The previous day’s events returned in a rush. A choked cry escaped her as time gave her back the last few hours, the blood and screams, the pained look of concentration on Lilith’s face as she clung to the werewolf’s fur.

“Emma.”

She spun around in the office chair, startled. Lilith’s mother was stood in the doorway, hair undone, suit jacket misplaced, white shirt rumpled. She was shoeless, her legs clad in sheer black tights.

Emma stood up slowly. “How’s mom?”

“Sleeping. She finally drifted off around three.”

“Thank you,” Emma said, a little stiffly. “For taking care of her, I mean. You didn’t have to.”

Ms Gray smiled, but the expression did not reach her eyes. “Your mother is a friend, Emma.”

Right. And there was no secondary motive to her generosity. Emma only nodded, tidied the scattered forms on her desk. It was times like this she felt sorry for Lilith, stuck with parents more concerned by their careers than their family. There was little worth in a life of privileges, if those privileges came only in the absence of love.

“I’ll make tea,” Ms Gray said. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.” She left without another word.

Emma dug her toes into the synthetic mauve rug, fought down the surge of irritation at Ms Gray’s presumptuous. She pushed away the emotion and walked over to the mirror, wiped away the sleep in her eyes. There were dark circles under her eyes, the faint red imprint of her desk still pressed onto her cheek.

“Computer,” she said to the monitor at her desk, watching the screen power up through the mirror. “What time is it?”

“It is 10:27 am,” the computer replied, flashing up a digital clock.

“Any emails?”

“Forty-two unread emails. No priority messages.”

Emma frowned, deciding to read them later. She freshened up in the bathroom, put on clean clothes. Then she shoved her feet into her threadbare fluffy slippers and padded downstairs.

Ms Gray was sitting at the kitchen table that, like the matching in-built bench, was carved directly out of the wall. A steaming mug of tea was in the very centre of the table. Emma sat down, took a sip. Milk first, one sugar—just the way she liked it. That Ms Gray somehow knew this detail was unsettling.

She took another sip, then wondered—suddenly, irrationally—if the tea was poisoned. The mug clunked down onto the table.

“Ms Gray,” Emma began, since it the woman seemed to be waiting for her to speak, “I do appreciate what you’ve done for my mother, but . . . ” There was no polite way to say it: “Maybe we need some time to ourselves. Just the family.”

“That is up to your mother to decide, not you, and as it happens, she has asked me to stay.” Ms Gray leaned forward, steepled her fingers. “I promise to stay out of your hair, as long as you answer my questions.”

“I can try,” Emma replied cautiously. If Ms Gray knew about the DEI, about Liam . . . She’d promised not to mention him, but how else could she explain her escape?

“Good. First things first: where is Lilith?”

Emma stared. Could it be possible that Ms Gray didn’t know? That her governmental ties had failed her?

“I know you were with her,” Ms Gray added, a trace impatient. “She said she was sleeping over at yours. So where is she?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” Alive, hopefully, lost somewhere in the wilderness above ground. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Ms Gray closed her eyes, rubbed her temples. When she reopened her eyes, the pupils had paled to a cold green, all warmth leached out of them. “You are not cooperating, Emma. Tell me what you know.”

Emma hesitated. Lilith’s mother had a narrow, sharp beauty, like the shining of a new blade. There wasn’t even the slightest ounce of motherly affection in her eyes, but she was all Lilith had, and surely something was better than nothing.

“I don’t know where Lilith is,” Emma said slowly, “but she’s in danger.”

Ms Gray nodded, as if her fears were confirmed. “Computer, turn on the local news,” she said. A small image projected onto the kitchen wall of a bright-eyed man in his late twenties, with uncombed dark hair and thick nose that looked like it had been broken.

“—majority of attendees unaccounted for, with dozens of others under quarantine or in hospital.” The image behind the reporter was chillingly familiar: the theatre, as it had looked earlier that day. “Lower Hall safety measures were deployed mere instants after the attack began, and a police investigation is already underway to understand the truth behind the massacre, which—”

“Computer, mute,” Ms Gray said. Her eyes never left Emma’s.

Emma chewed on a thumbnail. Ms Gray deserved the truth, but she couldn’t tell her everything. She would have to tread carefully.

“Where is Lilith?” Ms Gray asked.

“Above ground.”

The cold silence that followed made Emma wish she could take the words back. She wrapped her hands around her mug, although its warmth had faded. “Lilith and I were at the theatre,” she explained.

“Her name was blacklisted; how did she get tickets?”

“I bought them.”

“You bought them.” This fact tipped Ms Gray over the edge. Her eyes flashed. “You were supposed to be a calming influence,” she snapped. “I didn’t think you’d follow her into danger.”

Emma stilled. “Supposed to?”

“Lilith is headstrong, foolish, attention-seeking. You’re a straight-A student with next to no friends. Of course I encouraged the friendship,” she said flatly. “I arranged the study sessions, and your being on the same running team. You two wouldn’t have been friends otherwise.”

“No,” Emma said, quiet but firm. “I will not let you cheapen our friendship.” But the words had already taken hold in her heart, digging at the one insecurity she’d tried so desperately to bury.

“I told her to befriend you,” Ms Gray said, her smile thin, triumphant.

The sound of the doorbell was a relief. Emma hurried out of the kitchen, slippers scuffing against the concrete floor. In the monitor was a thin man wearing a black hat and dark glasses.

Emma touched the screen to unmute it. “Hello?”

“Hey there. Is Emma in?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“It’s Mike. I run a blog called Down the Chute. Can I speak to you for a few minutes?”

Emma frowned. She’d never heard of the site. He was probably yet another indie journalist desperate for attention. “Sorry, now’s not a good time.”

Her finger was almost on the mute button when he looked up, straight into the camera, and said, “It’s about the theatre.”

Eek! I’ve run out of buffer. Here’s hoping I keep up the pace! Thoughts on Emma’s storyline are more than welcome, as this is all brand new content. (Psst – today is your last day to sign up for my mailing list and get Belonging, an Above Ground story, free!)

“Gotcha,” said a voice in her ear, male and whiny. He dragged her after him, upstream towards the pack. Lilith stumbled, bent double, barely able to keep up. The dusty black boots of her attacker dragged through the grass with every step. “Rae!” he called. “I got one!”

The grip on Lilith’s neck turned into a shove. She got her hands out just in time, face inches from the grass. Her elbows stung from the impact, but her pride stung more for being captured again, and this time without even an attempt at escape. Lilith had always considered herself street-smart, had once even ventured into the Upper Halls and escaped unscathed, but above ground it seemed she was less than useless. That she was so helpless against these animals—these monsters—was difficult to swallow.

“Rae!” her attacker called again.

Lilith sat up carefully. Her attacker looked human, a wiry man with a blunt nose and square chin, a jagged scar across his neck. Up ahead was a clearing, just visible through the trees, people moving in and out of sight, too far away to be identified. Was this the pack? Was Wolf—

“Who’s this?” someone snapped.

Both Lilith and her attacker jumped. Behind them was a hard-faced blonde with short hair and a contemptuous expression.

“I found her, Rae,” the man said, his voice wheedling. “Lurking downstream, not far from where we picked up the other one.”

The woman—Rae—grabbed Lilith’s arm and pulled her to a stand. “Good job, Scar,” she said, her smile sharp. “She’s just in time for the show.”

Rae dragged Lilith forward, her grip uncompromising as they skirted the edge of the clearing. There were at least three others in the clearing, lounging in the sunlight, indifferent to Lilith’s struggles. Wolf wasn’t among them, but there was a certain wild restlessness in the air that gave Lilith some measure of hope: perhaps these people were werekin, too.

On one side of the clearing was a huddled, cowering man. One final push from Rae and Lilith was on the ground beside him with a painful thump. The man—not much older than her, in his early twenties—shot her a suspicious glance, but said nothing. There was a green cross tattooed on his left cheek, a pale, barely-there outline.

Rae stared down at them, arms crossed. Scar hovered half a step behind, his watery eyes narrowed in anticipation.

“The witch, first,” Rae said, and Scar sprang forward. Lilith flinched, waiting for a manhandling that never came. Scar dragged the boy next to her to a stand, gripping the boy’s upper arm so tightly that resistance wasn’t an option. “Gently now,” Rae admonished, mock-stern. “Wouldn’t want him unable to perform spells, would we?”

She beckoned, and Scar pushed the boy towards her. Unsteady on his feet, the boy stumbled too far, almost bumping into Rae. She sidestepped just in time, with a barely concealed look of disgust.

When the boy straightened, Lilith could only see his profile. The faint tattooed cross on his cheek looked like a bruise in the afternoon light.

“What’s your name, witch?” Rae drawled.

“Dylan.” His voice shook, but he stood firm.

“And why were you spying on us, Dylan?”

“I wasn’t.”

He was a bad liar. Lilith felt a rush of pity for him, wondered whether she should step in, but she didn’t know enough about Dylan to lie convincingly. And there was something about Rae, an edge to her words, that made Lilith wary of interfering.

Rae began circling Dylan, tapping a nail against her teeth. “So you didn’t bewitch one of my pack?”

“No. I didn’t,” Dylan said, swivelling his head to keep her in sight. “I mean, I can’t. I haven’t passed initiation yet.”

Rae smiled, seductively cruel. “Aw, you’re just a baby.” She stopped in front of him and ran a hand down Dylan’s chest, circling his navel with her finger. “And tell me, Dylan,” she said, lowering her voice to a husky drawl, “what coven are you joining?”

