“What did you say about my mother?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“She thought she could hide them,” the man said, coughing up a splat of dark blood. “She thought she could protect Elena Draven.”

The rain began to fall harder, drumming a frantic rhythm against the canopy of leaves.

“My mother was a nurse,” I said, shaking my head. “She had nothing to do with the Dravens.”

The man laughed, a wet, bitter sound that turned into a wheeze.

“She was Elena’s shadow,” he said. “The secret guardian who kept her hidden when the syndicate turned on her.”

He looked at Bishop, who was still standing over the first man, growling softly.

“Why do you think that beast protects you?” the man whispered. “He knows the scent. He knows your mother’s blood.”

The first man lay groaning in the mud, his arm bleeding heavily through his torn sleeve.

“They betrayed them both,” the second man said, his eyes shifting toward the darkness behind me. “And now they’re going to finish the job.”

I heard the sound of car doors slamming in the distance, out on the main road.