The desert stretched endlessly outside the car window, a blur of cracked earth and scrub brush under the harsh Nevada wind. The moon was setting, the sun next to make its appearance. Amanda tapped her fingers against the evidence bag in her lap, the ruby and the fake inside catching the light like drops of blood. “Detective Walsh, you sneaky man.”

The car hit a bump, jostling her, and Dr. Douglas’s golden form flickered like a candle in the wind. His ghostly eyebrows furrowed as he leaned closer. “Those are indeed the scarlet ruby and the fake Grimm made from the museum.” His translucent face hovered inches from the bag, his voice tight. “Why would Walsh return those to you?”

Amanda stared at the gems, her mind racing. The weight of them in her palm felt heavier than it should have. “I don’t know, Doc. Maybe he wants me to return them?” She swallowed hard, a shiver running down her spine despite the desert heat. “Or he wants me to use the scarlet ruby.”

The driver—a woman with a buzz cut and eyebrow scar—glanced at Amanda in the rearview mirror. Her expression was unreadable, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Amanda couldn’t tell if she looked amused or annoyed.

“Use it for what?” Dr. Douglas’s voice sharpened. “You’re not thinking of trying to resurrect that maniac’s brother, are you?”

Amanda’s grip tightened around the bag. “Of course not!” she said. The true ruby pulsed faintly, as if responding to her frustration. “But if Grimm thinks he can bring Hanz back, it’s likely someone else could bring others back too...”

The prison appeared on the horizon like a monolithic nightmare—black steel and concrete, all sharp angles and no warmth. An electronic buzz surrounded the facility from an invisible barrier that kept powerful beings contained. The car slowed as armed guards stepped forward, rifles slung over their shoulders. One rapped his knuckles against the window, and after the driver flashed a badge, the gates groaned open.

Inside, the air reeked of bleach. Guards with tranq-guns watched her pass, their fingers resting too close to the triggers. Amanda kept her chin up, but her stomach twisted.

Then she saw him—Vincent Galvani, being led back to his cell in his orange jumpsuit. His blonde hair was messy, his lean frame tense, but when their eyes met, he gave her the faintest nod. Like he’d been expecting her.

Before she could react, a chorus of voices erupted down the hall. “Finally, some fresh meat I could devour!” Coven’s raven hair swung as a guard ordered him to back off. Amanda cringed at the sound, but the guards shoved her forward before she could hear more.

The interrogation room was small, lit by a flickering fluorescent bulb. Vasquez leaned against the wall, his goatee bristling as he crossed his arms. “Miss Smart,” he said, voice gruff. “Detective Walsh called ahead. Said you wanted to talk to Grimm.”

Amanda forced a smile and a nod. “I need information from him for an investigation.”

Holmes, the younger guard, blew a raspberry and rubbed his shaved head. “Don’t expect him to be cooperative. He’s been a real pain in the ass since he got here.”

Vasquez scoffed. “You’re being too nice, Holmes. These supernatural convicts don’t deserve our pity.”

Amanda ignored the jab. “Perhaps they’re just crammed together.” She turned to Vasquez. “How many prisons like this are there?”

Vasquez’s face hardened. “Across the contiguous United States, there are ten facilities like this one. Each one contains about twenty thousand supernatural convicts. More than enough room.”

Amanda’s mouth fell open, and she said. “Two hundred thousand? That’s crazy!”

Holmes shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. That’s only ten percent of the prison population.”

Vasquez cut him off with a sharp laugh. “But easily half of the supernatural population. You give people power, and they choose to steal stuff. Who knew?”

Holmes spun, glaring at his senior. “Dude!” His head gestured to Amanda and her soft, curvy form, communicating to Vasquez that the old man was ruining the mood, and Holmes’ opportunity. He spun back to face Amanda. “Forgive me for my partner, he—”

Vazquez’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you dare apologize on my behalf! It’s human nature to do evil when empowered. And despite their powers, these convicts are very human.”

A female guard, her brunette hair worn in a tight bun, opened the door, the massive Christian in tow.

“Am I interrupting something?” Christian’s deep voice rumbled through the interrogation room as he eyed the guards. His massive frame barely fit through the door, muscles straining against the orange jumpsuit.

Vasquez grunted, waving a dismissive hand at the guard and Christian. “Nah, we’re done here.” He shot Holmes a look that said ‘stop drooling’ before continuing. “Holmes, let’s return to the yard. I’m sure there’s some paperwork you can screw up.” He gave Amanda a curt nod, his goatee bristling. “Good luck with him, Miss Smart. You’ll need it.” The door closed decisively, leaving Amanda alone with the large man.

