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"You'll need to be out by four. We've got another showing."

He wagged a finger at me and followed it with what I suspected was supposed to be a flirtatious wink. Whatever effect he'd been going for died somewhere between his eyelid and my gag reflex.

"Absolutely."

"There's no heat on."

"That's fine."

I reached for the key, but Bryce pulled it back before my fingers could close around it.

"And the bathroom window doesn't shut."

He cocked his head and widened his eyes as though this were privileged information instead of one more reason the building probably should've been condemned.

"Bryce." I summoned what little patience I had left and forced something resembling a smile onto my face. Do not react. Do not encourage River. Blackman might actually kill the human, and explaining a dead receptionist would seriously fuck up the rest of my day. "I promise you, my standards are spectacularly low."

Bryce finally looked past me to River.

That was his mistake.

River stood beside me so rigidly I could practically hear his self-control cracking. His jaw was locked, his hands curled into fists, and the look he gave Bryce suggested he was mentally exploring several creative ways to make him stop talking permanently.

A snort escaped me before I could stop it.

Apparently, the sound was enough to break whatever spell Bryce had fallen under. His gaze snapped back to mine, and for two glorious seconds, he stopped talking.

Then he dropped the keys into my palm.

River and I were back on the sidewalk in under four minutes, which I mention only because it was the last easy thing that happened that Wednesday.

By the time we turned toward West 44th, the sky had taken on that dull, colorless cast that made the whole city seem to be holding its breath. Buildings crowded closer as we drove, swallowing the horizon one block at a time, and the feeling that had been sitting quietly beneath my ribs began to stretch.

Four miles east of us, my grandmother was sitting behind a desk with my book on it. Driving deeper into her city felt like putting my head into the lion's mouth and trusting it not to bite it off.

For two days, I'd been telling myself that hiding in plain sight was clever. There were places people expected you to run when you were being hunted, and Cleveland sure as hell wasn't one of mine. Coming back here was either brilliant or spectacularly stupid, and I'd been firmly committed to brilliant.

Right up until we came down the Shoreway.

Lake Erie stretched beside us, flat and steel-colored beneath the morning sky, while Cleveland rose through the haze ahead. The closer we got, the more my confidence began to unravel. I knew these streets. I knew what waited behind them. Worse, too many things lurking behind them knew me.

Suddenly, hiding in plain sight didn't feel nearly as clever.

The coven was four miles east.

Four miles.

Somewhere inside it, my grandmother was probably sitting behind her desk with my book within reach, counting down the hours until Thursday. I could almost see her doing it. Calm. Patient. Certain that no matter what I tried, the clock belonged to her.

River drove without saying much. He'd stopped asking whether coming back to downtown Cleveland was a good idea somewhere around the county line, which wasn't the same as deciding it was one. It just meant he'd accepted that asking wasn't going to change my mind.

"You've gone quiet," he said eventually.

I kept my eyes on the city ahead. "I'm debating our chances of survival."

"You said that after the Fae, too," he pointed out.

"I'm doing a different math now."