Dominic was waiting for him in the locker room.

At first glance, Victor hardly recognized the ex-soldier. If the last five years had whittled Victor down, they’d had the opposite effect on Dom. The change was startling—apparently, as startling as Victor’s own transformation.

Dominic’s eyes widened. “Victor. You look . . .”

“Yeah, like shit, I know.” He tipped his shoulder against the steel lockers. “How’s the job?”

Dom scratched his head. “Well enough, all things considered. But remember that EO I told you about? The one making a scene?”

“Marcella.” Victor hadn’t meant to hold on to that name, but something about it, about her, had stuck in his mind. “How long did she last?”

Dom shook his head. “They haven’t caught her yet.”

“Really?” Victor had to admit, he was impressed.

“But the thing is,” said Dom, “they don’t seem to be trying. And she’s not exactly keeping the lowest profile. She killed six of our agents, clipped a sniper—hell, every day she does something new. But orders are to hold.” He lowered his voice. “There’s something going on. I just don’t know what. Above my pay grade, obviously.”

“And Eli?” prompted Victor.

“Still in his vault.” Dom shot him a nervous look. “For now.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just a rumor,” said Dom, “but apparently some of the higher-ups think he should be playing a more active role.”

“They wouldn’t do something that stupid.”

But then, people did stupid things all the time. And Eli could charm almost anyone.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Dominic hesitated, rubbing at his neck. “It’s getting worse.”

“I’ve noticed,” said Victor dryly.

“Yesterday Holtz found me heaving my guts out in a closet. And last week I broke into a cold sweat in the middle of a training seminar. I’ve claimed hangover, PTSD, anything I can think of, but I’m running out of lies.”

And I’m running out of lives, thought Victor, pushing off the lockers.

“Good luck,” called Dom as he left.

But Victor didn’t need luck.

He needed a doctor.

* * *

SYDNEY stepped out into the sun on the rooftop garden of the Kingsley building.

It was a blue sky day, but the air was still cold. It made her think of the lake, her thirteenth birthday, the skin of ice over the melted water. Her fingers tightened on her cell. The text had come in while she was unpacking, three short words that made her nervous.

June: Call me. Now.

Sydney called.

It rang, and rang, and when June finally answered, all Syd heard was music, too loud and fraying at the edges. June’s lilting voice broke through, telling her to hold on, and a second later the music dropped away, replaced by the low hum of an engine.

“Sydney,” said June, her voice high and clear. “Just the girl I need.”

“Hey,” said Syd. “We just got to Merit. What’s going on? Are you here?”

“On my way back,” said June. “Had a bit of work outside the city. Look,” she went on, “I need you to do something for me.”

There was a tension in June’s voice, an urgency Syd had never heard before.

“What is it?” she asked.

A short exhale, like static on the line. “I need you to tell me where Victor is.”

The words fell like a rock in Sydney’s stomach. “What?”

“Listen to me,” pressed the other girl. “He’s in trouble. There are some really dangerous people in Merit, and they know he’s here, and they’re looking for him. I want to keep him safe, I do—and I can—but I need your help.”

Safe. Syd’s mind tripped over the word. If Victor was in trouble—but why was he in trouble, and how did June know? Who was looking for him? EON?

She started to ask, but June cut her off.

June, who’d never even raised her voice.

“Do you trust me or not?”

She did. She wanted to. But—

“Where is he, Sydney?”

She swallowed. “Merit Central Hospital.”

II

THE DAY BEFORE

MERIT CENTRAL HOSPITAL

IT was seventeen minutes past five.

Victor leaned back against Dumont’s gray sedan in the hospital parking garage and scrolled through Dom’s texts as he waited for the doctor. The buzzing in his skull seemed to ratchet up as he skimmed the most recent times.

3 minutes, 49 seconds.

3 minutes, 52 seconds.

3 minutes, 56 seconds.

4 minutes, 04 seconds.

The stairwell door clattered open across the garage.