Dylan twitched when Rae’s hand dipped to the apex of his thigh. “The . . . uh . . . ”

“Yes?” she purred, her hand dipping even lower. Lilith was torn between amusement and embarrassment: the werekin really had no shame. Then she remembered the first time she’d seen Wolf in human form, the smooth collarbones, lean muscles, the dip of his lower belly . . . 

Lilith’s eyes dropped to the ground just as Dylan stuttered, “The WPL.”

Rae stilled. “Wrong. Fucking. Answer.”

She lashed out with her right hand and slashed Dylan across the throat with one smooth movement. Dylan toppled backwards, his mouth an ‘o’ of surprise. Blood sprayed onto the ground as Dylan twitched, gurgling, struggling to breathe through the hole in his neck. Lilith turned away, gagging, but her stomach was empty, and only a thin, acidic line of spit left her mouth.

The other people in the clearing had stopped what they were doing and were edging closer, their expressions hungry. Rae noticed her audience and whirled to face them. “Back off, idiots. It’s witch blood.”

Lilith took a deep breath to calm down. It was a mistake: the coppery tang of blood was thick in the air. She spat again, wiped her mouth on her hand, then turned back to Dylan, thinking of bandages and applying pressure and something to keep his airways clear.

But it was too late: Dylan was dead.

Rae brought her hand up to her mouth and sniffed it. “Smells nice. Shame about the taste.” She wiped her hand clean on her trousers, the blood barely visible against the dark material. “Clean it up, Scar,” she ordered.

Arms weak, stomach clenching, Lilith could only sit there as Scar grabbed Dylan by the arm and dragged the body into the forest. Her throat was tight, her tongue bitter with bile. She couldn’t move, couldn’t sum up the energy to stand up and run away, and for the first time, Lilith resented her inexplicable urge to track Wolf down.

When she looked up, Rae was standing right in front of her. Scar was lurking at her side with an anticipatory grin, dirt caked under his fingernails.

“Well, girl,” Rae began, “You’re next. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“Because I have something you want,” Lilith lied desperately, rubbing the base of her throat to ease the growing tension. There was a bump under her fingers, a piece of cord. . . . Lilith pushed aside the cloak, ignoring Rae’s warning snarl. She pulled the fang necklace free, holding it aloft like a talisman.

Rae froze, her utter stillness unnerving. Then she stepped closer, hands outstretched, reaching for Lilith’s neck.

It’s been a while since I posted a news-y update. In fact I’d even forgotten I could post news things on this blog. So here goes!

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Above Ground

We are at 18 out of an expected 55ish chapters. According to my calculations, posting will finish middle of August this year. How exciting is that? Then I’m planning to get the print and ebook version out after that, in September or October.

I’m tinkering away at a couple side stories, too. A novella about Jake and Fang, and another one about Rae. I’m considering not offering these ones for free, to help support and pay for the main story. Either way, I’ll keep you guys updated.

I was also wondering whether to give you guys the option to “buy” stories—this is all after I finish with Above Ground, of course—so that you guys can get more of the characters you like, and I can pay for stuff. Again, I’ll let you know!

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Those of you who’ve been around for 1 year+ have lived through the many (3?) incarnations of this website. There’s still a lot about this new layout that I don’t like, although it’s the best one yet.

I am currently considering merging qazyfiction with my main hub, amharte.com. Things just look a bit too blog-like still. Hm. Thoughts, suggestions, etc welcome.

Other stuff

Well, that was a thrilling news update, yes? I don’t have anything else to say for the moment, other than thanks for reading, and extra thanks for those who leave comments, and yes, llamas are awesome.

That is all.

(p.s. don’t forget about the mailing list!)

Lilith blinked groggily, then bolted to her feet when she remembered where she was. The sun was already burning fiercely, making her eyes sting and water. In either direction was a vast empty stretch of land studded by trees only slightly taller than her; now in the daylight Lilith could see the branches were covered by sharp green needles. Even the scattered outcroppings of rocks looked sharp and jagged—the landscape above ground was as aggressive as its inhabitants.

Sla’ik was half-crouched beside her, eyes wide with surprise, one hand still outstretched. The ewte had touched her. Lilith’s skin crawled with the memory and she had to fight down a sudden surge of nausea. The vaccine still protected her, but it wouldn’t last forever; she’d have to be careful if she didn’t want to end up an infected herself. What if she was already tainted? The thought tugged on the edges of Lilith’s mind, and for a moment she was certain there was something she was forgetting. Yet she came up blank.

“Let’s go,” Sla’ik said, straightening, “before the sun gets higher.”

Lilith nodded and stood, stretching, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Her stomach rumbled; even the flat bread from the previous night would have now been welcome. And she was thirsty, too, her throat thick and dry with every swallow.

“How much further?” she asked as they began to walk.

“Should get there by mid-afternoon.” Sla’ik turned off the small trail she’d been following and struck out through the unmarked red dirt. “Most folks take longer,” the ewte said, “but ‘course I know shortcuts. You’re lucky to have me.”

Lilith agreed noncommittally, senses on full alert—she couldn’t discount the possibility that Sla’ik was leading her astray. She scanned her surroundings for landmarks. There were mountains on the horizon ahead of her, and behind her was a small smudge that she assumed was Tulkan. If only she had a compass! She had never gone orienteering without her kit. Underground, at least, she could have marked the cave walls. Here there was nothing but the crumbling red dirt beneath her feet, and scattered trees and rocks.

She stared at the trees, wondering what could grow out here in the wild, without government caretakers. Despite all odds the land seemed to be getting greener the further they walked, the trees thicker, and soon there were even small hardy bushes with tough, long oval leaves. If anything, that was a clear indication they were heading towards water, and that Sla’ik was being honest. All she had to do was keep an eye on her surroundings. After all, Sla’ik wouldn’t betray her, right?

The sun was high in the sky by the time they came upon a larger, well-worn trail. Sla’ik corrected his course to follow it. Lilith kept pace with him, immediately more comfortable. A trail had to lead somewhere. If they encountered anyone, she would just pull her hood back on and keep her head down.

Lilith fingered the rough material of her cloak and wondered whether to pull the hood up now as a precaution. But she was already hot as it was, her throat dry, her clothes stifling. How Sla’ik kept entirely covered up was beyond her. Even the red dirt beneath her feet was dry and powdery, raising up in small clouds as she walked, streaking the bottom of her cloak. She looked back the way they had come, then frowned when she realised there was only one set of footprints—hers. Sla’ik’s tail swished back and forth with each step, erasing all signs of the etwe’s passage.

Lilith pushed her cloak further off her shoulders to let it drag on the ground behind her. When she looked back a second time, her trail of footsteps was gone. As if I never passed through here, she thought, momentarily delighted. Then she remembered the stories of people vanishing above ground and her mood plummeted. It would be so easy for her to disappear and never return home.

Sla’ik stopped abruptly. The ewte peered into the distance, pushing back the cloak’s hood to get a better view. Then Sla’ik let out a frightened squeak and pushed her off the trail, towards a clump of bushes. “Quick, quick!”

She resisted, staring down the trail to see what had frightened the ewte. There! People approaching, a large group of them. Not people, she remembered, her gut tightening, infected. “Who are they?”

Sla’ik looked grim. “Slavers.”

After that she let Sla’ik lead her off of the trail. They crouched down behind a semicircle of bushes that was growing nearby. It was such pitiful cover, but there was nothing else. She squinted through the sharp-edged, waxy leaves, but couldn’t discern much. They were coming closer.

Slavers. It was a childhood nightmare made real—everyone had heard the stories of young children kidnapped and forced to work deep underground, below even the lowest of halls, digging and carving as they wasted away. And those were underground slavers. Who knew what infected slavers would have in store?

As the slavers approached, Sla’ik tensed, almost coiled to jump. For a brief horrifying moment, Lilith was sure the ewte was going to jump out onto the trail and sell her out. But he only shifted, clutching his right wrist as if in pain. He breathed shallowly and relaxed his body, only then releasing his tight grip on his arm. Lilith didn’t ask, afraid to make any noise that would give their position away. Still, she kept an eye on Sla’ik, preparing herself for the worst.

There were four slavers in total: two in the front and two in the back, with a row of slaves chained together between them. The slaver leading the group looked a lot like Sla’ik, lizard-like in appearance. But as he walked past, Lilith noticed several differences. His skin was rougher, scalier, and as he walked his cloak flapped open to reveal a bare chest; he didn’t need a water tank like Sla’ik, either.

Walking next to the lizard was a woman with four arms, her features and skin oddly dark, her black eyes round and unblinking. The white of her eyes was either hidden or missing. “I could’ve sworn I saw someone,” she muttered, peering around suspiciously.

“That’s because your eyesight’s shit,” the lizard snapped back. He tugged sharply on the chain in his hand, sneering when the slaves in the front stumbled forward.

Lilith shivered. The slaves were all wearing ragged clothing, not one cloak amongst them. There were eight of them in total, chained together in a line, six boys and two girls. None of them looked infected. Their faces and bodies were human; tired and gaunt, but human nonetheless. Perhaps they were all weres, Lilith reasoned, although from the dull gazes she did manage to see, none of them had a tinge of animal in their eyes. Was there another type of infected she hadn’t heard of, that outwardly looked entirely human? It seemed unlikely.

