Micah POV

I hadn’t found Robin yet, so Victor and I were taking matters into our own hands. Well, technically, Abuela’s hands.

She’d scryed for her daughter with nothing but a chipped silver bowl, a lock of Robin’s hair, and a whispered curse in a dialect I didn’t dare ask about. Whatever she saw, it pointed us toward the outskirts of town—toward a warehouse so buried in weeds and rust it didn’t even exist on Google Maps.

We were halfway down the cracked asphalt road, pine trees pressing in like watchful sentries, when Victor finally snapped.

“I still don’t get it,” he muttered, kicking a loose piece of gravel into...