Page 256 of Psycho Pack

A glint of metal in the distance makes us all stiffen.

An armored black car approaching through the morning mist.

I position myself in front of Ivy instinctively, Whiskey moving to flank her other side. My eyes strain to see through the tinted windows, searching for any glimpse of my brother even though I know this is just a negotiation. He won't be here yet.

The car stops and a figure emerges that makes my hackles rise. He's clearly massive beneath the black cloak brushing the tops of his leather boots, taller and broader than every one of us except Wraith, with long black hair whipping violently in the wind. A black bandana covers most of his face, leaving only hiseyes visible. It's not an uncommon choice in the Outer Reaches, but I'm sure it has as much to do with concealing his identity as the wind. The rising sun silhouettes him as he approaches, making it impossible to make out his features.

My hand drifts to my weapon, and I feel rather than see Whiskey and Ivy tensing behind me. The stranger's measured, purposeful stride is nothing short of predatory.

Something about his movements seems familiar, but I can't place why. My mind races through possibilities as he draws closer and confusion ricochets through me like a bullet.

He came alone?

This could still be a trap.

We all watch in silence as the massive figure comes to a stop before us.

"I thought I specified one guard," he calls out, and my blood runs cold.

That voice.

I can't place the vague accent, but…

Iknowthat voice.

Before I can process what's happening, Whiskey lets out a snort. "You scared of a chick, bro?"

The figure goes utterly still, and I catch a glimpse of eyes flashing blue above the bandana as he stares at Ivy behind us.

Whiskey smirks, adding under his breath, "You should be."

I glance over at Ivy, noting how her hand remains hidden beneath her cloak. No doubt gripping that glass dagger she's grown so fond of. Her lips curve into a dangerous smile that matches Whiskey's.

The man takes another step forward, and we all tense. My heart pounds against my ribs as he reaches up, fingers catching the edge of his bandana. Time seems to slow as he pulls it away from his face, the fabric slipping away.

"Azarel?" I choke out.

My brother stares back at me.

He looks older than his years, and his face is harder than I remember as he looks at me with cold indifference. New scars mark his dark bronze skin.

But it's him.

He's alive.

And he has his hand on his gun.

Chapter

Forty-Two

WHISKEY

Ilook between the giant motherfucker who just stepped out of the car in that dramatic-ass dark cloak and Plague, my brain struggling to process what I'm seeing.

"That'syour big bro?" I blurt out. "He's not just big, he's fuckin' huge!"

Plague ignores me completely and steps forward. "How did you escape?" he asks his brother, his voice tight with emotion. And that's like getting beer out of a fucking cactus.