Myra
The sirens of Mount Tabor’s volunteer force always sounded different at night—lonelier, more urgent, echoing off the snowy peaks like a warning. I stood in the snow, shivering in my wet, stained nightgown, the sub-zero air biting into my skin, but I couldn't look away from the alley.
The police cruiser arrived first, its tires screaming against the frozen slush. Officer DeMilo was out of the car before it had even fully stopped, his service weapon drawn. He lowered it almost immediately as the headlights cut through the gloom, revealing the wreckage of the night: the back of the building glowing a sickly, pulsating orange, and Tony—covered in soot, grime, and blood—pinning a broken, weeping Jason Thorne into the dirt.
"Get him off me! He’s trying to kill me!" Thorne shrieked. His v
