Daemon's POV
The safe house was on fire when we arrived.
Isla skidded to a stop beside me, both of us still in wolf form, panting from the run across campus. Flames poured from every window of the abandoned warehouse. Black smoke billowed into the night sky.
"It's a trap," I said through our mental link—one of the few benefits of the mate bond, even corrupted. "They knew we'd come here."
"Then where do we go?" Isla's mental voice was tight with fear and anger. "Campus is under attack. The safe house is burning. We're being hunted by professional assassins with a twelve-hour head start on preparation."
She was right. We were cornered with nowhere to run.
An explosion rocked the warehouse. The roof collapsed inward, sending sparks and debris flying. Through the flames, I saw movement—figures emerging from the smoke. Not running away from the fire.
Walking through it.
