GRAYSON'S GAZE was fixed on a point somewhere behind her shoulder, his pupils blown wide and trembling.
The silver that usually defined his demonic heritage had receded, replaced by a raw, haunting blue that looked almost too human for the man who had just leveled a server room with his bare hands.
"I see trees," he whispered, his voice raspy and devoid of its usual rhythmic authority. "Dark pines... so thick the sun can't touch the floor. And a woman. She's running."
Mailah felt a cold trickle of sweat slide down her spine, and it wasn't from the heat of the fire behind them.
She searched her mind, flipping through the mental files of their shared history.
She remembered the border raids, the grey steel of the Ashford estate, and the sterile glass of the greenhouse. But a forest? A chase?
