Emerson nods once, a jerk of movement. “We better.”
I swallow hard, my chest hitching. When I finally speak, my voice fractures. “We will. Damn her—she thinks she’s protecting us. Thinks she has to do this alone.” I shake my head. “She’s wrong.”
Ronan’s triangulating faster, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticks in his cheek. “I’ve almost got it,” he growls. “Hold on, princess. Your idiots are coming.”
He slams one last key, and the map locks onto a blinking point.
My heart stutters.
“We’ve got her location,” Ronan says, voice dark and deadly.
And at that moment, everything in me shifts.
Because now we know where she is.
And nothing on earth—not Dean, not death itself—is going to keep me from getting to her.
Emerson and I gear up immediately, adrenaline shaking through my hands, but Ronan snaps out a sharp, “Hold up.”
I round on him, already halfway to losing my mind. “Hold up? She’s out there alone, Ronan.” My voice cracks around the edges. “Get your shit figured out!”
He shoots me a look that could cut steel, but his fingers never stop flying over the keys. He ignores my outburst the way only a twin who knows me to the bone can. “I’m making sure we’re not chasing a decoy. He knows how Berk thinks,” he mutters, barely audible over the pounding in my ears. “I need to finish triangulating Dean’s phone and…”
His sentence cuts off. He freezes. Then his entire body locks tight.
“There.” He points so hard the monitor rattles.
I lean in, heart punching into my throat. Two pulsing dots glow on the map—Berk’s and Dean’s—almost fused together. Practically touching. Practically breathing the same goddamn air. My vision blurs red for a second.
Of course, the location sits tucked near the pier, buried in that stretch of privately owned dockland where the city conveniently looks the other way. A place built for quiet transactions, for people who vanish without paperwork. Perfect for deals. Perfect for erasing bodies. Perfect for monsters.
Ronan overlays satellite footage, dragging the image into view until a large warehouse fills the screen. It’s weathered, isolated, and invisible to anyone who isn’t looking for it.
He narrows his eyes. “What the hell is that on the roof?”
Emerson leans close, squinting. “HL. Looks like lettering.”
We all go dead still.
HL.
It hits us all, a single thought slamming into the room like a detonator.
HL. Horizon Logistics.
Ronan whispers it first, voice dark and cold as a grave. “Holy shit. It’s their shell company.”
The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.
Then his expression shifts. Hardens. Every trace of the man who teases Berk, who kisses her softly, disappears. What’s left is the predator our father created but failed to control.
“This is it,” he says. His voice is lethal. Absolute. “Berk. Kimber. Dean. They’re all here. And they have no idea we know exactly where to find it.”
A slow smile spreads across my face, deadly and sharp. It mirrors his perfectly. Twin reflections molded by pain, by loss, by the promise we made over Reign’s grave.
Ronan pushes to his feet. “It’s time, boys. Get the good weapons.”
My pulse evens out. The haze in my vision clears. Rage tightens into a clean, lethal line.