Dante could sense nothing. He let his mind wander, stretching
his senses, moving across the geography around him without
the bother of actually relying on his eyes.
The rustle of swaying twigs.
The grains of sand kicked up as he stepped.
The persistent whine of Enzo's retreating car.
But no sign of the preternatural presence Dante had detected
earlier. The area was almost unnaturally quiet. He suppressed a
wave of mild anxiety and furrowed his brow.