There. Ten o’clock. Alexander’s stretched, swan-like neck and shiny pitch-black waves of hair soar above the other pedestrians.
I slow my steps and quiet my thundering heartbeat. Hush, he’ll hear you.
Alexander turns east, away from the other pedestrians, toward a serene, tree-lined street. He moves at a leisurely speed, as if emulating his surroundings, making his walk home an enjoyable stroll. Stalking is proving difficult. I want to chase and pounce. I have to force myself to preserve a sizable gap between my quarry and me.
Behind iron gates and rich, well-groomed lawns, idyllic mansions sprout from the earth, eclipsing the vast downtown skyline only a mile distant. The solar-panel walkway beneath my boots is flawless, without a single crack, unlike the pitted concrete roads that pave even the wealthiest neighborhoods back in the States. The sky is bright and free of smog, the air so clean I feel purified with every lungful.
So this is where you’ve been hiding? In paradise?
Clenching the handle of my knife, I quicken my pace, halving the space between us. Alexander doesn’t notice or sense my presence; he’s lost in his ignorance and self-importance.
“Marley,” Kano cautions, calling out my alias. “Patience.”
This was only supposed to be a reconnaissance mission: watch, study, form a tactical plan, then return in the morning for the abduction. There is to be no contact, no talking, no chancy behavior that could cause a scene and jeopardize our goal.
But it’s like he’s taunting me. His hypocrisy, his privilege. He’s the son of a murderous leader, an American on forbidden soil, and yet here he is alone, unworried, like he’s never known what it’s like to be frightened, threatened. Hunted.
Feelings that have defined my life since the second I was born.
“Marley,” Kano calls out again, this time in a friendly tone, trying to deflect attention. My eyes scour the streets and houses—there’s no one around to hear. “Time to go back home.”
They’ve caught up to me now. They’re maybe five strides behind me.
“Tomorrow,” Ciro says in his light manner, reminding me of the plan, hoping I’ll stand down. “We don’t want to be caught in the rain,” he adds cheerily, emphasizing caught a bit too obviously.
But I don’t see any clouds. I only see Alexander. I only see red.
Before Kano and Ciro can stop me, I shoot forward, not quite at a run, and approach Alexander’s left side. I startle him, but he gazes down at me with an easy smile. I want to break his perfect teeth.
“I’m sorry,” he says, genuinely apologetic. “Do I know you?” His black eyes are full of questions, but it’s a breezy curiosity, not alarm. “I’m normally very good at placing faces . . .”
I can’t believe it. He doesn’t recognize me. He doesn’t recognize that I recognize him. If he does, he’s hiding it. He’s good at that, I remind myself.
“You don’t keep track of your family’s enemies?” I say. “I very much doubt that.” I tuck the rogue locks of my wig behind my ears and lift my chin, making sure there can be no misunderstanding of who I am.
Alexander doesn’t bat an eye. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you, but my family has no enemies.” Tightening his raincoat around his frame, he crosses his elongated arms like he’s bored and tired of humoring me. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I’m late.”
Bloated lips still pulled into a smile, he turns away, attempting to increase his speed and get rid of me. He doesn’t understand my fangs are already around his neck—it’s just whether or not I want to clamp down.
Three steps are all he achieves before I’m back at his side, my arm hooked around his, showing him the sharp blade of my knife.
“Just take my wallet—”
“Keep walking,” I spit at him with my own smile. “You know me. And I know you.” All color and confidence drains from his face, leaving behind a panicked ghost. No, a ghost no more.
“You’re Alexander Roth, son of Governor Howard S. Roth, the long-ruling tyrant of Texas. Your father is a murderer . . . I’d say you have a few enemies.”
Alexander’s eyes dart wildly up and down the street, searching for help. All he finds are Kano and Ciro, weapons strapped and waiting at their hips.
“Yes, they’re with me,” I confirm. “You’re going to talk. The question is only how difficult you want to make this.”
“My name is Julien Wright . . . ,” he stammers without much heart.
A thick blanket of clouds suddenly covers the sky, turning the world gray. The solar walkway instantly adapts, glowing a vibrant blue beneath our boots, lighting the path ahead for at least another quarter mile. A raindrop lands on my shoulder. Another pats the tip of my nose.
“Which one is yours?” I ask, motioning to the mansions. Headquarters wasn’t able to find Alexander’s address before we ran out of time and the teams set off on our missions. We only had the site of his cargo company to work with. As a result, we have no info on his personal life. Does he live alone? Does he have a partner? Who knows what secrets he has buried within those countless rooms.
A boy in his school blazer shuffles past, umbrella in one hand, tablet in the other. My blade against his ribcage, Alexander keeps quiet, and thankfully, the boy doesn’t look up, his attention locked on his screen. Ahead, eight—no nine—more students make their way toward us, late stragglers or overachievers just now leaving school.
We need to get inside. We can’t attract attention.
“Take us to your house right now, or you will never see it again,” I say, the threats rolling easily off my tongue.
Alexander stiffens at my words, but his head dips into a rigid nod. “It’s just up here to the right,” he answers reluctantly.
From my peripheral vision, I notice Alexander’s attention zeroed in on the incoming students. They’re fifteen yards away now. Thirteen. Is he going to call for help?
I pull him closer and push us faster. Alexander’s house is just after the next gate. “If you give us away, you’ll be ruined too,” I remind him. “I bet your neighbors don’t know you’re a Glut.”
Alexander winces at the term. He glares down at me with such open hostility I ready myself for a scuffle. Instead, Alexander’s hulking figure sags, as if all spirit has left him, and I have to almost drag him off the walkway and up the steps to his entrance. As Kano and Ciro move to block us from view of passing pedestrians, I shove Alexander toward the iris scanner beside his locked gate.
“Open it,” I order. “Now.”
He doesn’t. Alexander keeps his eyes on me. “Which one are you?” he whispers. “Ava or Mira?”
“You won’t admit to your own name. Why would I admit to mine?”
The rain starts to fall harder, dripping off the ends of my wig, soaking through my cotton clothes. I don’t move for cover. I just let it wash over me.
“Are you the one who killed Halton?” Alexander asks so low I barely hear. His gaze flicks down to my knife. “Is that the blade you dug into my son’s chest?” The raindrops look like tears streaking down his cheeks.
You’ll get no sympathy from me. In my mind, he left his son to die when he left him with the governor.