Marlowe
We reached Dorian and Marla's house to find the front door standing open, lights still on inside, and the particular wrongness of it hit me before I'd even fully dismounted from King's bike.
"Careful," Bear warned, weapon drawn, leading the way inside with the rest of the security team fanning out around the property.
The kitchen told the real story the moment we stepped through the door — a chair overturned, a broken glass scattered across the floor, dark stains on the counter that made my stomach twist with a fear considerably worse than the betrayal I'd braced myself for during the ride over.
"That's not someone fleeing," I said, voice unsteady. "That's someone taken."
King crouched beside the overturned chair, studying the scene with careful, methodical focus. "Struggle ha
