when you're barely holding yourself together.
Sebastian paced a few feet away, one hand on his waist holster, the other rubbing at his temple. Even he looked shaken.
Damian hovered at the edge of the clearing. Watching. Always watching.
I hated how calm he looked.
I bagged the scarf and sealed it, then stood.
"This place gives me nothing but bad vibes," I muttered.
Julian turned. "It's too quiet."
"Which means we missed them by inches."
Or maybe they knew we were coming.
