Page 47 of Spinner's Luck

Time seemed to narrow, the world shrinking until nothing existed but that statement. Air turned thin. Cold dread coiled in my chest, and deep down, I knew—this had to do with Lucy.

“Where?”

“Out by the gates.”

That was all I needed. I shoved through the door, boots striking the ground with purpose as the humid night closed in around me. The thick air clung to my skin, each breath heavy with unease.

By the time I reached the gates, the others had already gathered—Bolt, Mystic, Chain, the entire council—standing in a tight circle just inside the tree line, their bodies rigid, silence stretching between them. It was the kind of silence that spoke louder than words, the kind that settled over you right before all hell broke loose.

“What the hell is it?” My voice cut through the thick air, sharp and demanding.

Bolt shifted aside without a word, revealing what they had been blocking from view.

Two dolls.

Tied to a tree with a strip of leather.

The first was mutilated beyond recognition, its face smeared in crude red paint, a jagged blade rammed through its chest. The second doll was eerily intact—red hair catching the faint light—with a note pinned to its dress:

She belongs to me.

My gaze dropped to the first doll’s neck, where a scrap of paper hung limply. One word scrawled across it—Remember.

Anger didn’t just surface, it crawled up my throat, thick and burning, clawing at my insides.

Then—movement.

A shift in the trees.

My head snapped up, heart kicking into overdrive as something darted just beyond the tree line, a shadow slicing through the dark, watching.

Adrenaline poured like wildfire through my veins, and before I registered the thought, I lunged forward.

“Spinner!” Bolt barked, but I didn’t stop. Branches clawed at me, boots pounding against the dry earth, but it was too late, the shadow had vanished.

Behind me, the silence deepened, thick, oppressive, unrelenting.

Breathing hard, chest heaving, I turned back toward the others, a slow-burning fury tightening my jaw.

They were watching.

Devil’s voice cracked through the tension like a whip. “Thunder, Gatsby, Gearhead—search the woods. Now.”

No hesitation. The men peeled off in opposite directions, weapons drawn, vanishing into the darkness.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to breathe, slow in, slow out. Keep your head. Don’t lose it now.

“They’re gettin’ bolder,” Bolt muttered, eyes still fixed on the dolls.

“No,” Mystic growled, his expression furious. “They’re testin’ us.”

My focus locked onto the grotesque display, the message, the threat wrapped in twisted intent.

Lucy.

This was about her.

“How the fuck did they get this close?” I ground out, jaw tight enough to ache, fury burning hot in my chest.

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