Finch stripped his clothes and body armour off, tossing the heap onto the floor for his future self to deal with. Future Finch was going to be pissed, but Current Finch didn’t give a damn. He flopped face first onto the mattress and welcomed sleep. It was three-thirty in the morning, and he’d been on his feet for over twenty-four hours. He was just starting to drift off when his phone rang.

He ignored it. He had no idea who might have his personal number but not the goddamn sense to call reception at this hour because he was either sleeping or working, but his voicemail message would set them straight. It rang out. Five seconds of blissful silence followed, and then the ringing started again.

With a groan, Finch fumbled for the device, the sudden glare of the screen stabbing him in the eyes. He squinted until he made out a name. Luther. Yeah, that checked out. He’d given Luther his number a year ago for a specific job, accompanied by explicit instructions to delete it afterwards. But it was Luther, so naturally, he didn’t give two shits about anyone else’s boundaries.

Finch hit the answer button. “Fucking call reception, asshole.”

“Ah, Finch,” Luther said, his voice smooth and unruffled, as though Finch had just greeted him with a friendly hello. “I need your help with something.”

“You can tell Adin all about it. He’s a great listener. He also doesn't sleep, unlike me.”

“I’m sure, but unfortunately I don’t have time to talk my way through him to get to you. This is a time sensitive situation.”

“Uh huh,” Finch murmured, eyes clamped shut, his body sprawled sideways across the bed. “But do I care?”

“It’s paying work.”

“But I’m sleepy.”

“Please, Finch. This is important.”

The rare hint of sincerity in Luther’s voice was the only thing that stopped Finch from hanging up. He let out a long sigh. “What do you want, Luther?”

“Ah,” Luther said. “I would rather not say over the phone.”

“Why?”

“I watched this movie. They… is hacked the right word? Someone hacked a phone?”

“Like, bugged it?”

“Yes. I think so? Anyway, it made me realise that I don’t really understand technology and that might be something I need to worry about.”

Finch rolled onto his back, his eyelids refusing to stay open for more than a second at a time as he blinked up at the ceiling. “I doubt anyone’s bugged your phone, Luther. Why would anyone even want to?”

“I can’t tell you that over the phone.”

“In case it’s bugged.”

“Right.”

“The problem is that I don’t actually like you, so…”

“That’s why I’m paying you, not asking for a favour. I can give you five hundred, in cash.”

“Fucking cash? Did you watch a movie about the dangers of bank transfers too?”

“I’m trying to stay off the grid.”

Finch sat up and rubbed the grit from his eyes. “Luther, you called me from your normal fucking phone that you’ve been using for at least a year now.”

“I turned off location services. Is that not enough?”

“No. If you actually care about being tracked, hang up right now and destroy that thing.”

“Hm. Okay.”

To Finch’s immense relief, the line went dead. He tossed his phone halfway across his bed and buried his face in his pillow. He was seconds away from unconsciousness when the ringing started again.

Finch stretched out just far enough to snag the corner of his phone then dragged it across the bed towards him until he could tilt it and see the screen. Through the blur of his vision, he made out a string of unfamiliar numbers. Normally he wouldn’t have answered, but he had a sinking feeling he knew who it was.

“Go away,” Finch snapped the second he picked up.

“A thousand. That’s the best I can do right now. Please, Finch.”

A thousand dollars. That was a lot of money in a business where half the time the government made you jump through endless bureaucratic hoops only to ultimately stiff you on the bill  Finch groaned, the sound muffled by his pillow. “What do you want me to do?”

“Do you remember that hotel you were staying in when I broke in, oh, about six years ago?”

“Vividly. Did I ever find out why you did that?”

“It doesn’t matter now. I was a different person back then. We’re in room nine-zero-six.”

“You want me to go there? That’s like an hour’s drive away.”

“Yes. You’d better leave now. This room has many windows and thin curtains, so we’ll need to sort this all out before dawn.”

“What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Luther?”

“A lot, Finch. A lot.”

Finch yawned as he sat up, his body already protesting. “I’ll be there.”

He tossed his phone aside, flicked on the lamp, and squinted at the mess he’d left on the floor. His outfit required layers: a long-sleeved shirt and pants—stretchy, form-fitting, and currently damp with his own sweat—with his black body armour over the top. Normally he liked the feel of it, how it fit snug against his body, lightweight yet strong enough to stop a bullet. Putting it on when he was already exhausted just hit different.

Still, the familiar click of the plates locking into place and the tug of the straps tightening across his torso shifted Finch’s mindset from grumpy bedtime boy into work mode. As much as he disliked Luther, he had to admit that he wasn't one to make a pest of himself when it came to business. He’d been a nuisance in every other way imaginable, though lately not as much.

Finch had also never known him to express anything remotely resembling fear. Luther was this world’s only vampire—the undisputed top of the food chain, so to speak. Despite the personality clashes, Finch couldn’t deny that the guy played a necessary role in the local scene, keeping the other major powers from tearing the city apart. It wasn't out of altruism; Finch was pretty sure Luther made his money by playing both sides. Still, the net result was a marginally safer city, and Finch couldn’t be too mad about that.

