The stink of sulfur and stale whiskey clung to the walls of Inferno, a club buried deep in the underbelly of the world—one of the Devil’s many playgrounds. John Constantine had spent six months chasing ghosts, following whispers through dive bars, seedy motels, and back-alley séances, all leading him here.

He stood at the entrance, lighting a Silk Cut with steady hands, though his gut twisted with something close to nerves. Not fear, of course—he’d danced with the Devil before. But he knew better than to walk into Lucifer’s den without a bloody good reason. And tonight, he had one.

She was here.

The girl he’d been searching for, the one everyone swore was lost to the void, tucked away somewhere even the dead refused to speak of. He exhaled a curl of smoke and pushed open the heavy doors, stepping into a world where the drinks burned like holy water, the music throbbed like a heartbeat, and demons wore human skin like tailored suits.

Constantine rolled his shoulders and smirked.

“Right, then. Let’s find the poor lass before Hell decides to keep her.”