The slaves shuffled past, the two slavers at the back bringing up the rear. Both of them were definitely weres, they had the lithe, quick movements she had noticed in Wolf, as if a great store of energy was bottled up inside. They did not speak to each other, content to poke and prod the slaves at the end of the line if they moved too slowly.

The line of slavers moved past them, then, slowly, the shuffling of feet grew fainter and fainter. Sla’ik poked his head out of the bushes cautiously. Then he stepped back on to the trail and beckoned her out on to the path. They resumed walking. Lilith glanced behind her, but the slavers were out of sight.

She turned to Sla’ik, curious. “Those slaves. They all looked—” she stopped herself from saying ‘normal’ just in time “—like blands.”

His head twitched towards hers briefly. “What else would they be?”

Lilith picked her words carefully. “I didn’t realize that slavers could sneak underground and catch them.”

“They can’t!” Sla’ik laughed, a series of excited yelps. “Half of those slaves probably came above ground themselves, hoping to become Affected. Some kind of superhero delusions.” He shook his head. “As if that would work.”

Though her mind was reeling, Lilith restrained from asking any further questions. It was safer to keep her utter ignorance a secret. In the hotel, Sla’ik had said the dust—the substance that had irrevocably altered the infected—was in the air, not the blood. Yet now he was suggesting that, despite prolonged exposure to unfiltered air, there was no risk of becoming infected. It was a reassuring thought, but it contradicted what she had been told her whole life: those who spent more than a week above ground were bound to become infected. She didn’t particularly want to test the theory.

Sla’ik was peering behind them with an almost longing expression on his face, rubbing his right wrist absent-mindedly.

Lilith wondered what the going rate was for slaves. Didn’t prices tend to soar quite high? Yet Sla’ik had made no attempt to take advantage of the situation, to hand her over to the slavers. He really mustn’t have any suspicions of her humanity, Lilith concluded, smug.

They didn’t encounter anyone else on the trail, and continued walking until the sun was a fiery ball directly above them. Lilith copied Sla’ik and kept her hood up, covering her face, uncomfortably hot. Her tongue felt dry and heavy in her mouth, her throat scratchy. She seemed to be faring better than Sla’ik, though; he was breathing quite quickly, the water in his tank gurgling as it travelled through the pipes in an endless loop.

The ground beneath their feet began, slowly but surely, to slope downwards. She stumbled several times as she made her way down the slope, the rocks loose and slippery beneath her feet.

The rushing of water came from ahead; the sound made her mouth feel even drier. Tall, lush trees rose on either side of them, offering much-needed shade. They were, Lilith realised, in the gorge Sla’ik had mentioned. The pack would be close by. She glanced around. There was no sign of any weres in either direction, but the vegetation was rather thick.

Eventually they reached the bottom of the ravine. The river lay just ahead, the surface rippling and churning, surprisingly pale in the sunlight. Sla’ik dropped to his knees by the side of the river to refill his tank. Lilith followed his example, crouching down a few steps away to drink some water. The water was cold, burned a line through her chest and sat heavily in her empty stomach. She drank her fill, then washed her face and arms.

When he finished replenishing his water supply, Sla’ik stood, pointed upstream. “The pack is camping in that direction.” Then he looked away, to the left. “The lake is further on.”

“Okay,” Lilith replied, taking a step in the direction he had indicated. She paused when Sla’ik didn’t move. “You’re not coming with me?”

Sla’ik shook his head. “I’ve done my part. For the rest of the way you’re on your own.” Her scowl didn’t affect him. “You can’t really expect me to take you all the way there. They’d kill me!”

“And you’d think I’d stand by and let them?”

He looked her up and down, deliberately assessing. “A cub like you? All bark and no bite.”

There was little point in arguing. She gave him the rest of the money and watched him walk away eagerly. Damn ewtes, she found herself thinking. They only care about money. Then Lilith realised the infected stereotypes were rubbing off on her and her mood soured. When had she begun to think of Sla’ik as something slightly more than an animal, something almost human?

Lilith had just enough time to scowl before she was pulled backwards, a hand wrapped tightly around her neck.

But the night brought with it unexpected comforts: the cooler air reminded Lilith of the climate underground, and with the sky so black it was easy to pretend that she was walking through one of the Lower Halls near the Prime Minister’s headquarters, where small artificial lights glowed softly in the evenings. Stars, they were called. She wondered whether the twinkling lights in the sky shared the same name.

She kept walking until her feet began to ache in protest and every other step was punctuated by a loud yawn. Ignoring the faint rumblings of her stomach, Lilith tried to decide where to settle for the night, but as far as she could see the landscape was unchanging, all scraggly needle-sharp trees and large rocks.

It was then that Lilith realised she was being followed.

The surge of adrenaline made her hands tremble. She kept walking, listening hard, her chest tight with alarm. There it was again: a faint scraping noise. It came from behind her.

A few steps ahead was a large stick on the ground. Lilith walked towards it, felt her heart pound with every step. When she reached it, she paused, bent down, pretended to tie her shoelace. She wrapped her fingers around the stick, hid her movements with the heavy folds of her cloak, mind racing. What infected could be following? A werewolf? A vampire? It didn’t matter. She’d aim for the head.

The moment the stick was firmly in her grasp, Lilith whirled around and ran forward, brandishing her makeshift weapon and screaming at the top of her lungs. Her stalker was crouched behind her, half-hidden behind a large rock. It fell to the ground, curled up, and Lilith’s pace faltered. She strode over the last few steps, waving her stick threateningly to frighten the infected off.

“Don’t hurt me,” the creature whined, cowering into the ground. It looked pathetic.

Lilith lowered the stick but kept her grip tight. “Who are you and why are you following me?” she demanded.

At the sound of her voice, the creature stopped cowering and peered up. “Girl? From the hotel?” It pushed back its hood, and Lilith recognised the reptilian features.

“Sla’ik?” Her grip relaxed; at least she was facing a known quantity. “Why are you following me?”

The ewte looked around. “Where’s your friend?”

“Oh, I got bored of waiting for him,” Lilith replied flippantly, adding just the right touch of nonchalance to make the lie convincing. “I’m heading back to the pack by myself.”

Sla’ik bared a row of tiny, sharp teeth in the semblance of a smile and stood up, dusting off the dirt. “Good thing I found you, then. You’re going the wrong way.”

Lilith frowned. “No, I’m not. I have directions.”

“The pack moved early this morning. They’re about a day’s walk east. They’re near the river now.”

How could Sla’ik tell which way east was, without signs? Lilith put the question away for later. She looked the infected up and down, suspicious; a petty criminal wouldn’t offer help without reason. “How do you know they’ve moved?”

Sla’ik shifted side to side. “News travels fast.”

“Really?” Lilith put both hands on her hips. The fang swung free of the cloak with the movement, and Sla’ik’s eyes were instantly riveted on it. “Tell me the truth!” she demanded, hardening her voice.

Sla’ik cringed away, the words tumbling out. “The Snake found out this afternoon that the pack has moved to just off the north-eastern road!”

“The Snake? You mean Zachal?” Lilith rubbed the scar on her wrist. Zachal seemed well-connected, a much more reliable source than Sla’ik. She looked at the cringing reptile and felt a rush of guilt. “It’s okay, I believe you.”

Sla’ik straightened slowly, darting small glances her way. “’Course you do.”

If the infected chose not to believe her, that wasn’t her problem. Lilith made her way over to one of the larger rocks. She sat down and leaned against it, wrapping her cloak around her to ward off the cold breeze. Sla’ik watched her, then settled down nearby.

“Not following me, huh?” she said.

Even ewtes shrugged. “Safer to camp together.”

When she didn’t reply, Sla’ik turned away and began digging into the ground. Every so often the ewte sifted a pile of loose dirt through long, webbed fingers that seemed better suited to water than land. A headshake, then Sla’ik moved a few steps to the side and began digging anew.

Lilith watched cautiously. “What are you doing?”

A flash of sharp teeth, more a grimace than a smile. “Dinner. Insects.”

Lilith glanced around, picked up a few rocks until she saw something squirming in the soil. She reached and picked it up, long and wriggling—a worm. It had been years since she’d last held one in her hands, since the idyllic summers when she was barely more than a toddler and her father had taken her fishing. She remembered staring down into her father’s tackle-box at the writhing long bodies with fascinated revulsion. The lake had stretched out for miles, the rocks moss-soft under her feet. Her father had waded out into the water with his trousers rolled up, fishing rod in one hand, and she’d made small castles out of pebbles.

When Lilith shook herself free of the memory she realised she was crushing the worm between her fingers. She loosened her grip and held it out towards Sla’ik. “Want this?” she asked.

“What do you want for it?” Sla’ik replied, eyes thin and shining.

“Want?”

“I’ll trade ya.” Sla’ik reached into a pocket and took out a cloth bag, pulling open the strings. “Bread. Food for food. A fair trade.” The ewte waved the bag. “Deal?”

Lilith’s stomach rumbled. “Deal.”

Sla’ik dumped the bag in her lap and snatched the worm, snapping it up with relish. Lilith turned away in disgust, reached into the bag Sla’ik had thrown her and pulled out the bread. It was hard and flat, barely worthy of a Middler Haller, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Speaking of which. . . . 

Lilith brushed away the crumbs. “The new location of the pack,” she said. “Is it difficult to find?”

Sla’ik’s fingers were idly scrapping the ground. At her question, the ewte straightened. “It’s not a difficult path. I pass by the gorge on my way home.”

