The window exploded inward in a shower of glass.
Abigail dove behind the counter, drawing her revolver before she hit the ground. Shards scattered across the floor like scattered diamonds, and cold night air rushed through the jagged opening.
"They found us," she whispered.
Mitchell dropped flat on his beanbag chair, eyes wide with terror. "How? I didn't tell anyone!"
A shadow moved past the broken window. Then another. Abigail counted three figures fanning out around the building's exterior. Professional. Coordinated. The mercenaries Colton had hired before his death. Colton's mercenaries.
She checked her cylinder. Six rounds. Against trained killers who probably had automatic weapons and body armor. The math didn't favor her.
But she had something they didn't expect.
The front door burst inward, kicked clean off its hinges. A man in tactical gear swept through with an assault rifle raised. Abigail didn't think. She reacted.
Her hand shot up, and something inside her chest lurched. A wave of force erupted from her palm. Invisible. Devastating. The mercenary flew backward through the doorway, his rifle clattering across the floor as he crashed into the street.
Abigail stared at her trembling hand. The power had been building for days, coiled in her core like a compressed spring. But she'd never released it before. Never known she could.
The sensation terrified her almost as much as the men trying to kill her.
"Back door," she hissed at Mitchell. "Go."
"But my stuff--"
"GO!"
A second mercenary appeared at the broken window, weapon raised. Abigail fired twice. The first shot caught him in the shoulder, spinning him halfway around. The second punched through his throat. He dropped without a sound.
Four rounds left.
Mitchell scrambled toward the back of the shop, knocking over shelves of pipes and rolling papers. Abigail covered his retreat, moving in a crouch along the counter. Glass crunched under her boots.
The third mercenary was smarter than his companions. Instead of charging in, he tossed something through the window. Small. Black. Cylindrical.
Flashbang.
Abigail squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, but the detonation still hit like a physical blow. White light seared through her eyelids. Thunder cracked inside her skull. She stumbled, her equilibrium shattered.
Boots pounded across broken glass. Coming for her.
She couldn't see. Could barely hear. But that thing inside her chest, the demon growing in her blood, it sensed everything. The mercenary's heartbeat pulsed against her awareness. His adrenaline hung sharp on the air. She knew exactly where he stood.
Abigail fired blind. Once. Twice.
Her vision cleared just in time to see him fall, two neat holes punched through his body armor. Center mass. Impossible shots.
Two rounds left.
She should have felt horror at what she'd done. At what she was becoming. But all she was—was alive. More alive than she'd been since the ritual changed her.
That scared her most of all.
"Abigail!" Mitchell's voice from the back room. Panicked. "There's more outside!"
She risked a glance through the shattered window. Headlights cutting through the darkness. Multiple vehicles approaching. Colton's full team, probably. The three she'd killed were just the advance scouts.
They had maybe sixty seconds before this place turned into a war zone.
Abigail sprinted toward the back, vaulting over Mitchell's toppled merchandise. She found him frozen at the emergency exit, staring at the door handle like it might bite him.
"Is there another way out?"
"The roof," he stammered. "There's access through the storage room."
"Show me."
They climbed through a hatch onto the flat tar roof. Abigail could see the vehicles now, SUVs forming a perimeter around the building. At least a dozen more men spilling out, taking positions.
She grabbed Mitchell's arm and pulled him toward the edge. The next building sat close enough to jump, its roof only slightly lower than this one.
"You're insane," he said. "That's got to be eight feet."
"Seven, maybe. You'll make it."
"I don't do... physical things."
Abigail shoved him forward. "You do now."
He jumped with a terrified yelp, barely clearing the gap. His landing was ugly, all flailing limbs and graceless rolling, but he made it.
Abigail followed, clearing the distance easily. Too easily. The power inside her was enhancing everything, her speed, her reflexes, her strength. Every time she used it, she became a little less human.
They crossed three more rooftops before descending a fire escape into a back alley. By the time Colton's team finished surrounding an empty building, Abigail and Mitchell were six blocks away, catching their breath behind a dumpster.
"What..." Mitchell wheezed, bent double with his hands on his knees. "What the hell was that?"
"The thing inside me," Abigail said. "It's getting stronger."
"You killed three people. Without even trying."
"Four, probably. The first one hit the street pretty hard."
Mitchell stared at her with a mix of awe and terror. "Do you even care?"
Abigail considered the question. Searched inside herself for guilt, for remorse, for any of the emotions that should have accompanied taking human lives.
She found nothing. Just cold satisfaction.
"They were trying to kill us," she finally said. "I fought back."
Mitchell swallowed hard. "We need to get somewhere safe. I know a place, one of my suppliers. They won't find us there."
They moved through the shadows, avoiding streetlights and main roads. Abigail kept her gun ready, though she suspected she wouldn't need it anymore. The power that had awakened inside her was hungry, eager to be used again.
She pushed that thought away and focused on survival.
Three hours later, they'd settled into Mitchell's supplier's safehouse, a cramped apartment above a closed butcher shop. The smell of old meat permeated everything.
It took two full days for Mitchell to confirm they weren't being followed. Two days of Abigail pacing the small space, practicing her control over the force that lived inside her. She could summon it at will now. Could sense it growing stronger each time she called upon it.
