“Leave her and come home.”
“No. I’m not doing that.”
He could hear Henry say something in the background, and he desperately wanted Leo to put his father back on the line, but the other Sunai kept talking. “You’ve acted beyond your orders and compromised your position. Your identity is now clearly forfeit, so our priority has to be protecting you.”
“And what about her?” he snapped. He could feel Kate’s attention trained on him.
“You are more important,” said Leo smoothly. “Now, where are you?”
The question hit August like a punch. He had to hold the phone away from his face to keep from answering. He forced air into his lungs. He didn’t want to tell him that, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Where. Are. You?” repeated his brother, the patience evaporating from his voice.
August bowed his head, and clenched his teeth, but he could feel the answer clawing its way up his throat, so he hung up.
“What the hell was that about?” asked Kate as he stared down at the phone. “August?”
He shook his head. There had been something in Leo’s voice, something he didn’t like. He thought of the way his brother spoke of Kate, as if she deserved to suffer for Harker’s crimes just because she was his daughter. As if crimes were something that could be passed on like a genetic trait.
“I can’t take you South,” he said grimly.
“Great,” said Kate, plucking the phone out of his hand. “Well, that’s settled.”
But it wasn’t. Nothing was settled. Everything was falling out of order, out of balance.
August closed his eyes to clear his mind and heard Kate typing something rapidly into the phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to get a message to my father, let him know it was a setup.”
“What if Sloan sees it?”
Kate showed him the screen. It was a jumble of letters with dashes scattered between. “When we first came back to the city, after the truce, he taught me a cipher.”
“That’s . . . sweet?”
“Hey, kids,” said a waitress, “you’re going to have to order something or go.”
“Sure thing,” said Kate. “We’re just waiting on a friend.”
The woman didn’t look like she believed it, but she let them be.
“What does it say?” asked August. “Your message.”
“Kidnapped by vicious Sunai. Please start a war in my name.” August frowned. The bells over the front door chimed. “Relax, it’s just my name and this cell number.”
The smell and the sound hit him at the same time. He caught his breath. “Kitchen.”
“What?” asked Kate, disabling the phone’s GPS. “Are you hungry?”
August shook his head. “Go toward the kitchen,” he whispered.
Gasps were moving through the restaurant. Kate twisted toward the noise, but August pulled her back into the corridor.
“Everyone,” said a voice like wet marbles in the main room. A Malchai. “Please stay in your seats.”
“You aren’t supposed to come in here,” said the manager. “We have a deal, and—”
The clean snap of a breaking neck.
Chairs scraping and stifled cries as people began to rise.
“Stop,” ordered the Malchai. “Sit. Down.”
August cheated another step toward the kitchen. His violin case knocked into a folding tray, nearly toppling it, but Kate lunged and caught the edge before it fell. The moment they were through the kitchen doors, August turned and shoved some kind of cooking tool through the handles.
“Hey!” shouted one of the chefs with a booming voice. “You can’t be back here.”
The sound echoed against the stainless steel, and August grabbed Kate’s hand and ran. They reached the back door just as the first Malchai slammed into the one on the restaurant side. The barricade held long enough for them to burst out into the alley.
“We can’t stay here,” said Kate, scanning for cameras.
“Is there anywhere we can stay?” asked August, pushing a Dumpster in front of the doors.
Kate shook her head, but she was already pulling him out of the alley and around the corner, putting as much space between them and the restaurant as possible. As they reached the street, she looped her good arm through his, and pulled him close, nestling into his side. August startled but didn’t pull away. He didn’t understand at first, and then he did. The only people on the street were walking in pairs or groups, and suddenly the two of them looked less like frantic, fleeing teens and more like a young couple. Eyes that might have snagged slid off.
August bent his head casually, as if sheltering her from a breeze.
“We have to get out of the red until I hear from my father,” she said.
We, he noticed. “And how are we supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Kate, leaning against him. “Every building in North City has cameras, and soon the streets are going to be swarming with Malchai, and God only knows how many are now working for Sloan.”
And then, all of a sudden, she stopped.