The female guard smirked as she unclipped Christian’s cuffs, her fingers lingering just a second too long on his wrists. “Five minutes,” she said, her voice as warm as the prison’s concrete walls. “Then I’m coming back, ready or not.” The door clicked shut with a sound like a gun cocking, sealing Amanda in with the man who’d nearly crushed her windpipe a mere night ago.

Christian stared at Amanda, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that made her want to shrink back. “What do you want?” His voice was a gravel road after a storm - rough and unpredictable. “Come to gloat?” His knuckles cracked as he flexed them, the sound like popcorn in the tense silence.

Amanda shook her head, clutching the evidence bag so tight the plastic crinkled. “How did you plan on bringing your brother back?” The ruby inside pulsed faintly against her palm, warm as a living thing.

Christian’s jaw tightened like a vice. “It’s none of your business.” He turned away. With the restless energy of a caged tiger, he paced the small room. “You wouldn’t understand.” His boots scuffed against the linoleum, leaving faint marks.

“Try me,” Amanda shot back, stepping into his path. The odor of sweat and prison soap filled her nose as she met his gaze. “I have the means to learn about the ruby, about the legends of resurrection.” Her fingers brushed the ankh at her neck. “But you don’t strike me as an expert in that kind of magic.”

Christian stopped mid-pace, his shadow swallowing her whole. “You’re psychic too now? And you think what, that I know someone who gained that knowledge?” His laugh was bitter as black coffee.

Amanda refused to flinch. “I know you know someone who can use the ruby.” The lie tasted metallic on her tongue. “Someone who knows about resurrections. But they need the ruby.” Outside, a guard’s radio crackled with static, the voices tinny and distant. “Who?”

The word ran like a gunshot. Christian hesitated. His hands flexed at his sides, the veins standing out like roadmaps of rage. “An older woman with white hair,” he said, observing her reaction. “Sexy, but conniving. She said she can use the ruby to resurrect people.”

Dr. Douglas materialized beside her, his ghostly form tense.

Amanda stared at Christian. Her quizzical expression surprising him. “And you believe her?”

Christian shook his head, blonde strands falling into his eyes. “You’re even more naïve than I thought.” The fluorescent light above them buzzed like an angry wasp. “No. I don’t know if I believe her,” he admitted. “But what did I have to lose? This prison holds no threat to me. I’ve broken out before. Sure, they could kill me. But since Death already claimed Hanz, I’d welcome it.” The words hung between them, heavy as a noose.

His gaze turned calculating. “Why do you care?” Christian took a step closer, the heat of his body like standing near a furnace. “Why are you going to help me? I tried to kill you.”

Amanda took a deep breath, the ankh pulsing against her collarbone. “Because I know someone who died,” she said. “Someone I want to bring back.” Outside, footsteps approached, then paused just beyond the door.

Christian’s eyes widened slightly, the first crack in his armor. “So, you want to resurrect someone, too?” He ran a hand through his hair, the motion almost vulnerable. “You’re thinking if this woman can really revive one person,” he started, “she can revive more than one.”

Amanda nodded as a warmth from the ruby spread up her arm like liquid fire. “What do we have to lose?”

Christian stared at her for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between them. Then he leaned in so close she could count his eyelashes.

“She’s difficult to find,” Christian rasped, his breath hot against Amanda’s ear. A faint scent of prison coffee and something metallic—potentially blood—was present. “Go to the old Silver Slipper Casino in Atlantic City.” His calloused fingers brushed against hers as he tapped the evidence bag. “She has a trailer there. Tell her Grimm sent you, and you’re willing to do what she asks.”

Amanda recoiled as if burned, her pink hair brushing the cinderblock wall. “Do what she asks?” The ruby pulsed in her palm like a second heartbeat. “What does that mean?” Her voice came out higher than she’d intended, and she hated how young she sounded.

Christian’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He shrugged, the orange prison jumpsuit straining across his shoulders. “Whatever it takes to get Hanz back.” The fluorescent light flickered, casting shadows across his face. “She’ll test you.” His blue eyes locked onto hers. “Don’t fail.”

Dr. Douglas materialized so suddenly Amanda nearly yelped. His golden form flickered with agitation. “Amanda, don’t do this.” His mustache bristled as he glared at Christian. “This woman sounds incredibly dangerous. We don’t know what she wants.”