Lilith thought quickly. She was much more likely to pass as an infected if she travelled with one. “Are you on your way home?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Sla’ik tapped a hand against the metal tank on his chest. “I’m sick of bottled water.”

Lilith nodded, let the moment pass as she planned her next steps. If there was one thing she was good at, it was lying, and she couldn’t let the ewte guess how important her next request was. She kept her voice as cool as the breeze. “How about another deal?”

Sla’ik leaned forward, eager, and Lilith knew she already had the upper hand. “Deal? ‘Course, us ewtes’re always on the lookout for deals.”

“You guide me safely to the pack, and I compensate you for your time.”

The ewte took a deep breath, considering, and the water in the metal tank gurgled in the silence. “Compensate how?”

“In rebels, what else?”

“A hundred,” Sla’ik said.

It was within her price range: Bryan had given Lilith two hundred rebels, but from the little she knew of Sla’ik she suspected the price was an outrageous one. But how much should she offer? She had no clue what one rebel was worth.

“Seventy,” she guessed, keeping her face hard and expressionless. “Half now, half when we get there.”

Sla’ik scoffed. “Ninety-five.”

“Seventy-five.”

“Ninety, and that’s the lowest I’ll go.”

“Eighty,” Lilith replied. “And you don’t tell anyone about me.”

A headshake. “Eighty? You gotta be kidding.”

“Do you want the money or not?”

Sla’ik sighed, rubbed a wrist. “I guess it’ll have to be enough. For a friend, mind.”

Friend? Nonsense. Lilith nodded. “Deal.” She turned aside and pulled out the money in her pocket, squinting at the numbers. The money was thick and smooth in her hands as she counted off the right amount—it looked fake, like something out of one of her board games back home.

“Here,” she said, turning to Sla’ik and holding out forty rebels. “The first half.”

Sla’ik counted and pocketed the money quickly. He looked too content—Lilith suspected she’d overpaid him but it was too late to haggle further. She lay down on her side and curled up into a ball, determined to catch some sleep. Sla’ik remained upright, staring off into the horizon.

Right before a wave of sleep fully overtook her, Lilith felt Sla’ik glance at her. “Safe passage, eh?” the ewte said quietly. “Pity.”

The surface beneath her cheek was hard and dusty, and a slight wind teased the back of her neck. A draft meant an exit, a possible escape route. Lilith took five slow breaths, then surreptitiously moved her limbs only to confirm what she had already suspected: her hands and feet were tied.

There was a rustle of cloth and Lilith fell limp, breathing slowly and deeply.

“There’s no use pretending,” a man said, amused. “I can feel the churning of your mind even from over here.”

It was a ploy. Lilith kept still, eyes closed despite the pressing urge to peek. The voice had come from straight ahead—even the slightest movement could give her away.

“Would you rather wake up now, or be kicked into it?”

Lilith opened her eyes reluctantly. She was on the ground, still in the room where they’d captured her. The room was all but empty of furniture, the walls streaked with smudges and the floor covered in a thin layer of grit. In the middle of the room was a low black table and on the other side was a sofa that lacked all its stuffing and cushions.

Sitting on the sofa, with a crumpled bed sheet by his side—her sheet, Lilith realised—was the cloaked figure from earlier. His hood was pushed back, revealing close-cropped short dark hair and three blue diamond tattoos on his right cheekbone. His light brown eyes were sharp, assessing. The doorway was behind him; Lilith was glad to see it was open.

“Well?” said a voice from behind Lilith. She flinched, looked over her shoulder. Leaning beside the windowsill was one of the rock-men. He barely glanced at her. “Is she the one we’re looking for?”

“I’m not sure,” the man on the sofa said. “I need to be in physical contact with a conscious person.”

“She’s conscious now,” the rock-man said with a sneer. “And you can touch her all you like. She’s not going anywhere.” Lilith shuddered.

The man stood up, walked over to Lilith. He crouched by her side. His face was young and smooth, but the hair at his temples was starting to turn grey. Most surprising were his eyes, warm and kind and so very human. Even in human form, Wolf’s animal side had shone through. But this man . . . this man couldn’t be infected. Perhaps he was a human like her, Lilith thought with tremulous hope. Perhaps he was an undercover agent, spying on the infected, keeping an eye out for people lost like her.

He placed a hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. Even in the shade of the room the skin-on-skin contact was sticky and unpleasant. Lilith remained still, curious but not alarmed. It was likely the man was checking for fever, to see whether the infection had set in. She opened her mouth to tell him her booster shot would protect her for another three days but the expression on his face stopped her. He looked very focused, as if he could hear something no one else could.

“Did you poison the vampires?” he asked, staring Lilith in the eye. She frowned, confused. The man frowned back. “What’s your name?” She opened her mouth to answer but he shook his head. “I’m not getting anything,” he said, puzzled.

“Try harder,” the rock-man snarled. “We haven’t got time for you to tiptoe around.”

“The mind is a pool of water—if I push hard, there’s no telling what memories will rise to the surface.”

The rock-man shrugged. “It’s your neck on the line,” he said, granite lips twisted in a sneer. “It’s you that’ll have to answer to the Seventh.”

That threat did the trick: the man scowled, pressed his hand firmly against Lilith’s forehead and closed his eyes. Her head began to ache, dull and hollow like a hangover. She blinked away the gathering tears, all of a sudden wished she was back home with a strength of feeling that startled her.

“Your parents,” the man said, and she had a flash of them sitting stiffly side-by side as they watched the television. “They’re divorced.”

Lilith stiffened, barely daring to breathe.

“Your mother cried into a wine glass the day before you moved house,” he continued, voice flat, curiously unemotional. “You were eight. You didn’t tell anyone but you stared at the phone for days wishing he’d call.”

“No.” The word escaped before she could stop it. How could he see into her mind, how could he so calmly mention memories that troubled her still? Lilith tried to jerk her head away from the man’s reach but he pressed down firmly on her head and she couldn’t move. If only Wolf was here—

“Wolf,” the man said. “He gave you his fang in the hotel room. He’d brought you here.”

No! Lilith struggled to clear her mind, to keep out thoughts of Wolf in order to protect him. She had to prove her innocence to this man and so she stared at his face, at the beads of sweat collecting on his upper lip. Her head throbbed with the effort but she had to focus: she hadn’t done anything wrong. She wasn’t the person he was looking for. She was just like him. Lilith put the full force of her will into sending that thought across.

The man jerked away, surprised. “She isn’t the one we’re looking for,” he said to the rock-man as he stood up. “She’s one of ours.”

“One of yours?” the rock-man repeated disbelievingly. “She has no mark.”

“She is one of ours,” the man repeated without offering an explanation. “I need to speak with her privately. Please step outside.”

“I can’t allow that,” the rock-man replied. “She’s a suspect.”

“I report to the Seventh, not you.” When the rock-man made no move to leave, the man folded his arms. “This is a Guild matter.”

The rock-man left, scowling, his feet slapping loudly against the floor. The man crouched again and untied her. When her limbs were loose, Lilith sat up slowly, rubbing her wrists. “My head,” she muttered, wincing. Inside she felt raw, vulnerable.

“Sorry, there was no other way.” The man tilted her head, checked her pupils. “The pain will fade. You may experience flashbacks, but those will pass too.” She was about to reply, but the man held his finger to his lips, nodding towards the door.

“You need to leave this city,” he said, so softly that she had to lean forward to hear him. “I don’t trust the trackers not to be under WPL pay.”

He glanced at the doorway, then helped Lilith to her feet. He was shorter than she’d expected, barely taller than her. “There is a lake, north of here,” he whispered. “Find it and follow it around. On the far side is the Statue of Minds. Wait there—someone from the Guild will come for you. Tell them Bryan O’Teel, Third Rank Initiate, sent you.”

Wolf had also mentioned a lake, near the secondary underground entrance. Lilith kept her voice low. “What are you? DEI?” He couldn’t be an infected—he didn’t look like one.

His smile was gently apologetic. “No. A telepath.”

Lilith stared. If she hadn’t just been inside her head, Lilith would have thought he was joking.

A voice called out from the room next door: “We’ve other jobs waiting, teek!”

Bryan pursed his lips. He reached for Lilith’s shoulder, seemed saddened when she flinched. Lilith didn’t apologise: she wasn’t letting him read her mind again.

“Head for the Guild,” he said. “We can help you.”

“You’ll take me home?”

“You’ll be home before you know it,” he promised. Bryan pulled his cloak off and handed it to her. It was a nondescript brown, like those worn by most in the city. “Better than a bed sheet,” he said with a wry smile, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small pouch, rifled through the contents, counting. “Fifty, one, two hundred rebels. Here.”

Lilith had never handled paper money, not to mention seen a currency other than credits. She held the notes between her fingertips, grimacing at the grimy texture.

Bryan sighed, took the notes back and separated them into two before handing them back. “One in your pocket, one in your shoe,” he instructed. “Can never be too safe.” He fastened the cloak around her shoulders, then scrutinised her appearance. “Hide the fang; it’ll only raise more questions than it’ll answer.”

Lilith tucked the necklace under her top, uncomfortable aware of its weight against her breastbone. Was it safe to have the fang so close to her skin? Perhaps she should have taken the necklace off entirely, but there wasn’t any time—Bryan was already leading her out of the room.

The rest of the apartment was equally as unfurnished; vampires didn’t need much in terms of comfort. Waiting at the front door were the three rock-men from earlier. They stopped talking when they saw her.

“Downstairs, now,” one of them grunted, turning and leading the way. The others followed without waiting.

