Asher would’ve killed him on the spot with only my word as evidence. That was how much he trusted me, how much he wanted to protect me.

The gut-feeling twisting and tearing into my stomach like razor blades was telling me to scream for my mate—or worse, tear Lars’s throat out myself.

I had to keep my cool, especially at a bake sale for a girl who had just been murdered. There was no way I could cause a scene. I couldn’t accuse Lars of something like this with nothing more than a hazy memory of black boots and a gut-feeling that set off a symphony of alarms in my head.

His lips curved up in an amused smile, which was my only warning that I had taken too long to answer. Keeping my eyes on his face and not on his boots was excruciating, but I wasn’t sure if he had seen me look the first time.

If this gut-feeling of mine was correct—which both witches said it would be, then that meant Lars was connected to all of this. Perhaps he was a puppet and