For a moment after I finished speaking, there was only silence, broken by the occasional sound of nature over the line. Then Vic sighed, a sound pregnant with grief, and anger, and finally acceptance. It irritated me that he experienced no obvious denial. I wasn’t mad at Vic himself, of course. I was angry that he—that we—lived lives in which violence and death were so common that we accepted them with a weary sigh and a grim frown.

Brutal death shouldn’t be so easily accepted. It should still be an occasion for tears and hysteria and, at the very least, an interruption of daily life. Routine should not continue in the face of such a loss. It should be shattered like silence before gunfire. It should shake everyone it touches, and we should demand an end to it.

Yet even as those thoughts flew through my mind— so fast I could hardly catch them, so bitter my lip curled in distaste—I knew that the reality was somewhat different. Violence was as old as our existence, and we could not stop it. The best we could do was harness it for our own use. For justice for Ethan.

And we would have justice.

“Why would Malone breach the boundary?” Vic asked, and I heard no disbelief in his words. Only bewilderment and anger.

“They wanted Kaci, and we refused to turn her over.” Of course, we suspected Malone was after much more than just the tabby, but I didn’t want to be the one to bring up the topic of war.

“Why does he want her?” Then, before I could answer the question, he answered it himself. “Because he who controls the tabbies controls the toms.”

I pulled out my desk chair and dropped into it. “That’s much prettier than I would have said it, but basically, yes.”

“That’s repugnant,” Vic spat.

“Welcome to my world.”

“Damn, Faythe, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe this.” He paused, and I filled the silence with more sniffling. “How’s your dad holding up?”

“He’s ready to mount Malone’s head on his wall.” I twirled a novelty pen on my desktop, absently watching the feather-topped lid swirl against my palm. “He’s speaking in terms of revenge rather than justice, and that just isn’t like him.”

“Not that I can blame him.” Vic sighed. “What about your mom?”

“She’s upset, but I think dealing with Kaci is helping her deal with Ethan.”

Distant footsteps crunched over the line—probably other toms combing the forest. “So…we’re going to retaliate?”

“Yeah. Jace is taking me and Dan to Mississippi to continue the search for Marc, and you and Parker can ride back with him, if you want. My dad hasn’t mentioned any specifics yet, but I’m sure he’ll need you both for whatever he’s planning.”

“Okay. Wow.”

“Can you tell Parker? But don’t spread the word, other than that. We don’t need the rest of the world catching wind of our vulnerability.”

“No problem.”

“And, Vic?” I already knew the answer, but I had to ask. “Any luck yet?”

He exhaled slowly, and the sound was frustration given voice. “Not so far. But we’ll find him.”

“I know. We will.” Yet when I hung up, tears blurred my vision. I folded my arms on my desk and let my forehead rest on them, wishing I could close my mind as easily as I’d closed my eyes. But there was no way to turn off the doubt settling into my stomach like stones weighing me down, or the fear burning through my heart like acid.

“You okay?”

I jerked upright to find Jace standing in my doorway, his good hand still on the knob. Damned sneaky tomcats…

“Not even a little bit. You?”

“About the same.” Jace’s ubiquitous smile was gone, and I could not get used to the sight of him without dimples.

I turned in my chair to watch him as he crossed the room to sit on the end of my bed, carefully distancing himself from me physically. Not that it mattered. Just seeing him sent a jolt of adrenaline straight into my heart, and I couldn’t decide whether that was due to guilt, genuine heartache from the very real connection we’d established, or some involuntary, eager muscle-memory from my traitorous body.

“Will it get any easier?” I asked, my hands clenching around the back of my chair.

“You mean Marc, or Ethan?”

“Either. Both.”

“I don’t think so. Not until we find him, anyway.” Meaning Marc, of course.

“Dr. Carver thinks he’s dead.”

Jace’s frown tightened instantly, miserably, and I can’t explain my relief upon seeing that. He truly wanted Marc found alive, even after what had happened between us. How could things possibly be so complicated? Was there any way to untangle the threads without breaking any of the ties?

Jace’s good hand clenched around the post at the foot of my bed, his injured arm lying carefully still on his lap. From his posture, I decided he’d sacrificed comfort for clarity and had refused more painkillers. “Did he say that?”

“He didn’t have to. And he’d know better than anyone, right? About Marc’s chances?”

“No.” Jace started to get up to comfort me, then thought better of it and sank back down on the edge of the mattress. “You’d know better than anyone. You know his strength and spirit, and his determination to get back to you. Carver doesn’t know any of that.”

“Thank you.” I smiled in gratitude, but my heart throbbed harder when my gaze met his. And though I tried, I could not stop my pulse from racing. I couldn’t fend off the memory of his hands on me, his lips on mine.