Bryan gave Lilith an apologetic look. “Head for the city gates. Turn right out the door, then through the market.” He hurried after the rock-men.

Lilith waited until he was out of sight before following. Once outside, she hesitated. The map, she remembered with a sudden sinking feeling. Without it, re-entry underground would be next to impossible. She could use it to head to the entrance Silver had mentioned, and if all else failed, she could then make her way to Bryan’s Guild.

Decided, Lilith turned left, the cloak’s hood pulled low over her head. The streets were still crowded, the air heavy with churned-up dust that coated all the stalls. As she weaved through the crowd, she could not suppress her growing anxiety at brushing elbows with so many of the infected. But no one stopped her: with the cloak she was invisible. And Bryan had given her money, too—she could get home on her own. She didn’t need to wait around for Wolf to come back, if he ever did. Perhaps he’d abandoned her. She didn’t expect anything more from an animal.

Lilith turned down a familiar junction until she arrived at the grey, ugly hotel with its crooked sign.

She pulled the hood more firmly over her head, made sure the necklace was hidden, then took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and walked into the hotel, heading towards the stairwell without a pause. It was the same tactic she’d used to sneak into nightclubs: walk confidently, don’t look around, and never, never smile. The three lizards lounging in the reception didn’t even give her a second glance.

But behind the reception desk was the Snake, his eyes trained on her. She nodded, kept walking, heart pounding in her chest. When the stairwell door shut behind her without him having said a word, Lilith slumped with relief. She hurried up the stairs to the third floor, walked down the hallway until she stood in front of room 317. The door handle didn’t turn: it was locked.

Lilith cursed, looked up and down the hallway before trying the door handle again, pushing with all her weight. The infected locking system was primitive at best; she’d be able to break in, somehow. Lilith put her shoulder against the door and pushed harder. The door didn’t budge.

“Your key,” said a voice from behind her.

Lilith turned around, heart sinking. The Snake was mere paces away, holding a key. He seemed even taller up close, and despite the long shadows cast by his hood, Lilith could see the glint of sharp teeth. He took a step forward, his clawed foot peeping out from under the edge of his cloak, and dangled the key in front of her. She put out her hand but he lifted the key higher, out of her reach.

Lilith scowled, dug into her pocket and pulled out a wad of notes, half of what Bryan had given her. “Here,” she said. “For the key.”

“No.”

“I don’t have any thing else,” she lied.

The Snake’s tongue flicked out and he laughed, his voice rasping. “Money has no value.”

Lilith pocketed the notes and eyed the Snake cautiously. “So what do you want?”

“My name,” the Snake said, “is Zachal. And I want a debt.” His tongue flicked out again. “A debt to be collected at a later date. Agreed?”

Lilith hid a smirk: the Snake didn’t know she’d soon be out of his reach. “Fine. A debt.” As she spoke the last word, she felt a sharp pain in her arm. Lilith gasped and pulled back her sleeve to reveal a cut across her right wrist, bright red and angry-looking. “What is this?” she said, outraged. How had he cut her without moving?

The Snake smiled. “A reminder.” He stepped around her to unlock the door.

Lilith pressed against the cut to stem the bleeding, weighing up her chances of infection. She had a couple days before the booster shot lost efficacy, but it would probably be best to rinse the cut. Unless the water here was impure? Who knew what lurked undetected in the plumbing. Lilith shuddered.

The Snake opened the door and gestured for her to go in before him. Lilith stepped forward, then halted on the threshold. The curtains were slashed, and the one remaining sheet on the bed had been torn to shreds. The mattress was littered with stab wounds, even the pillows were ruined. Lilith walked into the room, her hands dropping to her sides. This was systematic destruction. But why?

“No blood,” the Snake said from the doorway. “The wolf has not come back.” It wasn’t clear whether he was pleased or disappointed.

Lilith looked around to see if she could scavenge anything from the remains of the wreckage. The safety-box was on its side, but unopened. She bent down next to it and keyed in the code. The lid clicked open. Nothing was missing. She pocketed the map Wolf had drawn.

The Snake watched silently. “What are your immediate plans?”

She couldn’t tell him the truth, or he’d realise she was human. Better to tweak the truth slightly. “I have a map to the pack,” she said, holding it out, her hand strategically covering the X marking the underground entrance.

The Snake gave it a cursory glance. “Roughly drawn, but accurate.” He looked around the room. “Are you done?” When she nodded, he crooked a claw at her. “Come. You will reach the city gates much faster with my presence.”

Lilith trailed after him warily. But she soon realised it was true: walking through the market with the Snake at her side was far easier than Lilith imagined. The infected cowered away. The Snake didn’t seem to notice.

Soon after, they reached the city gates. There was a queue to leave, but the Snake led her past the line of waiting people. The guard waved them through.

Once outside the city walls, Lilith paused and faced her companion. Infected or not, the Snake had helped her. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “For escorting me to the gates, I mean.”

He hissed with laughter. “The dead cannot owe debts.”

Lilith look at her wrist, was startled to see that the cut was mostly healed, leaving behind only a bright red scab. Perhaps it hadn’t been as deep as she’d thought. “Well, thanks, anyway—” she hesitated, then said his name “—Zachal.” Her wrist twinged.

“My pleasure.” His tongue flickered out to taste the air. “Good hunting.”

Liam ignored them but Emma was not immune to their calls, could not stop her eyes from straying over, from cataloguing the goods with growing unease. One sign in particular caught her eye. CITIZEN, it said, and underneath was a drawing of a needle with a stylised chip inside.

Fake citizenchips. If they worked, they would grant any illegal access to the Middle and Lower Halls. If they didn’t work. . . . Any breaches of security were dealt swiftly, and without mercy. The mere hint of association with the black market was enough to strip even full citizens of their rights.

“Liam!” Emma hissed, her small fingers digging into his sleeve. “If anyone finds us here—!”

“They won’t.”

They rounded a corner and left the compressed furore of Chinatown behind them, the corridor widening once more until Liam felt it was safe to let go of Emma’s arm. She stayed close nonetheless, and did not breathe a sigh of relief until they came, at last, to the entrance to Chute 9. There were only three gates, presided over by a lone man in the ticket booth. Exposed wires hung from the ceilings, the lights overheard flickering spasmodically as if on the cusp of burning out.

Emma stepped forward, raising her hand to touch the nearest scanner, but Liam grabbed her wrist.

“I have a travel card,” she protested.

“Don’t touch in,” he said. He walked over to the ticket booth, pulled a wad of paper out of his pocket, and made a great show of counting carefully. Each coloured note had a number on it, and several designs—Emma took a step closer and realised it was paper money.

“This,” Emma said under her breath to Liam, “is very illegal.”

“Paper money is archaic, not illegal.” Finished counting the notes, he handed the entire sum over. “Network connection is so unreliable in the Upper Halls that paper transactions are still commonplace, not to mention—” he smirked “—very untraceable.”

“Illegal,” she repeated, but he didn’t respond.

The ticket man examined the notes, then set the money aside and pressed a button. One of the gates slid open.

Liam hurried her through the gate, down the metal-edged steps to the empty platform.

“I’ll wait with you,” he said, standing close to the wall. “Shouldn’t be long.” The hum of machinery was growing louder, the floors vibrating with the approaching chute.

“You’re not coming?”

“I’m taking a detour.”

Emma paused, flummoxed. “But you haven’t told me anything. Who you are, what the DEI want, and Lilith—”

“I promise I’ll answer.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Just not now.”

Emma turned just as the chute doors opened. The carriage was crowded; a stream of people emerged holding microphones, cameras, notepads. One sallow-skinned man with untidy dark hair stopped at the sight of them and took a hurried photo.

Liam spun her around to face him. “Journalists,” he muttered, pulling her close as the crowd surged past.

He didn’t kiss her—and a part of Emma wondered whether she would have liked him to.

Once the crowds had passed he stepped away with an utterly blank expression, as if her nearness had not affected him. It probably hadn’t, Emma thought, flushing with embarrassment. How was this man—boy, really—getting under her skin, when no one else had before? At school she’d always been the one to prefer the companionship of books, her friendship with Lilith one of very few exceptions. And yet. . . . Liam’s eyes scanned the platform for danger. There was an alertness in his stance, a set to his shoulders which belied his age. It was this discrepancy she found appealing.

“Hurry,” he said, pushing her towards the chute. “Before it goes back down.”

She stopped on the other side of the doorway, turned to face him. “When will I see you again?” The words came out too needy: Emma forced herself to stiffen, to adopt the steel tone she’d use on classmates trying to poach her homework. “You promised to answer my questions.”

“I’ll find you.” His eyes swept over her, lingered on her face. “Head straight home. And remember: don’t touch out.”

Emma had no time to protest—the metal doors were sliding shut. His green eyes glinted through the strips of metal.

“Emma?” He waited till she looked right at him. “Don’t tell anyone about me, or what happened today.”

“Then what am I supposed to say?” she asked, but it was too late; he had already gone, his lean body swallowed by the darkness.

There was no one else in the chute. Emma sank into a seat near the door, legs unsteady as the shock set in. This was it: she was really going home. Her stomach flip-flopped as the descent began, but as the chute picked up speed it was replaced by a sense of weightlessness.

The chute only stopped twice on its way down, doors opening to admit the first stream of commuters heading home. Emma ignored the other passengers, hunching her shoulders and staring at the floor to avoid being noticed. It came as a relief when the chute reached her stop. She shuffled off quickly, swiped her thumb against the scanner as she walked through the gates.

