LUCIEN'S VOICE was calm but firm. "We need to leave. Now."
But the crowd had already begun to close in—not threatening, exactly, but curious in that particularly dangerous way that supernatural beings had when something interesting caught their attention.
Mailah could feel dozens of eyes on them, assessing, calculating, wondering if the demon who'd just destroyed a corrupted familiar was friend or foe.
"Too late for subtle," Grayson muttered, his hand finding Mailah's and gripping tight. "Stay with me. Don't let go for anything."
"Wasn't planning on it," Mailah replied, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Oliver had gone pale, Shadow clutched against his chest like a furry shield. "This is bad, right? This feels bad."
"Very bad," Lucien confirmed cheerfully, his wings already folding back into whatever dimensional pocket angels kept them in. "Which is why we're going to walk—not run, walk—toward the east exit like we have every right to be here."
