“Skylar.” That was all I was able to say—just her name, nothing else.

He closed his eyes, head bowed. “I know.”

Another person might have looked at Reid and seen a complete lack of emotion. He might have looked like the consummate warrior, a blank slate. But I saw deeper, saw more.

I saw Skylar.

Gone.

I may have been the one bleeding, but the man in front of me was gutted.

“We have to get you out of here,” Reid said, opening his eyes to fix me with a familiar stare. “This place is going down.”

On some level, I was aware of the cacophony echoing all around us. Men fighting monsters. Monsters killing men. And even though I’d stayed for a reason, even though that had been my choice, I couldn’t help the whisper in the back of my mind that asked why it mattered.

What did any of it matter, when Skylar was dead?

“It matters,” Reid said, his voice cutting through the air like a knife, “because you’re not.”

I wondered if he was like Skylar—if he saw things, knew things—but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Gingerly, he lifted me off the ground, and I drew in a sharp breath.

“First we get out of here. Then we get you to the hospital.”

I wanted to tell Reid that I could walk out on my own two feet, that I hated hospitals, that I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d left me there to die. But I didn’t say any of that.

I said, “They killed her.”

And Reid said, “I know.”

He pulled a gun from his side and shouted something down the hallway. A shout came back, and a second later, the hallway was filled with men in bulletproof vests.

It figured the government would send the FBI into a facility filled with genetically enhanced monsters and expect bulletproof vests to do the trick.

A man who might have been Reid’s boss spared a glance for me. “Preternatural Control has the first level secured. We’ve planted the explosives. Get her out of here. We detonate in three.”

Three minutes, I thought, and the insane urge to laugh bubbled up in me again. I’d intended to burn this place to ash, and in three minutes, that was exactly what it would be. But as Reid carried me to safety, and I left the closest thing I’d ever seen to a war zone behind, all I could think about was the bodies we passed.

A miniature griffin with broken wings and a blood-smeared mouth.

A reptile whose eyes looked all too human.

The Alan.

All dead.

“They’re going to want to ask you some questions,” Reid said quietly, once we’d made it out and to the road.

I watched the building go up in flames. Watched the windows explode outward and the structure collapse. I thought of the will-o’-the-wisps, of Skylar, of Colette’s body in the basement cell.

“I know.”

36

The doctors patched me up. The FBI asked their questions, and I did my best to answer them quickly and efficiently—and most important, before the sun came up the next morning.

No, I didn’t know the details of Chimera’s operations.

No, I couldn’t tell them what—if anything—had escaped before the facility had gone down.

No, I hadn’t been in on this plan from the beginning.

Yes, I was just a kid.

No, I shouldn’t have been there.

Yes, they’d killed my friend.

It was only after I’d told the agents that the woman whose remains they had found in the basement was the one calling the shots that they left me alone for a few blessed hours. When they came back, they had more questions.

No, those weren’t real ouroboroi on my stomach.

No, I had no idea what the woman in question was, or why her remains weren’t testing positive for human DNA.

Sure, they could take a sample of my blood.

Everyone but Reid must have been scratching their heads when the results came back human.

Three hours and fourteen minutes.

I could feel dawn coming, more strongly now than ever before. Soon, the doctors would come in and sign my release papers. Like the Feds, they must have suspected I was holding something back, but since—as far as modern science was concerned—it was impossible to play host to multiple chupacabras at the same time, they didn’t have any reason to believe that I needed to be quarantined.

They just thought I had really tacky taste in tattoos.

Three hours and twelve minutes.

The stitches in my scalp itched. My wrist throbbed inside its cast. Each breath I took sent a sharp and jarring pain straight to my rib cage, and I was starving.

“That is a truly unfortunate haircut.”

They’d had to shave a patch of hair to treat my head wounds. It figured that Bethany would comment on it. What didn’t figure was that she was here. Pale, with her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, she stood in the doorway of my hospital room. Her hands were clasped together, and the thumb of her right hand worried at the palm on her left.

I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes. I didn’t want to know what I would see there.

“I might be able to fix it,” Bethany said, and I glanced up long enough to see that she was looking down at her feet as well. “Your hair.”

That didn’t sound like the kind of thing you would offer a murderer, but the last time she’d seen me, she and Elliot had woken from a trance to find Skylar dead. The last time she’d seen me, my face had been covered in the guard’s blood.

“Bethany—”

She interrupted me before I could say anything else. “Don’t make me tell you that I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“But I—”

Bethany held up a hand. “Don’t want to hear it,” she said. “And I really don’t need to know.” Without another word, she held up her keys and cocked an eyebrow in invitation.

I thought of the doctors, who were supposed to sign my release forms this morning.

I thought of the three hours left until dawn.

“Let’s go.”

We drove in silence for a long time. It occurred to me that my dad might return to my hospital room and wonder where I’d gone, but I’d lost my phone in the shuffle, and old habits died hard.

“The FBI came to talk to me,” Bethany said finally. “I’m pretty sure they’re going to arrest my dad.”

Two days ago, I would have asked her what she’d told them—about me, about what I could do. But I didn’t.

Didn’t have to.

“If it makes you feel any better,” I replied, “they’ll probably arrest my mom.” I paused and let myself picture Rena’s face in my mind. “If they can find her.”

“Are they going to arrest you?” Bethany never was one to beat around the bush.

“I didn’t kill Skylar.” That wasn’t what she’d asked, but I had to say it. Hearing the words hurt. Meaning them hurt more.

“Kali. You did not kill Skylar.” Bethany took her eyes off the road and looked at me. “You didn’t.”

This wasn’t how I’d expected the conversation to go. She sounded like she was trying to convince me, instead of the reverse.

“I brought her there,” I said, looking down at my hands, down at my stomach.

Two hours and twenty minutes.

“She brought herself there.”

“If she hadn’t met me,” I said, my voice hard, “she’d still be alive.”

“And if I hadn’t let my little brother play in a friend’s backyard, he wouldn’t be brain-dead.” Bethany’s voice was matter-of-fact, but I knew the words cost her. “Hell, Kali, if Tyler were alive and well, my father never would have gone off the deep end, I wouldn’t have been infected in the first place, and none of us would have ever even heard of Chimera.”

If Bethany hadn’t been bitten by the chupacabra …

If I hadn’t saved her …

If I’d never met Zev …

If, if, if—and at the end of the day, none of it mattered.

“How long until sunrise?” Beth’s abrupt change of subject did not go unnoticed. I didn’t question it, or her, or the fact that the two of us were in this car together.