The ten minute walk home passed in a blur. There was so much she didn’t understand about the last few hours that it was impossible to decide where to begin, and her sense of helplessness only exacerbated the situation. She’d need to write a timeline of events when she got home, see if she could draw up any kind of conclusion.

Emma was so distracted it took her three tries to put her thumb properly against the scanner to unlock her front door. She double-locked the door behind her, then stood still for a moment, focused on her breathing. She was home, she was safe. There was nothing else to worry about.

Then she heard someone crying.

Emma walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, where the curved stone walls were painted a deep red that matched the faux-wood countertop. Her mother was hunched over the kitchen table, shoulders shaking.

She looked up at Emma, face red and blotchy and so raw with pain that Emma wanted to look away. “It’s over,” she said hoarsely, gesturing at the scattered pages on the table.

It was the baby application form her mother had painstakingly filled out weeks earlier. Every single page was embossed with the same word, written in red capital letters. Rejected.

“Years of yearning for another child, of petitions and lobbies and every damn thing I could think of, and now this,” her mother said, voice strangled with tears. “Rejected.”

“There, there,” said a voice from behind Emma. “There’s always hope.”

Emma turned around. Leaning against the doorway of the kitchen was a tall, slim woman in a suit, her dark hair tied up elegantly, the curve of her smile instantly familiar.

Lilith’s mother narrowed her pale green eyes knowingly. “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

Over an hour had passed since King had left her in this makeshift prison. The adrenaline had long since faded, replaced by a numb disbelief that grew only more jaded with each passing second. Emma was cold, shivery. Her throat was dry but she could not bring herself to drink.

She paced the length of the room once more, fingers tapping against the wall. Five paces. Turn. Another five. With each step, the knot between her shoulders hardened.

It was during her third trip around the room that two things happened.

First, there was an answering tap-tap-tap to her fingers against the wall.

Second, the door swung inwards.

In moments of panic, the body moves ahead of the mind. Emma was only just registering her scream by the time her knees had bent and sprung her backwards, flat against the furthest wall, open palms against the concrete.

For a moment she thought it was King coming through the door. The similarity was there: the height, the smooth movements, the dark hair. Then Emma noticed the clothes—dark jeans and a black t-shirt, canvas trainers, unzipped hoody—and the boy’s eyes, a flat green that revealed nothing. He looked roughly her age but his expression was impossibly composed.

He let the door close behind him. Looked her over, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders slouched insouciantly. When he said nothing, Emma stepped away from the wall, straightening self-consciously.

“Hi,” she said.

He didn’t reply. Chose instead to glance around the room with proprietary disdain. Emma studied his profile: he had a long, thin nose and high cheekbones, dark hair swept back off his forehead, too long. A narrow chin just like Lilith’s, but on a boy it didn’t look quite right.

Not to mention he seemed to be mute. “Hello?”

His eyes returned to hers, the corner of his mouth curled up in the tiniest of smirks.

“Please,” he said, gesturing to the cots. Posh voice; definitely Lower Halls. “Have a seat.”

She didn’t budge. “Did King send you?”

He sighed, sauntered over to one of the cots and sat down, the thin mattress flattening under his weight. “No. It’s just you and me, Ginger.”

“Excuse me?”

A shrug. “It’s either that or Shorty, and Shorty doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

Emma sat on the opposite cot, scowling. “My hair isn’t ginger.”

“It’s red.”

“Dark red.”

“I see: you prefer Shorty.”

“I have a name, you know,” she snapped.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s Emma. Emma Walker.” By the way he nodded, Emma could tell he’d already known. “So are you going to tell me yours?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Your name! What is it?” Irritation got the best of her. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

His amused expression vanished. “I have no parents.”

“Oh.” Emma’s voice was small. “I’m sorry.”

He ignored her, leaned forward, hands on his knees. “I’m not sure how King mistook you for Lilith. You look nothing alike. When the report came in that he’d rescued the wrong girl, I assumed—”

“So you’re one of them?” Of course he was: how could she have let his age and clothes mislead her? Age and clothes, that’s all it had taken for her to drop her guard. She might as well have a sign saying ‘gullible’ plastered to her forehead.

“That depends on who you mean by ‘them’,” he replied. “I did, however, come to rescue you.”

Rescue. Right. This boy against the battle-hardened DEI. Emma let the disbelief creep into her face, but he didn’t notice—or chose to ignore her.

He stood, walked back over to the door. Pressed his thumb against the wall. The locks snicked back, the door swung open. He took a single use glow stick out of his pocket and snapped it between his fingers, shaking the contents together.

“I have another four,” he said. “Should be enough to get us out of these tunnels and into the Upper Halls. I’ll get you to the chutes, from there you’re on your own.”

He was serious. Emma was still on her cot, staring at the black tunnel outside. The darkness breathed with a life of its own, the glow stick woefully inadequate in comparison.

He shook the glow stick a final time, put one foot outside the door. “You coming? These things don’t last forever.”

They were on their last glow stick when they came to the dead end. The dimming light revealed a smooth concrete wall and nothing else. Emma turned, looked back the way they’d come. The last turning was several minutes of hard walking away, and the glow stick wouldn’t last that long—already it was dimming, the circle of light at their feet shrinking with every breath.

“Here,” the boy said, handing the glow stick over as he stepped forward to examine the wall.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

He was indignant. “Of course.” But there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

The glow stick sputtered, faded. Emma shook it briskly. The light flared for a moment, casting long shadows on the boy’s shoulders, on the folds of his jeans, and then died out without so much as a whisper.

“Great,” Emma muttered. She blinked hard, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then realised they already had. The darkness pressed in on her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Goosebumps shivered down her spine. Emma shook the glow stick again, but nothing happened. “Where did you get these, Chinatown?”

His voice floated back to her. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

She stepped forward, hand outstretched. The wall was further than expected, cold to the touch. Emma let her fingers trace the wall. Jerked her hand away when her fingers brushed his.

“Move,” he said, feeling the wall.

“What are you looking for?”

The soft scrape of his hand against the wall, then a very faint click—so faint, Emma might not have heard it had she not been holding her breath. A long crack opened in the wall, widened, light pouring into the tunnel as the concrete slid open soundlessly to reveal an exit.

They stepped out into an alleyway. No guards, no controls: just a narrow corridor that smelled of refuse and rusted metal. Thick pipes criss-crossed the ceiling, and the walls and floor were all tinged the same weary shade of green. They were back underground, in the Upper Halls. When Emma turned around, the wall behind her was once again smooth and unmarked.

“Come on,” the boy said, striding to the mouth of the alley. They ducked through several narrow passageways before arriving at a larger corridor—one of the Upper Hall main throughways. Emma shrank back against the wall, watched the passing people with growing unease. There were illegals here, people having children without permission, eking out a miserable, cramped life with no government support. If they discovered she had a citizenchip they’d tear her body apart to find it.

“Come on,” the boy said again, sliding into the crowds. His pace was casual but his eyes flicked back and forth, taking in every detail. Emma shivered by his side, took every brush with a stranger as a personal affront. Body mods were popular: glowing eyes, studded skin, prosthetic limbs with the circuitry exposed. The air was hot, cloying, poorly recycled. Makeshift stalls lined the corridor, and behind them were bars, strip clubs, greasy food joints serving an unappealing green mush.

The mess and the stench reminded Emma of the massacre she’d narrowly escaped. The vampires would have a field day here, tearing through the packed crowds. She’d never felt so clean, or so lucky.

“Quick!” His fingers closed around her wrist, pulled her to one side just as a stream of policemen turned onto the corridor, the sirens on their electric motorbikes blaring. The police didn’t slow down, expecting the crowds to disperse before them. Soon they rounded another corner and were gone.

The boy resumed walking. Emma followed, rubbing her wrist. “What was that about?”

“News of the theatre attack has leaked. They’re headed for the border.”

“How do you know?”

He only gave her a look, led her over off the main corridor to a flight of metal-tipped stairs. No one set of stairs connected all twelve underground levels together, but each hall—Upper, Middle and Lower—had a local stairwell, connecting their own levels. They were at the very top of the Upper Hall stairwell, and, three levels down, Emma would be able to jump onto public transport to make her way home. A confusing system at the best of times, but too few ventured outside their halls for it to matter.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Emma said, holding the banister as she walked down the stairs.

He nodded at her hand. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Her palm was flaked with rust and paint. Emma blushed, wiped her hand on her jeans. “Well?”

He relented. “Liam.”

“Liam. Nice to meet you.” They were one level down now, two more to go. No one else on the stairs paid them any attention. “So tell me, Liam, why did you rescue me?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“You could have made a better plan.” She lowered her voice. “One that didn’t involve traipsing through Upper Halls.”

“It’s the least-monitored route.”

“The DEI will know the moment I get home.” The thought made her stomach churn: who knew how much trouble she would be in for escaping?

He was unconcerned. “It’s more comfortable than that prison cell.”

The conversation was going nowhere. Emma pushed back the irritation, stood aside to let a heavily pregnant woman pass. Her eyes couldn’t help but linger on that curved belly and the woman’s red, chaffed hands. Was that baby illegal? Did the woman have a permit?

Only one more flight of stairs left. There were signs pointing downwards: the closest chute was number 9. It would drop her off not too far from home; she could make the rest of the way back on foot. Easy.

“You know, most people would be grateful,” Liam said. The ghost of a smirk hovered on his lips.

