Alexander’s POV
The phone screen was dark, but the voice of Marcus Thorne still echoed in the silent gym like a pathogen, infecting the air long after the call had ended. “They say the scent of sulfur is lingering in Manhattan.” Sulfur. The scent of the Rot.
Only four people knew about that smell: Me, River, Lilian, and Elijah Zhang. Lilian was asleep upstairs, blissfully unaware that she was the center of a supernatural cold war, and River was loyal to the bone; he would cut out his own tongue before betraying the Pack to the Western Elders. Elijah was a chaotic neutral agent of the Triad, but as my friend he had warned me about the Rot in the first place; he gained nothing by tipping off the Council, destabilizing the region he also lived in, and ruining a decades-old friendship.
T
