I DESPISED Ashenport after dark. Don't get me wrong, the city itself was beautiful with the glowing lights and ever-growing plants scattered about but I loathed the people.

When I was younger, probably around twelve or thirteen, Severin would always tell me that nobody with good intentions wandered the streets after sundown. It wasn't superstition—it was experience. Vampires prowled for stragglers, werewolves ran raids under the cover of moonlight, and worse things slipped between alleyways with teeth that didn't belong to any animal.

Severin used to laugh when I called them monsters. "You can't call a wolf a monster for eating meat, little crow," he'd say. "It's in their nature. The trick is learning whose nature will tolerate you, and whose won't."

I thought it was his way of scaring me into staying home, but I've learned he was only half-joking. Severin has a cruel sense of humor, and it usually doubles as advice.

That advice was clawing at the back of my mind now as I pulled my coat tighter and stepped onto the cracked sidewalk. The city was humming, restless. Every pair of eyes that landed on me seemed to linger a fraction too long. Some recognized me. Others just smelled what I was: not entirely human, but not entirely safe either.

Hannah trailed beside me like a guilty shadow, searching every corner for Corbin as if he'd just be aimlessly wandering the streets at almost midnight.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, letting my boots scuff against the sidewalk to make noise—intentional noise. Silence marked prey. If you sounded like you belonged, half the city would leave you alone. The other half? Well, they were a problem no matter how loud you were.

Hannah floated a step ahead, pointing at faces, corners, doorways. Her mouth moved fast, desperation leaking through every syllable, though no one but me could hear it.

"What if they've hurt him already? What if he's—"

"Enough," I muttered. My voice came out sharper than I meant, but her panic was contagious, worming under my skin.

She snapped her head toward me, wide-eyed, like a child caught talking in class. Then softer, "You promised."

Damn her. I hadn't promised her anything, not really. But she knew how to play me, even dead.

The street forked up ahead—one path leading into a stretch of neon-lit bars where the drunkards and other addicts swarmed like moths to a flame; the other sinking into a shadowed row of warehouses. Neither choice was good.

The obvious choice would have been to go to the police station and see if he was still there, but the more I thought about it, the more I doubted it. Ashenport's officers were made of a variety of different species, though the vast majority were werewolves. And while many loved to play savior in the heat of the moment, they weren't exactly known for helping when the adrenaline died down, and considering it was late, if I had to guess they'd probably already shipped him off to some cheap hotel which meant the neon path was our best bet.

Most clubs were owned by incubi and succubi, naturally. They were the perfect feeding ground for sexual energy and building cheap hotels right across the street made it easy to cycle prey. Even the ones that didn't feed on flesh fed on desperation, and there was no shortage of that here.

I stared at the neon wash bleeding onto the cracked pavement. "Try to feel for him," I instructed Hannah. "If you're stuck between realms because of him you should be able to tug the thread back."

Her eyes went glassy, like she was trying to focus on something far away. A faint shimmer rose from her fingers, a trick she never had in life but had learned in death. I followed her fingers to a small building tucked at the end of the street.

"He's in there?" I asked for clarification.

She shook her head. "Not in...just—just follow me."

She moved forward and I followed closely behind, making sure to watch my surroundings because getting kidnapped, robbed, or anything related was not on my bucket list tonight—or ever for that matter.

People too far gone to recognize left from right stumbled down the streets. One kid even stopped in front of me. He couldn't have been much older than my youngest brother, Tarquin, but he was far smaller when it came to muscle.

"You have some cash, man?" He glanced at me with what I imagined was once a pair of quite beautiful cerulean eyes but now the scleras were bloodshot, the blue dulled to a sickly gray ring. His pupils were pinpricks. "I'll make it worth your while."

I didn't bother answering. Instead, I shifted just enough that the lamplight caught my eyes and the faint, unnatural gleam inside them. It was a trick Severin had taught me—sometimes, intimidation was more efficient than a fist.

The boy faltered, mouth twitching between a sneer and a plea. He muttered something under his breath and stumbled past me, muttering about "freak."

Hannah didn't even glance at him. She was fixed on that building like it was the only thing anchoring her. Once we reached it, I half expected her to guide me toward the door but instead she rounded the corner toward the alleyway on the side.

"Are you sure about this—" I started but my words came to a halt when I saw him.

Tucked in the very back, looking frightened beyond recognition, was—

"Corbin!" Hannah shouted, racing to his side. He couldn't see her, but that didn't stop his distrustful hazel eyes from focusing on me.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," I told him carefully, raising my hands disarmingly.

Corbin pressed himself tighter against the wall, like he thought I'd sprout fangs and finish the job whoever had dumped him here started. His shirt was torn at the collar, one sleeve hanging on by a thread. A bruise was already spreading across his jaw. Whoever had worked him over hadn't been gentle.

