Lily's POV
I sprint back toward the safe house, but Dante's car blocks my path.
The door opens. He steps out, moving faster than someone his size should be able to move.
"Get in the car," he says.
"Someone's in that apartment with my friend!" I try to push past him.
His hand catches my wrist—not rough, but unmovable. "I know. My security team is already handling it."
"What? How—"
"I've had people watching you since I left your office yesterday." He pulls me toward the car. "Now get in before whoever's threatening you decides to act instead of just sending pictures."
I yank my wrist free. "You've been having me followed?"
"Protected," Dante corrects. "There's a difference."
"Not to me!"
A window shatters above us. Maya screams.
I don't think. I run for the building entrance. Dante's faster. He grabs me around the waist and physically lifts me into the car.
"Let me go! That's my best friend!"
"And my team will get her out safely." He slides in next to me and the car accelerates before I can jump out. "You running up there unarmed will only get you both killed."
I watch through the back window as two men in black tactical gear rush into the building. My heart pounds so hard it hurts.
"If anything happens to her—"
"It won't." Dante's voice is absolute certainty.
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do."
His phone buzzes. He answers, listens, then hangs up.
"Your friend is safe. The intruder escaped through the fire escape, but she's unharmed."
The relief makes me dizzy. "I need to talk to her. I need to make sure—"
"She's being taken to a secure location. You can call her once we're at my estate." He meets my eyes. "She's safer away from you right now."
The words sting, but he's right. Everyone near me is a target.
"Why?" I ask. "Why are they threatening people I care about? If they want to scare me off the case, why not just kill me?"
"Because you're more useful alive." Dante pulls out a tablet and shows me the photos I received. "Whoever's behind this wants you paranoid and desperate. Easier to manipulate that way."
"Manipulate me into what?"
"That's what we're going to find out."
The car drives through gates that look like they belong to a military base. Guards everywhere. Cameras. Magical wards that make my skin prickle with energy.
Dante's estate is massive—part mansion, part fortress. We pull up to the main entrance and he leads me inside without a word.
The war room he takes me to is nothing like my tiny office. Wall-to-wall monitors. Maps of Houston with marked locations. Files stacked on a huge table. This is where someone plans military operations, not investigations.
"Sit," Dante says, gesturing to a chair.
"I'd rather stand."
He gives me a look that says he doesn't have time for attitude. "Sit, Miss Chase. We have work to do."
I sit. Mostly because my legs are shaking.
Dante opens a file and spreads photos across the table. Marcus Hale at different locations. Witnesses. Burn sites. And Ethan's kidnapping timeline.
"Hale took my nephew three days ago from his private school," Dante begins, his voice clinical. "No witnesses. No magical signature. No security footage—it was all erased."
"How is that possible?"
"Someone with serious resources helped him." He points to another photo. "These are the twelve people who've had contact with Hale in the past month. Half claim they never saw him. The other half admit seeing him but say he was alone."
I study the faces. Regular people. A warehouse manager. A waitress. A delivery driver.
"They're lying," I say.
"I know. That's why you're here." Dante's winter-storm eyes lock onto mine. "You're going to interview each one and tell me exactly what they're hiding."
"And then what?"
"Then I extract the truth."
My stomach drops. "You mean torture."
"I mean doing whatever is necessary to find my nephew before Marcus Hale starts burning him piece by piece." Dante's voice doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. Pain. Fear. "Hale sent another video two hours ago. He's already hurt Ethan."
He pulls up a video on the tablet. I don't want to watch, but I can't look away.
Ethan's crying. There are fresh burn marks on his arms. Small ones. Testing.
Marcus Hale's voice off-camera: "This is just the beginning, Cross. Tomorrow I start with his fingers."
The video ends.
I feel sick.
"I won't help you torture people," I say, but my voice wavers.
"Then help me identify the liars, and I'll handle the rest." Dante leans forward. "You don't have to watch. You don't have to participate. Just point me in the right direction."
"That still makes me responsible."
"And doing nothing makes you responsible for a six-year-old being burned alive." His jaw tightens. "Choose."
I hate him for being right. I hate this whole situation.
But I think about Ethan's terrified face. About Sarah Martinez, who died because I trusted the wrong person. About Maya, who was almost attacked because of me.
"Fine," I whisper. "But we do it my way first. No torture until we've tried everything else."
Dante studies me for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, he nods.
"Agreed. We try it your way first." He stands. "But when we run out of time, we do it mine."
He leads me to another room—a monitoring station where a woman sits in front of multiple screens.
"This is our first interview," Dante says. "She's waiting in the interrogation room."
Through the screen, I see a young woman sitting at a table. She looks terrified.
"Who is she?" I ask.
"Rebecca Hunt. Waitress at the diner near Hale's last known location. She claims she never saw him."
My truth-sense tingles just looking at her through the screen.
"She's lying," I say immediately.
"I know. But about what?" Dante opens the door to the interrogation room. "Let's find out."
The woman sees us and her fear spikes. She recognizes Dante. Everyone does.
I'm about to step into the room when my burner phone buzzes.
A text from Maya: Lily, they showed me a photo. You need to see this.
An image loads. It takes me a second to understand what I'm looking at.
Then my blood turns to ice.
It's Detective Sterling. Tied to a chair in a dark room.
With burn marks on his face.
And a message: Stop helping Cross, or the detective burns next. You have one hour to decide.
I look up at Dante, then at Rebecca Hunt through the glass.
"We don't have time for my way," I say, my voice hollow. "They have Sterling. We need answers now."
Dante's expression doesn't change. "Then let's get them."
He walks into the interrogation room, and I follow.
Rebecca Hunt starts crying the moment she sees us.
"Please," she whimpers. "I don't know anything. I swear—"
The metallic taste floods my mouth.
"She's lying," I tell Dante.
He sits down across from her. "Rebecca, I'm going to give you one chance to tell the truth. After that, things get unpleasant."
"I am telling the truth!"
The lie tastes like copper.
Dante's eyes go cold. Objects on the table start to vibrate. His telekinesis activating.
Rebecca's eyes go wide with terror.
"Last chance," Dante says quietly.
And I real
ize I'm about to watch him torture someone for information.
Unless I find another way.
Fast.