“That old warehouse on Tenth.”
“And who else was there?”
“Only me,” said the Malchai, gesturing to his stained self.
Sloan nodded thoughtfully. “I appreciate your discretion. Thank you for coming to me.”
The Malchai’s eyes brightened. “You’re welcome, s—”
He never finished: Sloan tore out his heart.
He had to reach through the Malchai’s stomach to get it, up around the bone plating on his chest, and by the time he pulled the offending organ free, his arm was slick with gore.
Sloan grimaced at the rot of death, the black blood dripping to the floor.
Alice rolled her eyes. “And you say I’m the messy one.”
Sloan unbuttoned the soiled shirt as a sound came from the table.
The female engineer had her hands over her mouth.
“Something to say?” asked Sloan lightly. “Have you found an answer to my problem yet?”
The woman shook her head.
The man’s voice was barely a whisper. “Not yet.”
Sloan sighed, turning to Alice. “Keep an eye on these two,” he said, shrugging out of the ruined shirt. He dropped it onto the body. “And clean this up.”
The Malchai’s corpse was already beginning to dissolve on the floor. Alice wrinkled her nose. “Where are you going?”
Sloan stepped over the mess and went to change his clothes.
“You heard our dear, departed friend,” he said. “We seem to have a pest problem.”
The hood went on again, and for several long minutes Kate’s world was plunged back into black. The door was opened, her cuffs freed from the table, and then she was hoisted up from her chair and onto unsteady feet.
She was shaking.
She hated that she was shaking.
This was why she’d started smoking.
A single strong hand—Soro’s, she could tell by the viselike grip—led her from the room, and down a hall. She could feel the knife holstered at Soro’s side.
“You know,” said Kate, “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
The Sunai scoffed.
“You don’t know me,” pressed Kate.
“I know who you are,” said Soro, “and I know what you are, and that is enough.”
“You monsters,” muttered Kate, “you think everything is black and white.” Her shoes skimmed a gap, the narrow line between floor and elevator. “Maybe it is, for you, but for the rest of us—”
The hood came off, and Kate blinked. Soro loomed before her, long as a shadow, their silver hair like metal in the artificial light.
The Sunai was blocking Kate’s view of the control panel. “Where are we going?”
Soro’s gaze was cold, their voice even. “Up.”
Her heart fluttered. She’d gotten through the interrogation, white-knuckled it, and for the most part managed to keep a grip on the words coming out of her mouth. She’d told the truth, if not all of it.
Maybe she was being released.
Maybe . . . but the absence of the hood worried her—wherever she was being taken next, it didn’t matter if she could see, and with every passing second, her nerves tightened, the desire to do something wearing away at the knowledge of its uselessness. Don’t, don’t, don’t, became the echo in her head.
Soro broke the silence. “Humans have free will,” they said, picking up the thread of the earlier argument. “You chose to err. You chose to sin.”
If only you knew, thought Kate, fighting her own muscles, her own mind.
“People make mistakes,” said Kate. “Not everyone deserves to die.”
A ghost of amusement crossed the Sunai’s lips. “You died the day you took another life. I am simply here to clear your corpse.”
A cold chill ran through her at Soro’s words, at their hand drifting toward the flute-knife, at the echo of pain in her wrist.
But the elevator stopped and Soro didn’t draw the weapon. The doors slid open and Kate braced herself for whatever was beyond, for prison cells, or a firing squad, or a plank at the edge of a roof.
But there was only August.
No troops, no cells, nothing but August Flynn, looking so staggeringly normal, hands in his pockets, the tallies peaking out from his sleeves, that for a second, Kate felt her composure slip. The exhaustion and the fear laid bare. The swell of relief.
But something was off. He didn’t look at Kate, only at Soro. “I’ll take it from here.”
Kate tried to step toward him, but Soro caught her arm. “Explain to me, August, why she is—”
“No,” he cut in, an edge in his voice. It was the same edge Kate had heard in her father’s tone a dozen times, one she herself had mimicked, an edge meant to silence, to quell. It sounded wrong coming from him. “We both have orders. Follow yours, and let me follow mine.”
A shadow crossed Soro’s face, but the Sunai complied and Kate was shoved forward into the apartment. August caught her elbow, steadying her as the elevator doors slid closed.
“I don’t think that one likes me,” she muttered.
August said nothing, releasing the handcuffs with brisk, sure movements. The metal clicked free and fell away, and she rubbed her wrists, wincing slightly. “Where are we?”
“The Flynn apartment.”
Kate’s eyes widened. She’d known South City didn’t enjoy the same kind of luxury as the North, hadn’t expected Henry Flynn’s place to look like Callum Harker’s, but she was still struck by the difference, the utter normalcy of it. The penthouse at Harker Hall was a thing of steel and wood and glass, all edges, but this place looked . . . well, it looked like a home. Something lived in.
August led her down an entry hall and into the main room, a kitchen opening onto a sitting area, a blanket thrown over the couch. Down a short hall she saw an open door, a violin case leaning against the edge of a bed.
“What are we doing here?”
“I pleaded your case,” said August. “Convinced Henry to release you into my custody, at least for the night, so try not to do anything rash.”
“But it suits me so well.”
She was trying to defuse the tension, but August didn’t smile. Everything about him was stiff, as if they’d never met.
“What’s with the act?”
The slightest furrow formed between his eyes. “What act?”
“The steely, dark-eyed soldier act.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice look—I just don’t know why you’re still wearing it.”
August straightened. “I’m the captain of the task force.”
“Okay, so that explains the clothing. What about the rest?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” What had he once said about going dark? That every time he did, he lost a piece of what made him human. Kate refused to believe he’d lost this much. “What happened to you?”
“Things change,” he said. “I’ve changed with them. And so have you.” He took a sudden step toward her, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. His gray eyes tracked across her face, his intensity uncomfortable. “Why did you come back?”
“Gee thanks, I missed you, too.”
“Stop deflecting.”
“I already told Soro—”