He held his hands out in the rain, rinsing off as much of the blood as he could before he went inside. He dug a handful of folded bills from his pocket—he didn’t carry much, only what Henry made him keep on hand in case of emergency—and made his way up and down the aisles, avoiding the gaze of the security cameras as he grabbed a suture kit, antiseptic, painkillers, adhesive strips.
His fingers itched to call his father, to let Henry know he was all right, that he was trying to help. But what if Leo answered? Or worse, what if his brother was on his way? What would he do if he found Kate?
“There’s a clinic down the road,” said the woman behind the counter.
August looked up. “What?”
She nodded at the supplies, and he realized how obvious they were. He should have added other things, to make it all look less suspicious, but he didn’t have much cash. He fumbled for a version of the truth. “Friend took a fall,” he said. “Doesn’t want her family to find out.”
The woman nodded absently and bagged the supplies. “Overprotective?”
“Something like that.” August paid, and pulled up his collar as he headed back out into the rain. He looked up, expecting to see Kate waiting beside the subway entrance where he’d left her.
But she wasn’t there.
“No, no, no,” murmured August as he jogged across the street, holding his breath until he reached the exact place she’d been, as if that would somehow make her reappear. The puddle at his feet was stained red. Rain soaked into his hair and dripped from his case as he spun in a circle, resisting the urge to call out her name. Umbrellas swirled around him as people came and went.
And then, at last, he saw her, standing beneath an awning down the block. Relief washed over him. The force of it caught him off guard.
“I thought you’d left,” he said, jogging over.
Kate gave him a long look and said, “I thought about it,” before her eyes went to the bag of supplies in his hand. “But this sounds like so much fun.”
They walked three blocks to a motel—the kind you paid for by the hour—and used the majority of Kate’s cash to pay for a room. The place claimed it wasn’t linked to Harker’s feeds—only a closed loop, for security purposes—and the man at the front desk gave her a seedy smile as he handed her two keys.
“This place is dirtier than the subway,” said Kate, lowering herself onto the edge of the bed while August laid out the medical supplies. She thought of yesterday morning before school, the way she’d laid out the zip ties and duct tape and iron spikes. How had it only been a day? “Do you really know what you’re doing?” she asked when he tore open the suture kit. And then when he started to answer, she held up her hand. “Flynn. Surgeon. Got it.”
He tossed her a bottle of painkillers and she swallowed three dry, then peeled off the jacket and shirt. August didn’t even try to sneak a glance as he pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. She should have known he wasn’t human.
The tooth marks on her shoulder weren’t deep, but the gashes across her stomach were angry and red. Kate lay back, wincing as August cleaned the cuts and sprayed the area with a numbing agent. She drew a steadying breath as he took up the needle.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’ll try to be quick.”
“Wait.” She dug the pack of cigarettes out of her bag. The package was a little soggy, but they still lit.
August shook his head. “Of all the ways to die—”
“I’ll be lucky if I live long enough for these to be a problem.” She put the cigarette between her lips and took a drag. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
The whole thing hurt like hell, but Kate had to hand it to August: He was careful. Gentle. As gentle as someone could be when they were stabbing you with a needle and thread. But he obviously wasn’t trying to hurt her—if anything, he seemed put off by the whole thing. Great. A squeamish monster. Go figure.
But halfway through, Kate felt her resolve failing. The room was too quiet and the pain too sharp, and before she knew it, she was talking. She didn’t know why, but the words just started coming, and she didn’t stop them.
“I grew up with stories of my father,” she said, trying to keep still. “That’s all he was really, for years, a good story. But I wanted him to be real. Mom made him sound so strong, invincible, and I could barely remember him myself—I was so young when we left the city—so over time, all I wanted was to see him again. To be a family again.” She winced, continued. “And then we finally came back to V-City, and it was all wrong. None of it was like the stories. Dad was never around, and when he was, it was like he was a stranger. Like we were strangers in his house. Mom couldn’t take it.”
“The night she died,” continued Kate, “she dragged me out of bed. Her mouth was too red, and she’d been crying.”
Get up, Kate. We have to go.
Where are we going?
Home.
“She kept looking back. But no one stopped us. Not when we snuck through the penthouse. Not when she took the car. Not when the city blurred past.”
He’s going to be mad, Mom.
Don’t worry, Kate. It’s going to be okay. Sit back. Close your eyes. Tell me where you are.
It was her favorite game, a way to turn where you were into where you wanted to be.