After Ren had seen Nika bolt out of the Ministry assembly, it was clear that she needed time to recuperate from the intense interview. So he'd waited at the back of the hall.

And waited.

And waited.

Fifteen minutes had passed when he'd decided to look for her. That had been two hours ago, and every minute since was a relentless hunt.

Ren hadn't dared mentioning her disappearance to Markos. The Minister had trusted him to be Nika's keeper, and not four days after being given the assignment, he'd lost the girl.

Never—not once during his four years in the Vigil had he misplaced the person he was supposed to protect. So, naturally, he was pissed.

Coming to the nightclub had been his last choice. After checking the Lazarov house, then the Vigil base, then Dimitrovich Manor, he hadn't found a single clue as to where she could have gone. But when he'd overheard Viktor Kostopoulos's keepers saying the Rogue Minister and Halfblood Bastard had gone out for a night of fun, he'd sped through the town immediately.

When the security guard dragged a little-bodied, bronze-headed figure into the alley, his stomach felt hollow with relief. Good. Nika wasn't half-dead in a ditch, and now he could take her to Dimitrovich Manor and be done with his shift.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed when she saw him.

She tried darting into the nightclub, but Ren grabbed her wrist. "Thank you," he said to the guard, offering a generous tip for his services.

The man accepted it, then turned back inside and slammed the door, silencing the blaring music.

"Hey!" Nika called, banging the metal surface. "Come back!"

Ren pulled her away with ease, despite her attempt to latch onto the handle. "I'm taking you home," he ground out.

As he half-dragged her down the alley, Nika stumbled, crashing into him with a huff. "Stop moving so fast. Everything is spinning."

Oldbloods save me, Ren thought. She's drunk.

Yanking herself out of his grip, Nika scowled. "And haven't you heard of manners?"

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. "You know better than to run off like that."

"I was having fun! Maybe you should try it sometime."

Ren studied her, then the nightclub. "My idea of fun never involves Viktor Kostopoulos."

He didn't misunderstand Viktor's popularity with women—and men, too, for that matter—but Ren had been raised to make use of his life instead of wasting it on booze and blood-whoring.

Nika crossed her arms defiantly. "Then you won't mind if I return to my evening. Alone."

Before she could even take a step, Ren slid into her path, wielding every inch of height and muscle against her.

She groaned, eyes narrowing. "You might be bigger, but I'm smarter. Remember that."

"Getting yourself addicted to blood is far from smart. Keepers aren't supposed to participate in such things."

She fumed. "That is not . . . I've never tasted a drop of blood in my life!"

At that, Ren could only blink. Then lift an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Not even once?"

"Nope."

"And here I thought you're the rebellious type."

"I don't exactly have the best relationship with blood," she snapped.

The realization struck him then. She wanted nothing to do with blood, because it only surfaced memories of her unfortunate status in life.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Nika."

It was true. He knew it wasn't easy for her, being the world's most infamous halfblood, poster child for the tainted.

Nika tore her gaze away, and that was when Ren saw it—fang marks on her neck. Without thinking, he turned her chin with an enormous hand, examining the small wound.

"Did Viktor—"

Before the sentence fully formed itself, Nika shoved him. Hard. As he stepped back to catch himself, something flickered inside Ren. Something both hot and cold, both razor-sharp and feather-soft all at once. He didn't quite know what to do, about her sudden aggressiveness or the reaction it had drawn from him.

Nika went ghostly-white. "I have to go," she muttered, surging for the side door yet again.

He was going to allow it, too perplexed by the odd behavior to stop her. But then she slammed to a halt and whispered, "They didn't mention the gun."

Ren frowned at the back of her head.

She looked over a shoulder. "In the interview—no one brought it up. I suppose I should thank you for making sure it wasn't submitted as evidence."

"It was submitted as evidence," he admitted. "But not the kind the Ministry can use to condemn you."

"Well, Rostova did a good job of that, even without real proof." She cast her eyes downward, and Ren didn't miss the hurt flashing through her features.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked. "You're bothered by how she treated you during the interview?"

Nika scoffed, likely remembering that she wasn't with someone she trusted. "After seventeen years, I'm used to it. The Halfblood Bastard has thick skin."

He approached, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he stood before her. "Then why'd you come here?"

Silence.

"Are you avoiding your father?"

Her head snapped up. "Why do you care, huh? Markos doesn't pay you to stalk me."