Victor glanced up and saw Dumont, dark skin, gray hair, head bowed over his tablet as he headed toward his car. Toward Victor.

Victor didn’t move, simply waited for the doctor to come to him.

“Dr. Dumont?”

The man looked up, brows furrowing. Victor thought he saw something cross the doctor’s face. Not surprise, exactly, but fear. “Can I help you?”

Victor studied him, fingers flexing. “I certainly hope so.”

Dumont looked around the parking garage. “I’m off work,” he said, “but you can make an appointment—”

Victor didn’t have time for this—he took hold of the doctor’s nerves, and twisted. Dumont buckled with a shocked cry. He clutched his chest, sweat breaking out along his brow.

Having made his point, Victor let go.

Dumont sagged back against his car. “You’re—an EO.”

“Just like you,” said Victor.

“I don’t—hurt people,” said Dumont.

“No? Then how does your power work?”

Dumont let out a shaky breath. “I can see—how people are broken. I can—see how—to put them back together.”

Relief swept through Victor. Finally, a promising lead.

“Good,” he said, stepping toward the doctor. “Show me.”

Dumont shook his head. Victor was about take hold of the doctor’s nerves again when the stairwell door swung open and a small huddle of nurses stepped out, talking animatedly. A car beeped nearby. Victor shifted to block their view.

“Not here,” muttered Dumont.

“Then where?” asked Victor.

The doctor nodded at the hospital. “My office is on the seventh—”

“No,” said Victor. Too many eyes. Too many doors.

Dumont rubbed his forehead. “The fifth floor is under renovation. It should be empty. That’s the best I can do.”

Victor hesitated, but the humming in his head was spreading to his limbs. He was running out of time.

“Fine,” he said, “lead the way.”

* * *

MEANWHILE, ACROSS TOWN . . .

SYDNEY tried to call Victor, but it went straight to voicemail every time.

What did June mean when she said he was in trouble?

They’d been careful. They were always careful.

Do you trust me or not?

In that moment, Sydney had. She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Sydney’s hand went automatically to the gun she now kept tucked in her coat, thumb already resting against the safety.

But then she recognized the heavy tread, and turned to see Mitch striding toward her across the rooftop garden.

“There you are,” he said cheerfully.

She let go of the gun. “Hey,” she said. “Just admiring the view.” She tried to keep her voice light, but her head was still spinning, and she was afraid it would show on her face, so she turned her back on Mitch. “It’s weird, isn’t it? How cities change. Buildings go up, and come down, and it looks the same—and different.”

“Like you,” said Mitch, ruffling her pink wig. The gesture was light, easy, but there was a strain in his voice, and the silence, when it fell, was heavy. Syd’s mind was on Victor, but she knew Mitch’s was on her sister.

They’d never talked about what really happened to Serena. It had been too soon, and then too late. The wound had healed, as best as it could.

But now that they were back in Merit, the finished Falcon Price building glinting in the distance, the air was thick with everything they’d never said.

“Hey, Syd,” started Mitch, but she cut him off.

“Do you ever wish you were an EO?”

Mitch’s brow crinkled, caught off guard by the question. He didn’t answer right away. He’d always been careful like that, sorting out his words before he said them.

“I remember when I first met Victor,” he said at last. “These guys inside were giving me a hard time, and he just . . .” Mitch slid his hand through the air. “He made it look so easy. I guess to him it probably was. But watching it made me feel . . . small.”

Syd laughed. “You’re the biggest guy I know.”

He flashed her a smile, but it was sad at the edges. “Sometimes it feels like I’m in a fight, and all I’ve got are my hands, and the other guy has a knife. But that guy with the knife, eventually he’s going to face someone with a gun. And the one with the gun is going to go up against someone with a bomb. The truth is, Syd, there will always be somebody stronger than you. That’s just the way the world works.” He looked up at the shining skyscraper. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a human versus a human or a human versus an EO or an EO versus an EO. You do what you can. You fight, and you win, until you don’t.”