“That’s right: thank you,” Emma huffed. “Thanks for saving me, despite not telling me who you really are, why you’re saving me, or whether your plan has any merit. Maybe we should place bets on how quickly I’ll be back in prison again.”

She exited the stairwell ahead of him. The corridor she emerged onto was just as noisy and busy as the one before. Throngs of people were in every corner. Fast food stalls and electronics shops vied for attention, neon signs flashing. FOR SALE, the signs screamed, followed by indecipherable angular characters.

Liam stepped up beside her. “Welcome to Chinatown.”

Ta da! As with many aspects of Emma’s story, Liam is brand-spanking-new. Things got a little out of hand when I decided to integrate Emma’s point of view into the story—she had a LOT more story to tell than I’d originally thought. Oh well! Hope you’re enjoying the ride . . . and Merry Christmas to all!

“Silver?” Fang kept his voice low.

Silver cursed, itching for another cigarette. He’d have to buy some soon. “I can’t be bothered with this,” he muttered. But his little pack stared at him hopefully, and Howl’s round, pleading eyes were far too pitiful to be ignored.

In five long strides he was by Al’s side. Silver scowled, waited for his presence to register. When Al finally looked up, he looked far too relieved.

Silver crossed his arms. There was no way he’d let Al dump the responsibilities on him. “Are you going to sit there and mope, or are you going to be the pack’s alpha?”

Al’s mouth curled downwards, his eyes narrowed. “The pack needs both its alphas.”

“Right now, it has neither.” Silver waited for the words to sink in, then added, “I’m not going to cover up your mistakes.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Al shot to his feet, glaring, his chest heaving with anger. The twenty-nine year old was a good nine centimetres taller, and he used that difference to his advantage, towering over Silver to subdue him. But Silver only tilted his chin up and glared right back. Al was the strongest wolf in the pack, but that didn’t make him the best fighter. He was too nice—he hesitated at the wrong moments.

“Rae’s gloating,” Silver said, knowing that it would redirect the alpha’s attention.

The rest of the pack was still huddled together, with Rae and Dev in the middle. Al’s face darkened further, his generous nose scrunched in anger. He looked away, took a deep breath. When he faced Silver again he looked calmer. “You’re lucky I consider you my brother, Silver.” He glanced at Vera and his resolve hardened. “Fang, Jake! Come here!”

They approached cautiously, Howl trotting at their heels looking unhealthily cheerful.

“Yes, Al?” Fang’s polite smile was steady.

When Al tilted his head towards Vera, Fang settled down by her side, checking her pulse and temperature. Al watched every movement anxiously, unable to curb the protective urge.

Howl leaned against Silver’s elbow, grinning. “Guess what?” he piped up cheerfully. “Fang gave me and Jake cookies. But he gave me two, and Jake only one!”

Al’s fists clenched. “Shut up,” he growled, glaring at the boy, his fists clenching. Silver shielded Howl from view, and Jake stepped forward with a smile.

“You wanted something?” Jake said easily.

Al’s eyes tracked over them. His short brown hair was plastered to his skull in small curls, and there were deep, permanent creases around his eyes. He looked distracted, erratic, but at least he was making an attempt at pulling himself together.

“Fang stays here,” Al said. “You three, come with me.”

Without waiting for their asset, he strode over to the rest of the pack. The six-strong huddle of wolves loosened, scattered by the force of Al’s approach. But where Rae was scowling, Dev was pleased to see them. He wasn’t ready to take on the role of alpha. Not yet, at least, no matter how much Rae wanted him to.

One gesture from Al and the pack settled down in a loose circle, with Dev on Al’s right and Silver on his left. As a pup, Howl was not allowed within the circle, so he settled behind Silver, quiet for once.

Al took a deep breath, looked at every wolf. “I would like to apologise to you all,” he began. “These past few days I have failed as an alpha. If you choose not to follow me, I understand.”

Silence was his only response. Al waited the requisite minute, then nodded his head in thanks. He straightened and looked around the circle. “You all know the current situation. I’m open to your suggestions.”

Amber leaned forward, red curls glinting in the sunlight. “Vera needs to leave,” she said. When Al scowled, she hastened to explain, “Not leave the pack, just the area. It’s a strain for us to keep such tight control of our energy, and being near us only makes it more difficult for her.”

“Especially with an unpredictable pup around,” Rae added, sneering at Howl.

Silver sneered. “Not to mention the unpredictable bitches.”

Dev growled, but Silver didn’t back down. Howl was under his protection; he was within his rights to respond to Rae’s insult.

Al snarled deep in his throat, and even thought it was not directed at them, the lower-ranking members of the pack flinched. “Amber is right,” he said. “I’ll take her to town myself. She’ll be closer to the ewtes; that’ll kill two birds with one claw.” He looked around the circle. “Anything else?”

Dev crossed his arms. “Tulkan’s in lock-down. They’re interrogating werekin. It stinks of WPL.”

“Not necessarily.” Silver couldn’t avoid mentioning the events at the theatre now—news travelled fast, and to remain silent would only cause him problems later. He told the pack about the massacre at the theatre, careful to leave out any mention of the girl. “The attack happened immediately after the werekin were on stage. It’d be enough to make them suspicious.”

Dev had clenched his hands into tight, meaty fists. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier, in Tulkan?”

Silver latched onto the first excuse he could think of. “And risk having a witch overhear?”

“Silver was right to wait,” Al said, settling the quarrel before it could begin. “It wouldn’t have been safe.” He held his palm up to forestall any comments. “Fang will need to get in contact with the worms near Rivton,” he said. “Dev and Silver, head back south and visit the theatre. The more we know, the better.”

Silver nodded. Perfect. He could convince Dev to visit the theatre alone while he stopped by Tulkan and got the girl. He still had the money Dev had given him; he could take the girl to Rivton and check her in to the tavern. It was safer there, and nearer the other worm entrance—it would buy him time to plan how to convince the pack to hire her as a negotiator.

Al put his hands on the ground to push himself up. “Anything else?”

Rae shot Silver an overly innocent smile. “Oh yes,” she said. “Silver wants someone to join the pack.”

Everyone turned to stare at Silver once more. Damn.

Howl leaned forward, so that his face was by Silver’s ear. “What?! Who?”

Silver pushed him back irritably. “No one.” He shot Rae a scowl. It wasn’t her business to bring up; if he hadn’t mentioned it, she shouldn’t have, either. But Al had settled back down and was looking at him expectantly. “I changed my mind,” he said. “I don’t want her to join the pack any more.”

“Her?” Trust Jake to pick up on the pronoun. He winked cheekily. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“None of your business.”

Howl rested his chin on Silver’s shoulder. “What’s her name?”

“Don’t touch me.” Silver pushed Howl away again.

The pack seemed relieved at the light-hearted turn to the conversation. Even Amber joined in. She leaned forward, chin in her hand. “Oh, come on, Silver,” she said. “Don’t tell me you don’t know her name. At least tell us where you met her.”

“Where else could he have met her?” Rae said, slow and sly. “The theatre.”

Silver gritted his teeth but couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. He kept a tight rein on his anger as Al glanced at him sharply. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice low and fierce. He looked at Al, hoping the alpha would dismiss the meeting and end the questioning.

But Al looked grim. “You were the only wolf at the theatre,” he said.

The pack fell silent. There was a long, tense pause as the implications sunk in. Silver noted everyone’s shock, their disbelief that he had asked—or intended to ask—for a non-wolf to be let into the pack.

“What are you not telling me?” Al’s voice was as sharp as steel.

This time the silence was awkward.

Al waved a hand at the rest of the pack, keeping his eyes focused on Silver. The others began to stand up, moving away from the confrontation, but Howl lingered beside Silver, his loyalty warring with common sense.

Amber tugged on the boy’s arm. “Come on, Howl. Let’s go get a drink.”

“But I’m not thirsty,” the boy whined.

Silver levelled a stern look at Howl. “You’re going with her.” When Jake started chuckling, he focused his attention on him. “You, too.”

Soon it was just the two of them.

“You’re a good wolf,” Al said quietly. “But you’re not a very honest one.” And then he just stared at Silver expectantly, waiting.

“She is . . . ” Silver paused. He couldn’t admit the girl was a worm. He’d look ridiculous, and Al would dismiss the matter entirely. He started again. “She could be useful, a neutral third party to negotiate with the ewtes. They wouldn’t overcharge her.”

Al shook his head. “If you wanted her to join the pack, then she must be important to you. Why?”

“You’re wrong,” Silver replied. “She’s not important.”

Al studied his face carefully, his lips a flat line, but Silver didn’t budge. Finally Al stood, beckoned for Silver to follow, and walked over to the centre of the clearing, where Vera was. Fang was still by her side, and looked up curiously when they approached.

“How is she?”

“The situation is delicate,” Fang said, his voice gentle. “She must be moved away from the pack without delay.”

Al nodded. “I’ll take her to town myself. But first, there’s something I need you to do.” He turned to Silver. “Describe her.”

Silver warily did as he was told. When he was finished, Al looked at Fang. “She’s in Tulkan. Do you think you can find her?”

Fang approached Silver and sniffed cautiously. “I can detect a scent roughly matching her age and gender. I will do my utmost to find her, but considering the high density of people in Tulkan, I cannot make any promises.”

“Just do your best,” Al replied. “Start at the hotel.”

Silver glanced between them, trying to curb his growing anxiety. “I can find her myself.” The girl was his problem, not the pack’s.

