A buzzing sound stirred me from sleep. The following thud jolted me awake. I looked around, half panicked until I realized the sound was just a cell phone vibrating with an incoming call. Rhys looked up at me from the floor, where he’d rolled off the couch thanks to our still-entwined ankles. He blinked dazedly before reaching for his phone on the coffee table. I sat up and ran a hand through my tangled hair as I struggled to get my bearings. It was early—too early for sunlight judging from the darkness that framed the edges of the closed blinds. I tried to remember how we’d both ended up tangled and half-naked on the couch. Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table along with cartons of rice and noodles.

Last night came crashing back to me in a renewed wave of heat, leaving my body tingling as I remembered the way it had felt with Rhys pressed against me, bared skin to bared skin.

“Yeah.” Rhys greeted whoever was on the other end in a gravelly voice that drew my eyes to his. He stared back at me as he listened, his dark hair wild from sleep. His hand reached for my arm and stroked lazily—until he suddenly stopped moving, all of his attention focused on the caller. “Are you shitting me?”

I glanced up from where my gaze had wandered down his bare chest. He frowned, the expression sending his brows furrowing. He listened for another moment and then grunted a goodbye before hanging up and tossing the phone back to the coffee table. It slid and bumped a Napoli’s takeout container before coming to a stop.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Emile. The bar manager,” he said, and judging by his tone, I knew that wasn’t a good thing. He rose, fumbling through the pile of clothes on the floor and picking out his jeans. He tugged them on quickly, which only made me more alert.

“He was calling you now?” I asked.

“He just locked up and left. Late night,” he added, when my eyes widened as I noted the time.

“What did he say?”

“He found something outside he thought we should see.”

Before I could ask what it was, there was a sharp knock on the apartment door. Rhys jumped up, his jeans slung low on his hips as he padded down the hall. I listened as the front door to the apartment opened. Low voices rumbled, too quiet for me to make out more than a few words.

“Thanks, man,” I heard Rhys say before the door clicked shut.

A second later, he reappeared, a manila folder in hand. His expression was tight, and my stomach clenched at what could possibly be inside.

I waited while Rhys opened the flap and pulled out a handful of photos, fanning them out on his lap. My chest tightened, and my stomach dropped straight to my knees. I went still, staring at the photos as Rhys picked up each one and examined it for a long moment.

“This asshole’s a real piece of work,” he muttered.

I couldn’t believe he was so calm about it all. But then, it wasn’t his future on the line here. And maybe that made less of an impact somehow.

I could only stare, openmouthed and speechless, as Rhys flipped through them all. A candid of me standing in Aelwyn’s backyard the night she died, Ethan peeling away from my skin, half-inked and half-formed as he took flight. Another of the hellhound, a shimmering, translucent monster, passing through the door of Rhys’s truck as it led us on the chase. And a third—this one showing Rhys and me locked in a heated kiss with me straddling him in the cab of his truck.

All of them were invasive and threatening in a different way. And all of them made it clear that whoever had taken them knew my deepest secrets. Not just my gift for ink, but my feelings. Rhys. They knew about Rhys. And the message was clear: they could get to me, to him, anytime they wanted. One way or another, eventually, they were going to hurt me.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” I clutched my stomach, willing it to settle against the churning panic. I rose, pacing and shoving a hand through my hair over and over again.

“Calm down, Gwen. He’s just trying to intimidate you—”

“Well, it’s working!”

Rhys frowned.

I blew out a breath. “He knows my secret, Rhys.” I gestured to the photo of Ethan. “He knows what I can do.”

“That’s why we have to show these to Sheriff Kasun.”

“Are you kidding? Hell, no. Forget the sheriff. If he sees these, I’ll be a suspect of totally different crimes. We need to handle this ourselves.”

“Gwen, they need to know who we’re—”

“You show them those photos and the first thing they’ll do is lock me up.”

“Elsmed then.”

I hesitated, part of me wanting to resist even that. But I nodded, knowing I had to give him something. “Fine.”

“I’ll make the call.” He was already grabbing his phone from the coffee table as he spoke.

I stood stiffly, watching Rhys move as he punched in things on his phone. I noticed his glamour tattoo inked onto his right shoulder and went still.

“Rhys, what’s your tattoo?” I asked, sharply enough that he looked up from the phone.

“An arrow,” he said. “Why?”

I licked my lips, thoughts whirring. Arrows. My weapon of choice. Rhys liked knives, but I could do that too. And rope—to bind him. And—

“Gwen?” Rhys wandered closer, his eyes studying me, his brows knitting at my silence. “If you’re upset, don’t be. I got it for you. For your love of archery and because it reminded me when I came here that I needed to stay focused on my target—”

“I’m not upset,” I said. “I just . . .”

“Gwen, what is it?”

I hesitated, wondering whether I was being too impulsive or reckless. That maybe I should stand back and let Rhys ask Elsmed for help. Hide inside this apartment and wait for the Court to find this guy and take him out. But the reality was that whatever semblance of personal safety I’d had had vanished the moment I’d seen those photos. Even inside this apartment, we were just waiting for this guy to decide he was ready. It was all on his terms, and I hated that most of all.

Fear held me back. Rhys believed in me. In my ability to use my own magic to defeat this guy. But could I really? My mother thought so, I realized, remembering the letter.

When the time comes, she will not have to hide. They will hide from her.

“I don’t know yet. I need a second to think,” I said slowly. I bit my lip, adding, “I have an idea but . . . Go make your call and then we can talk about it.”

“Okay,” he said uncertainly, but he backed off and went about sending the message he’d been typing. A moment later, his phone buzzed with an incoming call.

I waited while Rhys spoke to Elsmed or his bodyguard-slash-driver, thinking again about that arrow tattoo. I had no idea if my plan would work, but I did know that making a damned phone call was not enough. It was time to take action. It was time to finish this once and for all. On our terms. And I finally knew a way to do it.