Whoever had made the marks of Cronos on the coquina walls had long since gone. And so had their scents. Magic users were far more difficult to track than humans—charms, potions, and spells cloaking them so even the most skilled couldn’t trace them. She passed Haven, who was conducting some sort of spell over the mark, searching for a trace of magic that they might be able to follow. If Kyana’s nose was going to fail her, maybe Haven’s witchery would be a bit more successful. Sighing, she began her third lap around the large square, her ears picking up every door shutting, every window being boarded by the human residents who were still too afraid to trust that the Order would protect them now that the sun had gone down. She couldn’t blame them. The Order hadn’t done a fantastic job protecting them when Hell had broken free. Why believe they could do better now that things had calmed again? And if they only knew the danger that was waiting to pounce, they’d pack up and move their families as far away from the Order as humanly possible.