"I've had enough trouble for one night," he said hoarsely. His voice cracked halfway through, but the glare he gave me was stubborn, almost defiant.

Behind him, Hannah was nearly frantic, circling, kneeling, brushing her useless fingers across his face. "Tell him. Let him know I'm here."

I ignored her. The last thing Corbin needed was a lecture about ghosts while he was shaking hard enough to rattle his teeth.

So, instead, I sat on the ground.

"You're not from around here, are you?" I asked calmly, even though I already knew the answer.

He hesitated for a split second before slowly shaking his head. "Everything here is fucking insane! Trafficking, collectors...what the fuck is a collector anyway?! It's all It's all—"

His voice cracked again, and he cut himself off, clenching his fists like he was trying to keep his fear from spilling out.

"I know," I said quietly. "I know it's insane."

His eyes darted to mine, searching for mockery, but I kept my face neutral. Severin always said the worst thing you can do to someone who's drowning is lecture them about swimming. They don't need rules. They need a hand.

"Collectors," I continued, voice steady, "are middlemen. They pull people off the street for whoever's paying. Vampires, witches, fey—the kind of things you thought only lived in stories. They sell what they take. Blood, bodies, abilities. Doesn't matter. Everything's a commodity here."

"God," he whined and Hannah's frown deepened at her friend's pain. "So what...what are you?"

"Human," I answered, causing Hannah's gaze to land on me suspiciously. It wasn't necessarily a lie. When it came to physical prowess and everything that mattered, I was human. I just happened to be able to speak to the dead.

"Like me?" Corbin asked, almost hopeful.

"Like you," I confirmed.

Corbin's shoulders sagged for half a second, the tiniest crack in his armor. He looked so tired he could've folded in on himself and disappeared.

But then the suspicion crept back in, curling his mouth down, hardening his eyes. "Then why do you look like that?" he asked, chin jutting toward me. "Like you're not afraid of any of this."

I huffed a short, humorless laugh. "Because fear doesn't get you anywhere in this city. It's like blood in the water."

I didn't move closer. I kept my hands flat on my knees, palms open, showing I had nothing in them but time. He was wound tight as a snare, and if I rushed him now, he'd bolt—straight into a city that would chew him up before sunrise.

Hannah crouched beside him, eyes flicking between us like she could will us into some kind of understanding. "Tell him," she hissed. "Tell him I'm here—he'll trust you if you tell him."

I closed my eyes for half a beat. She could've been right but for all I knew, that could be what finally broke him. Finding out his friend had died and he was all alone out here.

"I grew up here," I told him instead. "I know this place seems scary and it can be, but you eventually learn how to navigate it."

"I don't want to navigate it," he snapped, frustration seeping in his voice but I could tell it wasn't really directed at me, just the situation in general. "I shouldn't be here!"

I didn't blame him. Nobody ever came to Ashenport because they wanted to. The city had a way of swallowing people whole, chewing up everything soft and spitting back something desperate and jagged.

"You're right," I said. "You shouldn't be. But you are. Which means we work with what's in front of us."

Corbin dragged a shaky hand through his hair, the strands sticking in damp tufts. The way he looked at me, like he was trying to decide if I was a friend or foe, reminded me uncomfortably of myself when Severin first found me. Starving, suspicious, half-feral.

He shifted, wincing and I sighed. "At least let me help you with your wounds. Are you staying in this hotel?"

He laughed bitterly. "Yeah, with a dozen other people so it's not exactly luxurious. More like a holding pen."

I shouldn't have expected anything more.

"You can't leave him here!" Hannah told me. "Take him with you."

"You're crazy," I muttered low enough that Corbin couldn't hear. He might've been her friend, but I didn't know this guy. Not really. For all I knew, he could be trouble. Dangerous trouble. Or maybe just scared enough to make bad decisions. Either way, I couldn't just scoop him up and carry him home like a lost puppy.

"It's just one night," she argued. "Look at him. Could you really leave someone behind in that condition?"

I was starting to get really tired of this case.

"Do you want to live?" I asked him finally, bluntly. No lecturing, no sugarcoating. Just the truth.

His jaw flexed, and for a moment I thought he might bite back. Instead, something in his eyes softened slightly. "Yeah," he muttered.

"Then you let me help you," I said. "No tricks, no questions right now, just get somewhere safe."

He swallowed hard, hesitation written all over his face. Finally, he gave the tiniest nod, just enough for me to see. I didn't reach for him, didn't make sudden movements. I just stayed put, letting him make the next move.

Hannah's glow softened, like she could finally exhale.

Corbin slowly stood and made his way toward me. "What's your name?"

"Marcel," I told him. "Marcel Crowley."

"Marcel," he repeated, followed by a nod. "I'm Corbin."

I didn't respond to that. I just sighed to myself, already knowing how the others would react when I returned home.