We drove the rest of the way in silence, but it was the good kind now. The kind that meant we'd said enough and the rest could wait. His thumb traced slow circles against my knee, and I watched the city grow larger through the cracked windshield, and somewhere between the highway and his apartment building, I let myself think about what I’d just seen and honestly wondered if the car had succeeded in driving us off the road and I was unconscious somewhere or even dead. Could you dream if you were dead?
I parked in front of his building and killed the engine. Neither of us moved.
“I think I should call Ignatius first,” Taz said hesitantly.
"Okay," I said. "Let's go inside."
We made it up the stairs without speaking, Taz's hand hovering at the small of my back—not touching, just there, a promise of contact if I needed it. The hallway was quiet, the kind of late-evening hush that meant most of his neighbors were either asleep or pretending to be. He unlocked his door with steady hands, which was more than I could say for mine, and held it open while I stepped through.
The apartment wrapped around me like a familiar coat. I'd only been here once, but my body already recognized it—the leather-and-coffee smell, the warmth of the radiator clicking on, the particular quality of silence that belonged to a man who'd spent decades learning to be alone.
I dropped onto the couch while Taz locked the door. He pulled out his phone, hesitated, then sat beside me. Close enough that our shoulders touched. The cold of him seeped through my sleeve, and I didn't move away.
"Ignatius is going to have questions," he said.
"I imagine he'll have several."
Taz almost smiled at that, then dialed. He put it on speaker without me asking—a small gesture that said more about trust than any declaration could.
Ignatius answered on the first ring. "Taranis. Is everything okay?"
"Something happened."
The shift in Ignatius's voice was instantaneous—from mild irritation to the quiet, controlled sharpness of someone accustomed to managing crises across centuries. "Tell me."
Taz told him. All of it. Gavin—we suspected—on the road, the sedan, the impact, the way he'd lost control and shifted in front of me. He kept his voice even, clinical almost, but his free hand found mine on the couch cushion and gripped hard enough that I felt the cold in every joint. When he finished, the silence on the other end lasted long enough that I started to wonder if the call had dropped.
Then Ignatius said, very calmly, "Is Cinder with you?"
"I'm here," I said.
"Are you injured?"
"No. Neither of us are."
Another pause. "And you saw."
It wasn't a question. I answered it anyway. "I saw everything."
"I see." A breath. Not a sigh—something more deliberate, the controlled exhale of someone recalibrating. "Taranis, bring Cinder to my home tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock. Doryu will be here as well."
"There's more," Taz said. "Gavin has been stalking Cinder. We're pretty sure he broke into his apartment. Texts, threats, showing up at his workplace. We want to file a police report."
"No." The word was immediate. Absolute. Delivered with the kind of authority that didn't invite debate. "Do not contact the police."
I stiffened. "With respect—"
"Cinder." Ignatius's tone softened fractionally, but the steel beneath it didn't budge. "I understand your instinct. It's the right instinct for a human in a human situation. But this is no longer a human situation. Taranis shifted on a public road. There may be witnesses or evidence—structural damage to the road surface that cannot be explained by weather. If police investigate Gavin's actions, they investigate the scene. And that will raise questions none of us can afford to answer."
The logic was impeccable. I hated it.
"So he just gets away with it?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.
"I didn't say that." Something in Ignatius's voice shifted—darker, older, carrying the weight of someone who had dealt with threats to his kind for longer than I could fathom. "I said don't call the police. I will handle Gavin. Personally. And I assure you, Cinder, when I handle something, it stays handled."
Handled? I wasn't sure I dared ask. Taz's grip on my hand tightened.
"Tomorrow," Ignatius continued, his voice returning to its usual measured cadence. "Ten o'clock. Get some sleep if you can. Both of you." A pause, and then, almost gently, "And Cinder?"