Then—a hallway, a threshold, a metal chair.
The momentary kiss of a knife against her wrists, cold on warm, a flicker of panic before the zip tie broke, and then, just as quick, the weight of the cuffs, the clank and pull of metal threaded through metal, fastening her hands to a metal table.
Steps, the door falling closed.
Then, silence.
Kate hated silence, but she held on to it now, used the lack of information to steady her spinning head and focus on the task at hand. She splayed her fingers against the cold metal and tried to decide which would be less suspicious, panic or calm.
The door opened.
Footsteps moved toward her, and then the hood came off.
Kate squinted in the sudden light—stripes of harsh, artificial white embedded in the ceiling—as Soro rounded the table, the shining hilt of the flute-knife jutting from the Sunai’s pocket. There was no sign of August. No sign of anyone else. The room was small and square, bare save for the table, two chairs, and the red light of a surveillance camera in the corner. She kept her gaze down.
The wraithlike Sunai, meanwhile, was looking at Kate as though she were the monster in the room. Soro said nothing as the bag—her bag—was upended on the table. When the first metal spike hit the table, Kate’s pulse rose, longing to lunge for it, even though the chain wouldn’t reach, even though it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good if it did. She kept her eyes on the cuffs themselves instead, studying the intricacies of each steel loop.
But as Soro began to methodically arrange the contents of Kate’s bag, displaying them as if they were tools in a torturer’s kit, another force began to pull at her—the Sunai’s presence, like a hand at her back, a subtle, insistent urge to speak. Kate kept her mouth shut as Soro sank into the opposite chair.
“Well, then,” said the Sunai. “Let’s begin.”
The surveillance feed hummed with static.
It was low enough that humans probably didn’t notice, but the sound filled August’s head, a background of white noise behind the video.
Kate Harker sat unmoving in one of the two chairs, while the shadow beneath her feet twitched and tangled around the table legs.
Her hair was different—bangs falling into her eyes—but other than that, she looked the same, as if the last six months hadn’t touched her.
Do you know where she is? Alice had goaded him.
Far away from here. Far away from you.
Only she wasn’t, she was right here.
Why had she come back?
Ilsa’s gaze flicked toward him, featherlight, as if she’d heard the question in his head. August kept his eyes on Kate.
She looked almost bored, but he knew it was an act, because everything about Kate had always been an act—the bravado, the cold air, all the aspects of her father arranged into a shield, a mask.
Henry stepped up beside them. On the screen, the door at Kate’s back swung open and Soro strode in. When the Sunai glanced up at the camera lens, their gray eyes registered as a smudge of black. Kate’s voice echoed through his head. He’d been two blocks away when she’d screamed his name. If he’d been any later . . .
“I should have been the one to question her,” said August.
Henry brought a hand to his shoulder. “You’re not objective.”
He shrugged off the touch. “Soro nearly killed her.”
“If you didn’t know Kate, would you have spared her?”
August stiffened. “That isn’t fair.”
Fair? chided the voice in his head. A sinner is a sinner.
But it wasn’t that simple. Not when it came to Kate. She was his past. A reminder of who he’d been, who he’d wanted to be. Of school uniforms, and fevers, of starving and stardust and— “Well then. Let’s begin.”
He dragged his spiraling mind to a stop as the mic flared to life and Soro’s voice filtered through.
“What is your name?”
Kate tipped her head a fraction. To everyone else, it might have registered as boredom, but August knew she was turning her good ear away from the Sunai.
“Katherine Olivia Harker,” she answered. If she was afraid, she was doing a good job of keeping it off her face. She tapped the cuffs with a nail. “Are these pure metal or alloy?”
“How old are you?”
“Do you really need to establish a baseline, when you know I can’t lie?”
“Answer the question.”
“Eighteen. I was born at three in the morning on a Wednesday in Jan—”
“Are you the daughter of Callum Harker?”
“Yes.”
“Are you afraid?” asked Soro.
“Should I be?”
“You are a sinner,” said Soro.
“If that’s a question,” said Kate, “then you need to work on your inflection.” August shook his head—some things really hadn’t changed—but Kate only straightened in her seat. “You’re new. What’s your name? Sorrow? That’s what August called you, right? Not very uplifting is it? Are these too many questions? I know you have to tell the truth.”
“As do you,” countered Soro. “Why did you leave Verity six months ago?”
Kate paused a moment before answering—a display of will. “Call me crazy,” she said slowly, “but I just didn’t feel very welcome anymore. Not after my father tried to kill me.”
“And why did you return?”
That question struck a chord. “I tried to tell you,” said Kate. “I’m hunting a monster.”
At August’s side, Henry tensed.
On the screen, Soro inclined their head. “What kind of monster?”
Kate shifted in her seat. “I don’t know.”
“What does it feed on?”
“Violence? Chaos? Death? I’m not sure. It doesn’t kill with its own hands. As far as I can tell, it convinces its victims to do the job. It turns people against each other.”
August started. Squad Six. He looked at Henry, but Henry had already taken up his comm, issuing a low and steady stream of orders.
On the screen, Soro continued their interrogation.
“Describe this monster.”
“I can’t,” she snapped, shaking her head. “It’s a shadow. An outline of something you can’t see. It doesn’t feel—real. It’s a nothing, an absence—”
“You are not making sense,” said Soro.
“You’d understand if you saw it.”
“And you have?”
“Yes.”
“And you know it’s here?”
“I tracked it from Prosperity.”
Soro’s eyes narrowed. “There are no monsters in Prosperity.”
“There are now.”
“How does it hunt?”
“I’m not sure,” said Kate, “but it seems drawn to violence. It amplifies it.”
Soro crossed their arms. “How did you track it?”
Kate’s poise faltered. “What?”
“You said this monster ‘doesn’t have a real body,’ so how did you track it?”
August watched Kate take a breath—buying seconds to bend the truth?—before she answered. “It left a trail.”