Look at me, thought August tiredly. Look at me.
Leo stepped noiselessly into the light as darkness pooled beneath August like smoke.
A smile crept across Sloan’s face. “It’s over, little monster,” he said, lifting the metal bar.
August braced himself, but before Sloan could strike, the pole was gone. One moment it was in his hand, and the next it was in Leo’s, and then, in a single, fluid motion, his brother drove the metal up through the Malchai’s back. Sloan let out a strangled scream and staggered forward, nails clawing at the jagged metal edge protruding from his collar as black gore dripped down his shirt. He spun toward Leo, but lost his balance, staggered, and fell to one knee.
“My brother’s death,” said Leo as Sloan doubled over, retching blood, “wasn’t part of the deal.”
Sloan’s lips curled back, teeth bared as he tried—and failed—to form words. And then his body shuddered, bones twitching before he finally collapsed to the concrete.
August rested his forehead on the ground. Leo’s shadow fell over him, and he rolled onto his back, and looked up, meeting his brother’s gaze. For a moment, all he felt was relief. And then, for some reason, a prickle of fear. The look in Leo’s black eyes wasn’t shock, or vindication. It was disappointment.
“Hello, little brother.”
Leo knelt, and tore the duct tape from August’s mouth, and August gasped, choking on the cold night air. He coughed, spit black blood onto the floor. He tried to speak, but the words had no sound.
Leo tilted his head. “What was that?”
August tried again. “I said . . . ,” he managed between ragged breaths, “what deal?”
Leo gave August a pitying look. As if it should have been obvious.
A deal with Sloan. A deal between two monsters who wanted to start a war.
“What have you done?”
Leo took hold of the chain around August’s wrists and hauled him to his feet. “What needed to be done.”
August swayed. “You . . . you told them about me . . . you sent me to that school and then you told Sloan I was there.” He didn’t deny it. “Does Henry know?”
“Henry Flynn has grown tired and weak,” said Leo. “He is no longer fit to lead us.”
“But Ilsa—”
“Our sister should have stayed out of the way.” He shook his head. “Her loss hurts our mission, but I have hope for you.”
August started shaking his head and couldn’t stop. “You betrayed our family.”
“They lost sight of our cause,” he said, grip tightening on the chains. “The city needs us, August. Not just South or North. The whole city. Poison spreads. Violence spreads. Everything spreads. We cannot hide behind these truces and Seams, and wait. We are Sunai. We were made to cleanse this world, not hide and let it rot. We have a purpose, August. It is time you rose to it.”
“Henry will never forgive you.”
“I do not need his forgiveness. He is a human.” Leo sounded disgusted. “He cannot see beyond his own fear. His own desire to survive.”
“You’re just another monster.”
August tried to pull free, pull away, but Leo didn’t let go. “I am Sunai,” he said. “I am holy fire. And if I have to burn the world to cleanse it, so help me, I will.” He took August’s face in his hand, a gesture that could have been gentle, but wasn’t. A thumb beneath his jaw forced August’s gaze up to meet his own, the black of his eyes at once flat and endless. “Where is she, little brother?”
Kate.
August saw the truth in his brother’s eyes. Leo was going to finish what he started. He was going to kill her. But August couldn’t answer what he didn’t know. He shook his head.
Leo hissed. “You protect a sinner.”
“To protect our family. Our city. Killing her will start a war.”
A small, grim smile. “The war is already starting. And I’m not going to kill her, little brother. You are.”
The first thing Kate saw was the body.
The second Malchai was slumped across from the open door, black gore dripping down its front where its chest had been torn open, the shield of its ribs shattered. Kate crouched and picked up a shard of bone, slick but sharp in her fingers. It wasn’t a knife, but it would have to do.
She straightened, looked around: In one direction, beyond the warehouse’s open doors, the night waited, an empty dirt lot giving way to fields. In the other direction, slumped in a pool of light, knelt August. August, bruised and bleeding, smoke trailing from him like a dying fire. Someone was standing over him, and at first she thought it must be Sloan, but as she drew closer, she saw the Malchai’s body crumpled on the ground. And then she registered the new figure’s height, the breadth of his shoulders, the glint of light on fair hair, and realized it was Leo.