Page 23 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

Ican tell by the way Vann’s smirking before he even opens his mouth that today’s about to go sideways.

He leans in the doorway of my room like he owns the place, arms crossed and smug as hell. “Father’s got a job for you.”

I don’t look up from the boot I’m lacing. “Let me guess—another late patrol? Cleaning up your half-assed intel?”

“Nope,” he says, grinning. “He wants you to investigate werewolf activity. Southside.”

I pause. “You’re kidding.”

“Oh, I wish I were. He wants you sniffing around that trigger zone—said something about yourempathymaking you the best candidate.”

I stand slowly, meeting his eyes. “You mean this is punishment.”

“Call it a learning opportunity.”

“I’ll call it bullshit.”

“Whatever you call it, better get moving. Daylight’s burning.” He walks off with that lazy swagger that makes me want to put a fist through drywall.

Elias shows up not five minutes later, already geared up.

“Heard the news,” he says, throwing me an energy bar. “Congrats on being demoted to PEACE lapdog.”

“You don’t have to come,” I mutter.

He shrugs. “Someone’s gotta keep you from throwing Vann into traffic.”

I grin, despite myself. “Tempting, though.”

“Oh, wildly.”

We head out, slipping into the old maintenance tunnels that snake under the city. It's faster than street travel, and most humans avoid them—claim they’re haunted or full of plague rats. Not entirely untrue.

We don’t talk much. The tension’s baked in.

Above us, the world buzzes. Streets, cars, sirens. Down here, it’s just echoes and damp concrete and the occasional shiver of something old brushing against your senses.

“She’s still close,” Elias says after a while. “Whoever she is.”

I nod. I’ve felt it all day—like a wire stretched tight under my skin, humming with a frequency I don’t understand. Something’s pulling me. Not a scent. Not a sound. Apresence.

“She’s masking well,” I say. “Better than most rookies.”

“Maybe she’s not new-new.”

“She’s not registered. That makes her rogue.”

“Or smart,” Elias says.

“She was awakened.”

“Still, she could have known beforehand and has been trained.”

“Not with how she changed. If she knew, she would have stayed locked up.”

We surface near the cemetery district, a few blocks from where Devon marked the bloodline alert. I crouch, fingers brushing a smear of dirt across the sidewalk. Scattered footprints. One set barefoot. The other—heavier. Larger.

“Two people,” I murmur.

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