“Marcella—”

“I’m sending you a photo. To whet your appetite.”

XXIII

ONE WEEK AGO

EON

SHE really was clever, thought Eli.

He lay, stretched out on the cot, staring up at his reflection in the mirror ceiling as he turned the problem like a coin between his fingers.

Through some combination of strategy and luck, Marcella had managed to flank herself with two compatible powers. He lined them up in his mind.

The ruiner. The shapeshifter. The forcefield.

Up close. Long distance. And everything between. Together, their powers were nearly impregnable. But find a way to separate them, and Marcella would die just like anyone else.

Footsteps sounded beyond the glass, and a second later, the far wall went clear, revealing a very red-faced Stell. “Did you know?”

Eli blinked and sat up. “I’m not omniscient, Director. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Stell slammed a piece of paper against the barrier. A printout. A photograph. Eli swung his legs off the cot and approached the glass. Stilled when he saw the face in the photo. There he was, the narrow face, hawkish in profile, chin grazing the collar of his trench coat. Not a good photo, not a clear photo, but Eli would recognize him anywhere.

Victor Vale.

“Two years,” said Stell. “That’s how long you’ve had to track him down, and Marcella delivers this in less than two weeks. You buried it. You knew.”

But Eli realized, staring at the photo, that he hadn’t known, not really. He’d wanted to be right, wanted to be sure, but there had always been that fissure, a line of doubt. Now, it sealed, smoothed, solid enough to bear the weight of the truth.

“I guess you didn’t burn the body.”

“God dammit, Eli,” snarled Stell. He shook his head. “How is this possible?”

“Victor’s always been terrible at staying dead.”

“How?” demanded Stell.

“Serena’s little sister had the inconvenient ability to resurrect the dead.”

“Sydney Clarke? You listed her among your kills.”

“Technically,” said Eli, “Serena was supposed to take care of her. Obviously she got cold feet.”

One more thing he’d have to handle himself.

Eli dragged his gaze away from the photo. “What are you going to do about him?”

“I’m going to find him. You two can each have a cell to rot in.”

“Oh, great,” said Eli dryly. “We can be neighbors.”

“This isn’t a fucking joke,” snapped Stell. “All your talk of cooperation, I knew it was a ruse. I knew you couldn’t be trusted.”

“In the name of God,” scoffed Eli. “How many excuses will you find to vindicate your own stubbornness?”

“He’s been out there, killing humans and EOs, and you knew.”

“I suspected—”

“And you didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t burn the body!” roared Eli. “I put him down, and you let him get back up. Victor Vale’s continued existence, and the deaths he’s since accrued—those are your failures, not mine. Yes, I kept my suspicions from you, because I hoped I was wrong, hoped that you hadn’t been so foolish, hadn’t failed so catastrophically. And if you had, well, then I knew my warnings would fall on deaf ears. You want Victor? Fine. I’ll help you take him again.”

He went to the low shelf, drew the hunter’s folder from the row of case files.

“Unless you’d rather let Marcella lead you through her hoops instead.”

He dropped the folder in the open tray.

“I’m sure once she figures out Victor’s value, she’ll make you pay every cent.”

Stell said nothing, his face a poor imitation of a stone wall as he slowly reached for the file. But Eli, of course, could still see every crack.

“My advisement,” he said, “is on the last page.”

Stell skimmed the instructions in silence, and then looked up. “You think this will work?”

“It’s how I’d catch him,” said Eli, truthfully.

Stell turned to go, but Eli called him back.

“Look me in the eye,” said Eli, “and tell me that when you find Victor, you will kill him once and for all.”

Stell met his gaze. “I’ll do as I see fit.”

Eli flashed a feral grin. “Of course you will,” he said.

And so will I.

XXIV

TWO DAYS AGO

DOWNTOWN WHITTON

SYDNEY was back on the ice.

It stretched in every direction. She couldn’t see the banks, couldn’t see anything but the frozen stretch of lake ahead, behind, the plume of her own breath.