Amanda ignored the ghost, keeping her focus on Christian. “What kind of test?” Her fingers tightened around the rubies until the plastic crinkled in protest.

Christian’s smirk returned, sharp as a knife. “That’s for her to decide.” He leaned back against the metal table, the legs screeching against the linoleum. “But trust me,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “it won’t be pleasant.”

The door burst open with a bang that made Amanda jump. The female guard stood there, a tranq-gun already leveled at Christian’s chest. “Time’s up, Grimm.” Her finger hovered near the trigger. “Back to your cell.”

Christian went without protest, but as he brushed past Amanda, his lips barely moved. “Silver Slipper. Trailer number seven.” The guard yanked him forward. “Be ready.”

The door clanged shut behind them, leaving Amanda alone with the rubies and her thoughts. “Trailer number seven,” she said in the empty room. The plastic bag slipped into her sweaty palm. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Dr. Douglas floated closer, his usual bravado replaced by something softer. “Resurrection...” His golden fingers passed through the rubies without touching them. “It’s a dangerous game, Amanda. Are you sure you’re ready to play?”

Amanda hesitated. The ankh around her neck felt heavier than usual. She thought of Dr. Douglas trapped in gold, of all the years he’d lost. “I have to try, Doc.” She met his ghostly gaze. “For you.”

Dr. Douglas flickered like a dying lightbulb. “Amanda, I...” His voice wavered. For once, the old man seemed speechless. “I appreciate that.” He cleared his throat, the sound echoing strangely. “But be careful. This woman... she sounds like she’s playing for keeps.”

Amanda took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “So am I, Doc.” The rubies pulsed in agreement. “So am I.”

Only Vasquez, scowling as he looked up from his paperwork, occupied the front desk. Amanda marched over, the rubies hidden in Walsh’s oversized trench coat pocket. “Can you call that driver back?” She forced her voice to stay steady. “I need a ride home.”

Vasquez’s beady eyes narrowed. “Changed your mind about visiting hours?” But he picked up the phone anyway, as he said “entitled powered brats” under his breath.

As Vasquez made the call, Amanda slipped her hand into the pocket, her fingers finding the rubies. “Silver Slipper Casino, here I come,” she whispered. The plastic bag crinkled in response. Outside, the first hints of dawn painted the desert pink.

The rubies pulsed warmly against her skin, almost comforting. Amanda swallowed hard. “I hope this works,” she said to herself and Dr. Douglas in a hushed voice. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.

His golden fingers twitched toward her shoulder before remembering he couldn’t actually touch her. “You’ve got more sense than most seasoned heroes I’ve worked with. Even if your fashion choices make me question your survival instincts daily.”

Amanda snorted, adjusting the trench coat’s collar against the rising desert wind. “Gee, thanks Dad.” She kicked a pebble across the cracked asphalt. “For the record, yoga pants have excellent mobility.”

Dr. Douglas opened his mouth - probably to argue about armor plating again - when the buzzing started.

At first, Amanda thought it was just another small prison security drone. The sound then intensified. It became heavier and more menacing. A mechanical growl that vibrated in her teeth.

She spun toward the noise just as the four-bladed monstrosity crested the desert hills facing the prison wall. Sunlight glinted off its carbon fiber chassis as it banked sharply, revealing the redheaded woman straddling it like some kind of demented surfboard.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Amanda said with gritted teeth.

Gale’s pigtails streamed behind her as the drone stabilized twenty feet up. Her teal bodysuit left exactly nothing to the imagination, right down to the leather thigh holster strapped around her left leg. The smirk she wore was even more dangerous than the missile currently taking aim at the prison force field.

“Time to go, Vincent,” Her voice cut through the desert air like a scalpel.

The explosion hit with the force of a giant’s backhand. Amanda barely had time to register the missile’s smoke trail before the force field erupted in a cascade of blue-white lightning. The shockwave knocked her flat on her round bottom, the trench coat flapping around her like demented wings.

Concrete dust rained down as the force field flickered, died, then reignited at half strength. Alarms wailed from every corner of the compound. Somewhere behind her, Vasquez started screaming into his radio.

Amanda spat out dirt and stared at the hovering drone. “What in the actual—?”

Gale winked at her before gunning the throttle. The drone banked sharply and shot toward the compromised section of the force field, its remaining missile primed and ready.

Dr. Douglas’ form flickered violently beside her. “Move, Amanda!”

But she could only watch as the second missile streaked from the drone.