But she kept coming back to the same question: what was she becoming?
"Did you find anything useful?" Abigail asked.
"Actually, yes," Mitchell said, sitting up from his beanbag chair with unusual energy. He grabbed the binder and flipped to a marked page. "I translated this section about what the ritual does. The one Frieda used on you in Raven's Peak."
Abigail moved closer, her interest piqued. "And?"
"It's called a Blood Binding. The ritual didn't just save your life—it fused demonic essence with your blood. That's where these powers are coming from." He traced his finger along the cramped Latin text. "According to this, the abilities manifest in stages. First comes heightened senses—hearing, smell, the ability to sense living things nearby."
"The heartbeat," Abigail said quietly. "I could sense him through the wall."
Mitchell nodded. "Then comes physical enhancement. Speed, strength, reflexes. And finally—" He tapped the page. "—telekinesis. The ability to project force."
"What are the limits?"
"There are a few." Mitchell looked uncomfortable. "The power draws from emotion. Strong emotions make it stronger—fear, anger, rage. That's why it came so naturally when those guys attacked us. Your survival instinct amplified it."
"So violence makes me more powerful."
"Basically, yeah. But there's a cost." He flipped to another page. "Every time you use it, the binding grows stronger. The demon essence integrates more deeply with your human blood. Use it too much, too fast, and eventually there won't be enough of you left to control it."
Abigail absorbed this in silence. The power had been intoxicating during the fight—that rush of strength, the certainty of her aim even while blind. Now she understood the price.
"Is there a way to reverse it?"
Mitchell shook his head slowly. "Not that I've found. The binding is permanent. But there are techniques for maintaining control—mental exercises, meditation. Things to keep your emotions in check." He set down the binder. "The ritual was designed for demons to possess willing hosts. You're... not exactly the intended use case."
"Arthur knew," Abigail said. "He must have known what this would do to me."
"Maybe. Or maybe he thought control was possible. According to this—" Mitchell pointed to a specific passage, "—the telekinesis has a range of about ten meters at full power. Beyond that, the force dissipates. And each major use requires recovery time. Push too hard, you'll exhaust yourself for hours."
Abigail filed away the information. Ten meters. Recovery time. Emotion-driven. Limitations she could work with.
"There's something else," Mitchell said. He pulled out a separate set of notes. "I translated another section that has nothing to do with what's going on with you. Turns out the binder has way more stuff in it than just the ritual that Frieda did."
"What do you mean? What did you find?"
"Some sort of an elixir you can make. It doesn't bring people back from the dead, exactly, but it can help them stay."
"Stay how?"
"No idea. But, maybe like if a demon wanted to take over a body and preserve it, it might use this."
"How does that help me?"
Mitchell shrugged. "No idea. I said I found it interesting. Not useful."
Suddenly, a beeping and buzzing sounded. Abigail jumped up, hand shooting to the gun on her hip.
"Hey, relax, it's just my phone," Mitchell said.
"What the hell was that sound?"
"My ringtone? R2D2."
"You're kidding?"
"I know, right? I didn't think it was in the store, either, but when I found it, I knew I had to download it. Do you want me to show you where it is?"
Abigail just stared at him.
"I'll take that as a no."
He read over the message, and then put his phone away.
"What is it?" Abigail asked.
"Nothing." Mitchell looked at the floor, and his voice rose a notch. "Just a funny post from one of my friends. You know, a cute cat meme."
"Give me your phone."
"Hey, you know, I think it's time that I get back to work. Do you mind hanging out up front in case I get a customer?"
Abigail narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't make me ask again."
With a sigh, Mitchell retrieved the phone and handed it to her. She glanced it over, frowning. "What is this?"
"A notice from a friend," Mitchell said. "He sent one for your trial as well, letting me know why I hadn't had any business."
"This says they're holding Frieda?"
He nodded. "They arrested her."
"On what charges?"
"Conspiring against the Council. Freeing you. A couple of others, I think, but those are the big ones."
"It says she's charged with treason," Abigail said, reading further down the page. "And that carries a death sentence."
Mitchell took longer in responding this time. "Yeah, it does."
"You mean they will kill her for helping me escape?"
"It is a possibility," Mitchell said.
Abigail stood and headed toward the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Back," she said. "I have to turn myself in."
"She risked her life getting you out of there. Why would you go back?"
"Arthur already lost his life because of me. I won't let the same thing happen to Frieda."
"Most likely, they won't stick the treason charge. Frieda is super important. She'll get off with a slap on the wrist."
"Like I did?" Abigail said. "No way. I can't take that chance. The thing is, I am exactly what the Council thinks I am. A monster."
"No."
"Yes," she said. "I can't stick around here and let Frieda die on my behalf. No one else will lose their life for me."
"What about the binder?" Mitchell pointed to the papers.
Abigail shrugged. "Keep looking and let me know if you find anything."
She slipped out through the doorway before he could respond, and then headed toward her car. She would need to book a flight back to Lausanne.
Hopefully, Colton and his team wouldn't be anywhere nearby. After what she'd done to his men, he'd want revenge. Abigail might be willing to turn herself in to the Council and face their judgment, but she had no intention of letting her pursuers get anywhere near her.
Not when she now understood exactly what she was capable of.
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