The mountain already felt like a half-remembered dream.

  Gravel crunched underfoot. The desert air was sharp and dry in her lungs. A car hummed along the highway—too distant to matter.

  Too normal. Too fragile. Like waking up and realizing the nightmare hadn't ended.

  Gretta rolled her shoulders, muscles aching from shifting, from magic, from survival.

  She glanced at Sofia, who was quiet for the first time in hours. There was no questioning, no clever remarks, just a small girl walking beside her, carrying the weight of too much.

  Then Gretta saw her car—and the black Mercedes. Her body tensed before she could think, instincts screaming. Not done yet.

  Gretta stopped short, but Sofia started running toward the car.

  “Wait,” Gretta said, moving to intercept Sofia.

  “Mom!” Sofia called out as the Mercedes’s driver door opened.

  “Dulce!” The woman ripped off her sunglasses as she stepped out, scanning the road behind them before bending slightly to meet Sofia’s height. “Where is Rowan?”

  Sofia’s hug became fiercer, but Lucia’s eyes lifted toward Gretta, searching. Her grip on Sofia’s back tightened ever so slightly.

  Gretta hesitated, then shook her head.

  Lucia exhaled, slow and measured. Then nodded, as if she’d already known. “I see.” There was something in her expression—acceptance, but not surprise.

  “Are you Ms. Lucia Vega-Martinez?” Gretta asked.

  The woman stood, but kept an arm around Sofia. “I am, and you are Gretta Sullivan.” She smiled, but her eyes held something sharper than gratitude. “I owe you for keeping her safe. For listening when I called.”

  Gretta blinked. Called? She thought back to the voice Rowan had mentioned—prayers in the dark, pleading for him to help. She glanced at Lucia. Was it her?

  Lucia handed her a check without another word.

  Gretta hesitated. Her first instinct was to refuse—but then she thought about her office. The past-due notices. The cold, empty apartment waiting for her.

  She took the check.

  “Thank you so much,” Gretta said. “Are you aware of the… incident at the mine?”

  Lucia nodded and hugged her daughter closer. “Miguel was always brave.”

  Gretta nodded. “There might be a situation with the FBI that you should be aware of.”

  Lucia let out a short laugh. “Situation.” Her smile widened. “I’m aware they are short-handed right now, and that is, in part, due to your efforts. But also…” She tilted her head. “Let’s just say not all prayers go unheard. I have some assurances that, for now, things are handled.”

  Gretta frowned. Prayers again? She glanced at Sofia, who was too busy clinging to her mother to notice the exchange. Lucia wasn’t just another scared parent caught in the crossfire—she had strings she could pull, ones that Gretta hadn’t seen.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Gretta nodded. “I suspect they’ll arrest me the first chance they get.”

  The crunch of gravel made her turn. A white sedan pulled up, and she recognized the driver—Agent Mackinaw.

  Gretta scrambled toward her car.

  Mackinaw pulled up behind her and rolled down the window. “Settle down. You’re fine.” His voice was slow and sonorous and he seemed a little amused.

  Lucia chuckled again. “Come on, dulce. Let’s get some ice cream.” She ushered Sofia into the car.

  Sofia hesitated, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a single black feather. “For luck,” she said, offering it to Gretta.

  Gretta frowned. It was glossy, dark, and slightly bent at the tip—just like the ones Rowan always seemed to leave behind.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked.

  Sofia just smiled—soft, knowing—and got into the car.

  As Lucia pulled away, Gretta lingered by her car, turning the check over in her fingers. Three months’ rent. It felt too easy.

  A flicker of movement. Across the road, near a rusted-out signpost, a man leaned against a motorcycle. Watching.

  His helmet dangled from the handlebars. Dark sunglasses mirrored the empty road.

  He took a slow drag from a cigarette, exhaling a lazy plume of smoke. Still watching.

  Gretta tensed. FBI? No—wrong posture, too loose, like he wasn’t afraid of being seen. One of Lucia’s people? Or someone worse? She debated approaching but stopped as the man exhaled a plume of smoke. He tapped something into his phone, mounted his bike, and then he rode away.

  Gretta exhaled sharply. The gods weren’t the only ones watching.

  “I’ll only keep you a moment,” Mackinaw said. “I had a message from my Lady, the Veil.”

  Gretta gaped. “You spoke to the goddess?”

  “Some immortals prefer the shadows.” Mackinaw winked. “She wanted to warn you—don’t go looking for your mother. She was worried Rowan didn’t get the message across.”

  Gretta’s mouth twitched. “Rowan warned me.”

  Mackinaw smirked. “And that’s not going to stop you?”

  Gretta exhaled. “Sometimes, knowledge is worth the risk. You’d think the goddess of knowledge would understand.”

  “I expect so.” He looked out over the desert, watching the eddies of dust swirling in the low spots. “My lady only catches glimpses of possible futures, and they don’t always come true…” He sighed. “She sees your destruction coming and she fears what it might do to your aunt.”

  Gretta nodded. “Even telling me the possible future could change it.”

  “I reckon so,” he said. “But you had already heard from Rowan, and if you didn’t believe him, you might not believe me.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure a little chaos from Rowan might go a long way to keeping the future at bay.”

  Mackinaw shook his head. “You ever notice? Tricksters walk away. Everyone else pays the price.”

  “Did Nadia tell you to say that?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Look at the gods. The people. Anyone caught in his wake. They don’t fare well.” He smirked. “And magic? Reality? What he broke might never heal.”

  Gretta smiled. “I saw a little girl reunite with her mother because of Rowan.”

  “Despite Rowan,” he said. “You saved her.” He shrugged. “My lady asked me to try to talk sense to you. You’ve heard it. I better get going before I’m seen with you. I don’t want to clean up your mess again.”

  “Mackinaw, if you work for the lady of secrets, why didn’t you save the other disciples who Victor caught?”

  Mackinaw looked sad. “You can’t save everybody.”

  He reached into his passenger seat, grabbed a crumpled paper bag, and held it out. “Figured you’d want these back.”

  Gretta took it, feeling the familiar weight of her phone and wallet inside.

  Mackinaw rolled up his window and put his car into reverse.

  Gretta watched him drive off. When he was out of sight, she looked down at the check in her hand. Lucia had given her three months’ rent.

  Gretta turned the check over in her hands. Three months’ rent. Enough to keep her afloat. Not enough to stop the questions.

  She climbed into her car and tossed the check onto the passenger seat. The engine rumbled to life—solid, familiar. Real.

  She should go home. Sleep. Pretend none of this had ever happened.

  Instead, she reached for her phone. Paused. Her thumb hovered over a name. Dad.

  She hadn’t called him since this mess started. He had always told her not to look for her mother. Always said it would bring nothing but pain.

  She exhaled sharply and hit dial.

  The line rang once. Twice. Then: “Gretta?”

  A sharp inhale. A slow exhale. “Hey, Dad. We need to talk.”