Finch pulled on his boots, gave the laces a sharp, angry yank, and headed for the living room.

Adin looked up from his book, his hand stilling where it had been idly rubbing the fresh, fuzzy velvet on the nub of one of his antlers. At this stage, they looked charming and magical, like something out of a fairy tale. Soon, though, would come the gory shedding of that velvet, followed by a far-too-long period of Adin accidentally gouging holes in the walls with his massive, bony antlers. Then they’d finally fall off and he’d spend a few months looking like a normal person before the whole bizarre cycle started over again. Witnessing it for the first time had permanently changed how Finch saw him.

Adin set his book aside. “You’re heading out again?”

“Luther called.”

“I’m surprised you answered.”

“He was persistent. Hey, do you think vampires can suffer from mental illness?”

“Hm…” It had mostly been a joke, but Adin tilted his head, genuinely considering it. “I couldn’t say. I suppose any information on that would have to come from Luther himself. Why? Are you concerned?”

Finch waved the thought away. “Nah, not really. He just seemed… on edge.”

“For someone like him, that’s concerning in itself.”

“Maybe. Anyway…” Finch jabbed a thumb toward the door. “I’d better get going. He’s holed himself up somewhere he’ll fry come morning, and while I’m tempted to find out exactly what that means, that’s probably against our code in some way.”

“Call if you need anything.”

Finch gave him a nod of thanks and headed out to his car.

Was he even safe to drive? Probably not, but he’d driven while half bleeding to death, so this hardly ranked. He would have woken Malyn up to drive, but they’d both been on the job, so they were in the same exhausted boat. Adin didn’t sleep, but he couldn’t drive. Neither could Tyla.

By the time he hit the road, the fatigue had plateaued into a dull, buzzy alertness. His body had finally accepted that sleep was off the table and started burning the reserve fuel. Hopefully the dawn deadline meant he’d be back in bed within a few hours.

The city was still awake in patches, throwing pools of neon and white light across the asphalt. He couldn’t imagine staying up this late just to party. Was twenty-five already too old to appreciate the joys of nightlife, or had his job just taught him to respect a good night’s sleep wherever he could get one?

Yesterday’s job hadn’t even been exciting, just a tedious ecological hazard. Most things that stumbled through breaches were people or animals. You typically needed legs to stumble. But yesterday, it had been a giant, pulsating plant that had immediately spewed forth a torrent of seeds the size of his fingernail into a forest. If it had been spores or small seeds, they would have probably had to burn the whole area and hope it wasn’t the sort of plant that was into that. Instead, it had been hours upon hours of scouring the forest floor.

Adin would try to submit a claim for government compensation, but Finch wasn’t holding his breath. The Department of Breach Safety liked things to fit into neat, pre-approved categories, and if they didn’t, good luck. And if they did accept your claim? Well, it’s your lucky day! Enjoy sub-minimum-wage compensation for often dangerous, specialist work that nobody else wanted to do. Yeah, they needed that thousand dollars.

It was a neverending source of frustration that the government didn’t take this shit seriously, but familiarity bred complacency. The world was shockingly permeable and always had been. The local government seemed to just figure someone else would deal with it. Finch and his little gang of misfits were living proof that they were right.

It was a dangerous gamble. There was never a guarantee that volunteers would step in to clean up the mess. Finch knew that better than anyone—a seven-year-old thrust into this world, lost and afraid, with no one to help. He’d had to find his own way. His own people.

But that hadn’t been such a bad thing, in the end. He’d found Adin, found other people who were strange like him. By the time he’d understood that government services and support were things that existed, he’d wanted nothing to do with them. Malyn had ended up in the foster system, and Finch had seen how that went. He’d been a problem to be fixed in the eyes of a bureaucracy that didn’t actually give a shit. You could pay people to house a kid, but that didn’t make them family.

Finch pushed the thoughts away. After all these years, they still made him angry. Sometimes he felt like he was in an abusive relationship with this city—the kid who grows up and, instead of fleeing a toxic parent, stays because they’re afraid the asshole will drown in their own vomit without them.

But what was the alternative? A normal job? Doing all this the ‘right way’ and getting certification in Breach Response from some guy who hadn’t even broken one of the bones in his hand punching some toothy monster in the face? Pfft. No. He’d take the Wild West approach and just complain about it for the rest of his life.

Finch arrived at the hotel and found a park in the lot out back. There was a club right next door, bass thumping so hard he could feel it vibrating through the driver's seat. Raucous laughter escaped the place every time the door opened, and the sound of it reminded Finch of the real reason he didn’t party: the sound of happy crowds made him violently angry. He could handle crowds of irritable holidays shoppers or terrified crowds running from a breach, but happy people in large groups made his fucking blood boil.

The receptionist’s eyes locked onto him the second he entered the lobby. He was a guy in body armour at four-thirty in the morning, so her wide-eyed gaze was understandable. He gave her a dismissive wave as he headed for the elevators. She didn’t try to stop him. Good. He wanted to be done with this bullshit as soon as possible.

Room 906. Finch poked the button for the ninth floor and leaned against the wall, letting his eyes fall shut for just a second.

The elevator pinged, the doors slid open, and Finch let out a sigh. Time to deal with Luther.