Nora's POV
"Diseased?" The word catches in my throat. "You mean like a fever or infection?"
"Something like that," James responds, his voice carrying an edge of uncertainty. "Judging by how decomposed the body was, death occurred roughly twenty-four hours ago. But the blood had this stench, like it had been rotting for weeks."
"That makes no sense whatsoever." I massage my temples, feeling a headache building. "Then again, neither does a hellhound splitting into a swarm of rats."
"Maybe that was their escape strategy," Jill suggests, tucking her legs beneath her on the couch. "Think about it logically. A massive demonic dog prowling Chicago's streets would definitely catch attention. But rats? They blend into the sewers perfectly."