Ren had half a mind to reveal that was exactly what he got paid for at the moment. But Markos wanted Nika to remain unaware of his new role as her keeper.

So he said, "I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

A mocking laugh.

"Is that so difficult to believe?" He didn't know why it offended him. Did he not seem like a decent person?

Nika craned her neck back to look at him directly, and those bite marks dribbled blood. Some deep-rooted, Daemonstri instinct had Ren's nostrils flaring. He inhaled her scent—smoke on the wind and midnight jasmine. It felt like a punch to the gut, but he willed himself not to react.

"I'm not some damsel in distress, you hulking idiot."

That was all it took to spark Ren's former frustration. His hands curled into fists. "Hulking—?"

"I can handle myself during a harmless night of fun. And don't you ever judge me about my relationship with Markos."

"I wasn't—" Ren cocked his head, a soft laugh escaping him. "You are avoiding him."

"Stop."

"Fine, I'll stay out of your business. But just so you know, Markos acted that way in the interview because he doesn't like the public knowing how much he cares."

"What?"

"He's a Minister. The list of enemies is endless, and if those people knew that you're Markos's weakness, you could be targeted. He pretends to be indifferent to protect you."

"Oldbloods spare me! I'm a keeper; I don't need his protection."

"You aren't a keeper yet. Which is why you shouldn't have snuck away tonight."

A long, exasperated groan. "Just leave me alone."

"I will, once you're at home."

Ren stepped forward, herding her further down the alley. Nika walked backward with surprising success, despite her drunkenness, keeping a healthy distance between their bodies.

"That place is not my home," she said through clenched teeth.

"Regardless, it's where I'm taking you."

And with that, he latched onto her wrist and all but dragged her toward the parked SUV on the corner. If a bystander suspected criminal behavior as he shoved her into the car, they didn't mention it.

So they rode to Lirovin Square in an oddly comfortable silence, and as the humming engine stopped in front of Dimitrovich Manor, Nika grumbled, "You vex me, Romanovich."

"I prefer to be called Ren," he said while escorting her inside.

The only sign of her acknowledgment was a grunt, then she darted through the door and up the stairs, slowing down only when Markos appeared at the top.

"Where have you been?" he asked, worry and urgency lacing the words. "I wanted to talk to you about the interview."

Nika blew past him without a word, and several seconds later, her bedroom door slammed shut. Markos slowly descended to meet Ren.

"Is she alright?"

"Physically—yes. Otherwise . . . there's room for improvement."

Markos cast a forlorn gaze upstairs. "We used to be close. She used to tell me things."

Ren knew his shift was over and he had no obligation to stick around, but . . . the poor man looked desperate for help. And suddenly, he found himself saying, "I was adopted."

The Minister's green eyes—Nika's eyes—widened at him.

"When I found out," Ren continued, "I was angry. Betrayed. Until I realized I wasn't adopted because my parents didn't want me, I was adopted because someone else did. Perhaps Nika just needs to be reminded of the place she has in the Lazarov family."

Markos sighed. "I would've thought the same, but the Lazarovs won't welcome Nika back until Luiza is brought home. I don't blame them; she's a constant reminder of Lu. But Patricia promised that she would be a mother to her, no matter what."

Ren truly sympathized with him, but there was no other advice or help he could have offered. So he stood still and silent, waiting for Markos to speak again.

Finally, the Minister did. "What am I doing?" A breathy laugh. "You don't want to hear this."

He waved goodbye and began to turn around. But Ren's tongue, apparently, had a mind of its own. "I don't mean to impose, sir, but you should have defended her tonight."

Markos's features hardened. Was it shame? Anger? Perhaps it was wrong to voice such an opinion.

"Surely, you understand why I didn't," was all Markos said.

"What matters is if Nika understands it, not me. But how can she? One of her friends was brutally killed. Another was abducted. The Lazarovs turned her away. Her father won't stand up to defend her. And people are accusing her left and right of being a traitor to society. How would all of that make you feel?"

✦

Alone.

Sitting on her bedroom balcony, knees tucked beneath her chin, Nika felt utterly alone. She'd never heard such silence as the one that festered around her now. She'd never felt an absence such as the gaping hole in her chest.

She looked skyward, hoping to find a distraction among the stars. Anything to take her mind off that loneliness. But they only made her realize that, somewhere, Lu might be gazing at the same night sky.

Where are you?

Nika shot her plea across the universe, and the silence roared in answer.

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