Moments later,

Author

Aria's safehouse was three rooms above a butcher shop. The smell of blood didn't bother her. It was honest. It smelled like work.

She sat on the floor, the dossier spread around her like a deck of cards. Photographs. Maps. Lineage records. She picked up the main photograph again.

Malphas. Alpha King of the North.

The image was six months old. Long lens. Dusk. He was exiting a vehicle, head turned, caught in the amber light of a streetlamp. She studied the angles of his face. The cheekbones. The mouth. Something about the set of his shoulders made her think of -

She stopped.

She reached for...