“Hello?” she called.

Her voice echoed across the lake.

The ice crackled just behind her and she spun around, expecting to see Eli.

But there was no one there.

And then, from somewhere in the distance, a sound.

Not the cracking of the lake. A short, sharp tone.

Sydney sat up.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she was curled on the sofa, Dol at her feet and thin morning light seeping in the windows.

The sharp tone sounded again, and Syd looked around for her phone before she realized that the sound was coming from Mitch’s computer. The laptop sat open on the table a few feet away, pinging like a beacon.

Sydney tapped the computer awake.

Mitch’s black lock screen came up, and she typed in the password—benedición. The screen gave way to a matrix of code, way beyond the basics he’d been teaching her. But Syd’s attention went to the corner of the screen, where a small icon bounced up and down.

Results (1).

Sydney clicked the icon, and a new window popped up.

Her breath caught. She recognized the page’s format from the paper she’d found crumpled in the trash. It was a profile. A distinguished man, dark-skinned with a trim white beard, staring out at her from a professional photo.

Ellis Dumont. Fifty-seven. A surgeon who’d been in an accident the year before. He hadn’t abandoned his old life; maybe that was why he hadn’t shown up in the system. Not enough markers. But this—this was the important part. Ever since he’d returned to work, his patients’ recovery rate had skyrocketed. There were links to news articles, pieces praising this man with a near prescient ability to discover what was wrong.

She scrolled down the page until she found Dumont’s current location.

Merit Central Hospital.

Sydney surged to her feet and hurried down the hall. The soft hush of the shower spilled from Mitch’s room. Victor’s door was ajar, the space beyond dark. She could just make out the lines of his body on the bed, his back to her.

The first and only time she’d ever woken him, it had been from a nightmare, and he’d lit her up like a Christmas tree. The pain had echoed in her nerves for hours.

She knew it probably wouldn’t happen again, but it was still hard to force herself forward. In the end, it was a wasted fear.

“I’m not asleep,” said Victor softly.

He sat up and turned to face Sydney, his eyes narrowing.

“What is it?”

Sydney’s heart was racing. “There’s something you should see.”

She sat, perched on the edge of the sofa, as Victor read the profile, his expression carefully blank. She wished she could read his mind. Hell, she wished she could read his face.

Mitch appeared in the doorway, large towel draped over his bare shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“Get your things,” said Victor, rising to his feet.

“We’re going to Merit.”

XXV

TWO DAYS AGO

FIRST AND WHITE

MARCELLA leaned back in her chair and admired the view.

The city spilled away beyond her floor-to-ceiling windows, rolled out like a carpet beneath her feet.

Once upon a time she’d stood on the rooftop of a college frat and thought she could see all of Merit. But it had only been a few small blocks, the rest swallowed up by higher buildings. This was a real view. This was her city.

She turned back toward the desk, where the cards sat waiting.

They’d arrived in a lovely silk box—one hundred crisp white invitations, the front of each embossed with an elegant gold M.

She drew one from the box and flicked it open.

The words were printed in curling black, the edges embossed with gold.

Marcella Morgan and her associates

request your presence at the exclusive reveal of

Merit’s most extraordinary venture.

The future of the city starts now.

The Old Court house.

This Friday, the 23rd. 6 p.m.

Invitation admits 2.

Marcella smiled, turning the card between her fingers.

What now? June had asked. You’re going to throw yourself a fucking party?

Marcella knew the girl had meant it as a joke, but Stell had tipped his hand, the night they met, and let a face card show.

No more grand displays. The last thing this city needs . . .

But, of course, Stell hadn’t really been talking about the city. He meant EON. Yes, a little publicity would be bad for their business.

And so, that was exactly what Marcella planned to give them.

She was done playing by other people’s rules. Done hiding. If you lived in the dark, you died in the dark. But stand in the light, and it was that much harder to make you disappear.