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is technically mine now. When Evy Stone was born, or when Chalice Frost was born."
    "What about May twentieth? The day you came back to me?"
    I gave him a smile. "I can go with that."
    His face went blank. "Stop."
    "Stop what?"
    "Stop the car."
    I was in the middle of traffic and not very good at parallel parking, so I went up to the next block and found a small lot. He was already out the door before I shut off the engine, so I had to scramble to catch up. Back down the block. He was practically jogging. The foot traffic was pretty thin for a Sunday afternoon, but I still had to dodge a few bodies and angry glares.
    "What is it?" I asked when I finally caught up with him.
    He'd stopped across the street from our old building. His nostril twitched and his eyes were dilated. "I smell them. It's faint, but it's here."
    "Right here?"
    "Over there." He pointed at my old building.
    I wasn't even going to ask if he was kidding, because I knew he wasn't. I steered him through traffic so he didn't get splattered by both his inability to find the crosswalk and his inattention to anything except the scent of those pups. He led us inside the dank, cement stairway that reeked of urine and sweat and old things—disgusting and familiar. I'd trod these steps a thousand times before in my old life, and a few times in my new one.
    Wyatt pushed through the fire door at the top of the stairs, and we exited into a cement block corridor. Industrial doors marked the apartments, and we walked down to my old unit. He tilted his head, listening. "Their scent is here, but it's not fresh. I don't hear anyone inside."
    "How would they know to come here? It's not like we ever introduced ourselves."
    "It's possible one of them followed Jaron or Token here."
    True. A few months ago, a goblin-human hybrid named Token had tracked the dying sprite Jaron to our apartment, and a little tussle had ensued. We learned later that Token was only one of many hybrid experiments being used by Walter Thackery. "Too bad they didn't leave a note taped to the door," I said.
    "Maybe they left one inside."
    "Something tells me the super changed the locks."
    He smiled, then held his hand out, palm up, fingers pointed toward the lock. The air hummed with magical energy as Wyatt harnessed his Gift. Metal grated. The mechanism from the inside of the lock appeared on his palm, summoned right to him. He could only summon solid objects, and his control had been off a little since his change, but he was getting the hang of it again.
    I turned the knob and the door opened. "You do realize this is officially breaking and entering?"
    "It's not the first time."
    "Good point."
    So we broke into my old apartment. Which turned out to be okay, because it didn't look like anyone was living there except some squatters. It was empty of furniture and the appliances were missing from the kitchenette. The cement floor was scrubbed and bare. The only signs of our squatters were the pile of blankets in the far corner of the living room, and the black garbage bag overflowing with what looked like takeout containers. The place smelled closed up and stale, but not overwhelmingly gross, even with the old food containers.
    I checked the window, which looked out onto a rusty fire escape. It was unlatched and open just wide enough to slide something thin through, like a pocket knife. "This must be how they get in and out," I said.
    He'd crouched next to the blankets and held one close to his nose. "It's the pups." His eyes had gone perfectly silver.
    "They're living here?"
    "Yes. Or crashing on occasion. The scent is old, so they haven't been here in at least a day or two."
    Stopping by once out of morbid curiosity for their new Pack-mate made some sense, if I looked at it sideways. But living here? It was like—"Do you think they want to be caught?"
    "It's possible." He dropped the blanket and stood. "They've lost their family, and they don't know where to go. They may be putting themselves in my path