She made it five steps and then an arm marked with black X’s snaked around her shoulders, pulling her close before she even registered the sound of the man’s body hitting the pavement.
“Be still,” said the monster in Kate’s ear. “The fight is over. You have already lost.” Long fingers slid through Kate’s hair and tightened, forcing her head back. “Try to flee, and you will die in pain. Kneel, and I will make it quick.”
“I know August.”
The Sunai paused at that. “How?”
What were they? Friends? Allies? “He saved my life,” she said at last, “and I saved his.”
“I see.” The Sunai hummed thoughtfully. And then the iron grip was back. “Then you are even.”
Panic shuddered through her. “Wait,” she pleaded, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I have information.”
A boot caught her behind the knees and her legs buckled, forcing her down. “I will hear your confession soon enough.”
“If you just let me see August.”
“Enough.”
Callum Harker once told Kate that only fools shouted when they wanted others to listen. Smart men spoke softly, expecting to be heard.
Now, Kate raised her voice, as loud as she possibly could.
“AUGUST FLYNN!” she called out, right before the Sunai’s blade came up beneath her chin. Blood—bright, red, human—coated its length, the tang of copper tickling her throat as her own voice echoed through the city streets.
“I warned you,” growled the Sunai.
Kate’s heart hammered in her ears.
Not like this.
Her bag sat several feet away. The gun glinted at the base of the wall. The iron spike traced a cool line against her shin. She hadn’t come this far just to be reaped. If she was going to die, she’d be damned if she did it on her knees.
“There is a new monster in your city,” she said.
The blade’s edge grazed her throat.
“It’s turning humans on each other.”
At that, the Sunai hesitated, the blade drew back a fraction, and Kate saw her only chance.
“What did you—”
But Kate was already up, spinning as she rose. She caught the flute with the spike, and the instrument went skidding away down the street before the Sunai’s fist cracked across her face.
She went down hard, vision going black and then white, head still ringing as she scrambled up. She never made it. The Sunai dragged her to her feet, and threw her like a scrap against the wall. The air left her lungs, and the shadow in her head called for blood even as the Sunai wrapped a hand around Kate’s throat—
“Soro, stop.”
The command echoed, metal on stone.
The Sunai’s hand fell away from Kate’s throat and she sank to her knees on the pavement. The world tilted and swam, but she dragged her head up and saw him standing at the mouth of the alley.
August.
He was dressed in FTF fatigues, a steel violin hanging from his fingers. The last six months had changed Kate in small ways, but the changes to August Flynn were bigger. He was still lean, but he’d grown into his height, broad shoulders filling out his uniform. The lines of his face were sharp and strong, black curls sweeping over gray eyes—once pale, now the color of iron. But it was more than that, more than the sum of so many pieces. It was the way he held himself, not like the boy she’d met at Colton, hunched against some invisible wind, or the one she’d fled with through the Waste, arms wrapped around his ribs as if he could hold himself together.
This August took up space.
The Sunai—Soro—glared down at her, but didn’t attack again.
Kate forced herself to her feet. “Hey there, stranger.”
“Kate,” answered August.
He didn’t seem happy to see her. He didn’t seem anything to see her, his face arranged into a mask of total neutrality, as if she were nothing, no one. When Kate took a step toward him, Soro blocked her way.
“Soro. This is Katherine Harker. She’s—” His gaze cut toward her, then away, and Kate realized he didn’t know what to call her either, “an ally.”
“The FTF does not consort with criminals.”
“She said she has information.”
Of course he’d heard. He was Sunai. He could hear a pin drop a block away. “Henry will want to speak with her.”
“But her soul is red.”
“Call it in,” snapped August. “Let the Compound know we’re coming. That’s an order.”
Kate stared at him. Since when did August Flynn give orders?
But the other Sunai didn’t question him further, only obeyed, speaking briskly into a comm. The words were lost as the Sunai turned away and August stepped in front of Kate.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
“Nice to see you, too,” she snapped.
His gaze tracked over her, taking in the bruise rising on her cheekbone, the five purple lines around her wrist.
His voice softened a fraction. “Are you all right?”
Four small words, but in that question she glimpsed the August she’d known, the one who cared so much more than he should.
She ached, but at least the red light—that terrible, unnatural reminder of what she’d done—was gone.
“I’m alive. Thanks,” she added, “for stepping in.”
But the softness had already vanished, leaving his features smooth and cold. Somewhere nearby, the familiar drone of a car’s engine was rising. He produced a zip tie and looped the plastic around her hands as the vehicle came whipping around the corner.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, right before a sack came down over her head.
It had been five years since the car crash.
Five years since the force of Kate’s head against the glass had shattered her right eardrum and robbed her of half her hearing. Five years, and most days, she got by. She still had one good ear and four other senses all firing to make up the difference.
But as the hood came down over her head, the loss of a second sense left her disoriented.
Disembodied noise—voices, car doors, comm units—reached her good ear in fragments through the suffocating cloth. No one spoke—at least, not to her. One second August’s hand was on her arm, and the next it was gone, replaced by other, rougher hands, forcing her body forward, head down, off the street and into a vehicle. Her wrist ached against the plastic zip tie, her cheek throbbing from the Sunai’s punch.
There was a thin line of light at the bottom of the hood, but everything else was reduced to shades of black, the jostle of tires, the hum of the engine. They drove for three minutes, nearly four, and when they stopped, Kate had to resist the simple, animal urge to fight back as she was pulled from the car.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t trust herself to speak. Besides, she had a feeling the time would come when she’d have to. Breathe, she told her lungs. In, one two. Out, one two.
The ground changed subtly beneath her feet—asphalt, concrete, rubber, concrete again—the atmospheric shifts of outdoor and indoor, the echo that came with walled space. She tried to keep track, but somewhere she stumbled and in that dizzying moment, she lost the thread.