Chapter 39. The Burning House

They smelled the smoke before they saw the house.

The engines thundered down East Hollow Road, the Crownless bunched tight, Kenzie’s laughter cutting sharp through the roar. But when the first curl of black smoke rose above the treeline, even she fell silent.

The taste of metal filled Riven’s mouth as she locked her chest, a metallic tang that matched the sharpness of her fear.

The brick house sat at the end of the cracked drive, windows already shattered, fire licking the curtains inside. The mural of the wolf on the side wall—Hale’s wolf, black and gray—was scorched, half its snarl swallowed by flame.

And the yard was crawling with bikes. Ravens’ chrome glinting, Vultures’ matte black hulks lined like predators at rest. Men moved between them, chains glinting, bottles flashing in their fists.

The safehouse was already under siege.

“Too late,” one of the Crownless muttered.

Riven’s scraped palms tightened on the grips. “Not too late. Not if