“Yes, you could,” Al replied sternly. “But you won’t do what’s necessary. And if she’s a witch . . . ” he trailed off, giving Fang a significant look.

Fang nodded solemnly. “I’ll do what is best.”

“No!” Silver felt his control snap, the rage within him overwhelming in its unexpectedness. The air around him heated, his body shifting to wolf form. He landed on all fours and growled angrily at Fang.

A sharp cry of pain distracted him. He looked to his right: Vera was moaning, doubled over and clutching her stomach. Fur had sprouted over her face. The energy of his shift had affected her.

Silver felt a momentary flash of guilt before the sight of Fang leaving the clearing refocused his attention. He sprang after Fang, weaving through the trees and quickly shortening the distance between them. Soon Fang was only a paw’s breadth away. Silver gathered himself for one final leap, to knock Fang over and assert his dominance, when another wolf bowled into Silver’s shoulder and pushed him to the ground.

Silver jumped to his feet and whirled around to face the new threat, fur bristling, tail erect. It was Al.

Stay, Al barked. The word had the weight of authority to it, the alpha compulsion.

Silver growled, his legs trembling all of a sudden with the effort to stand. It was useless. His body sank down to the ground against his will.

Howl burst into the clearing, a tumble of limbs and wild brown hair. He skidded to a halt in front of Silver, oblivious to the tension in the air and the tight set of Al’s shoulders.

“Tell Jake it’s not true!” he demanded, tugging on Silver’s sleeve. “Tell him!”

Every single werewolf in the clearing was staring—every one except Al, that was. Al had his head bowed, his hands clenched in tight fists on his knees. Every ounce of Al’s concentration was focused on keeping his inner wolf tightly reined, but it still wasn’t enough, for Vera was frowning, eyelids fluttering.

Silver stood, grabbed Howl by the collar of his t-shirt, and pulled him away. For a sixteen-year-old, the brat was emotionally deficient.

Jake was standing at the very edge of the clearing, his hands already in the air in the universal sign: not guilty. Like fuck he wasn’t.

“I thought you’d keep the boy under control,” Silver hissed. Howl—who’d been letting himself be cheerfully dragged along—drooped noticeably.

Jake shrugged. “Fang’s the pup-sitter, not me.”

Silver was working himself up to a satisfying bout of insults when, as if by magic, Fang appeared beside them. It was uncanny how he did that. “Now, let’s keep calm, everyone,” he said. “Perhaps we should move this discussion elsewhere?”

Silver glanced back at the clearing. Al remained hunched by Vera’s side, but the rest of the pack was watching gleefully. Fang was right; with the pack politics so fragile, their squabbling was best kept private.

He pointed at Claw, the nearest werewolf, who nervously straightened out of his slouch. “You. Watch over Al,” he instructed. Silver let go of Howl’s collar and stalked out of the clearing, towards the river. The others trailed behind.

The air was cooler by the river, sweet-smelling. Here the trees lacked the hard stubbornness of those by the clearing, their branches softened by leaves. Silver sat down at the base of a tree and wondered how the girl was faring in Tulkan, where there was no refuge from the sun and the topsoil had long since been blown away. Further southwest of Tulkan there was only desert; if she wandered that way by mistake she was dead. Would it even occur to her to protect herself from the elements? He leant against a tree and took in his surroundings—the chirping of the birds and burbling of the river, the thick gnarled tree trunks digging firmly into the sandy soil—and wondered what she would think.

Fang sat down on the ground near Silver, interrupting his train of thought. Howl scampered past, heading straight for the river. He had a large stick in his hands which he used to poke the surface of the river tentatively, as if any moment the water would come alive. With each jab, he grew bolder and leaned further forward.

Jake remained standing, one eye on Howl’s antics. “If you fall in I’m not pulling you out, kiddo,” he said.

“I en’t gonna fall in!” Howl protested, glaring. His foot slipped and he jerked backwards, away from the riverbank. The tip of his shoe was wet.

Jake looked smug. “See?” He sat down next to Fang.

Howl crossed his arms. “I wasn’t gonna fall in. And anyway, I en’t afraid of water like some cowards!”

“What? Come and say that to my face, brat!”

Howl moved closer, brandishing his stick. “Coward! Coward! Coward!” Jake, still sitting, grabbed the end of the stick and pulled Howl closer, shouting insults right back.

Silver wasn’t in the mood. “Shut up, you two!”

They froze, abashed. During the following, blessed silence, Silver sank down into a cross-legged position, leaning back against the tree. Howl followed suit, settling down on the grass next to Silver and beginning to pluck at the grass. Needless destruction. The members of his old pack would have been horrified. Silver watched Howl but didn’t say a thing.

“Silver,” Howl said hesitantly a while later. His fingers plucked the hem of his t-shirt. “Is Vera . . . Is she going to be okay?”

All eyes were on him, as if he were the alpha of their little group. Why were these three so damn persistent? Why did they keep following him? Silver looked away and shrugged with one shoulder.

Fang intervened. “We hope so, Howl.”

“Well, ’cause the others were saying she wasn’t gonna. Claw and them.” Howl ducked his head down, peering through his bangs. His eyes were a golden brown so light that in moments like these he looked feral, like a were who’d lost control and let his wolf shine through his human side.

“Bullshit,” Jake said immediately. He punched Howl on the shoulder, lightly. “The others are pack, but that doesn’t make them nice. They’re just being mean.”

“I guess.” Howl chewed his lip. “But . . . but if they’re lying, why does it feel true?”

Silver finally stepped in. “Because your mental capacities deceive you.”

“Oh,” Howl said. Then it clicked. “Hey!”

Jake chuckled. “Ignore him, Howl. Silver’s just pissy today.”

“Look who’s talking,” Silver growled back.

Jake smirked and stared at him. “I am looking.”

“Enough, you two,” Fang pleaded. “We’re all understandably tense today.” His words were greeted by silence. When Jake pulled out a packet of cigarettes, Silver took one without a word of thanks.

For a moment it was quiet. Twin matches burned, sending tendrils of smoke in the air. Silver grimaced when he inhaled; Jake always did have bad taste. He blew the smoke away from the others and leaned his head back against the tree.

“I like this,” Fang said cheerfully. “The four of us, like this.”

Jake grinned, blew a smoke ring into the air. “Just like the old times, eh?”

Howl nodded, Silver remained quiet. But he agreed with Fang: after the squabbling of the pack, he could almost tolerate the companionship of these three wolves, not that he needed them. In these three he saw a piece of himself—they all were restless, and to some extent unhappy. Silver thought of the girl, the stubborn pout of her lip and the reckless, impulsive light in her eyes. He wondered whether she was happy.

“Silver,” Fang said, his voice unexpectedly cautious. “We’ve been discussing the current situation.” He and Jake exchanged significant looks. “Should the worst-case scenario unfold, will you step forward as alpha?”

Silver stubbed his cigarette against the ground before answering. “I don’t see the point.”

“And let Rae and Dev step in?” Jake demanded. “Rae may have her issues, but as much as she wants to be alpha, she’s not made for it. All she’s interested in is getting revenge. And Dev’s under her thumb entirely. You wanna put all of us through that?”

Silver looked at Jake coolly. “If you feel so strongly about it, you step forward. I don’t care.” If he were alpha, though, he would’ve been able to bring the girl to safety immediately. He couldn’t deny the temptation of being able to do what he wanted—that such freedom came with the responsibility for others put him off.

Fang shook his head, his expression carefully neutral. “Jake and I are happy to help with the management of the pack, but the challenger must be you. We need Amber’s support to avoid being outnumbered.”

Silver stared at the sunlight dappling the leaves. “And?”

“She won’t side with us unless you are the challenger.”

“Because she doesn’t like you,” Silver replied.

Fang looked uncomfortable. “Yes, that.” And he didn’t get along with Amber—not that he would ever admit it.

The leaves shifted in the wind, whispering against each other. Silver traced their gentle movements. “That’s not my concern.”

An awkward silence followed. Howl shifted restlessly, oblivious, threading the grass together into small braids.

“Things would be so much easier if Kara was still here,” Jake blurted. He had the good grace to look sheepish, although he didn’t apologise until Fang elbowed him in the ribs.

Silver ignored them, closing his eyes. Jake was right: with a mate by his side, Dev and Rae would’ve stood no chance. And Kara would have loved the opportunity to be alpha—had in fact returned to her family so that she could assume leadership. She hadn’t asked Silver to join her, although the offer had been implied. No expectations nor demands: it’s what he’d liked about her. It was only after she’d gone that he’d realised how much he’d depended on their comfortable relationship. He missed the small things: the curve of her cold nose against his throat, the feel of her, solid in his arms.

The physical need, he’d expected. It was the other need that had caught him by surprise. He’d never take a mate again. It was a weakness he could not afford.

Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. It was different than what he’d felt towards Kara: the girl had aroused in him a sense of responsibility, a desire to protect which he couldn’t erase. The feeling disgusted him. He’d half a mind to kill her and be done with it. Bringing her to the pack would never work; she had no place here. But how else would he bring her to safety? There was no way to convince the pack to offer her protection without her offering something in return, and there was nothing a worm could offer of value.

Fang coughed politely. “Perhaps it might be best to discuss alternative arrangements?” He waited until he had everyone’s attention before continuing. “Al’s negotiations with the ewtes are proving unsuccessful. He is too invested, and they can sense that. If we could arrange for someone unrelated to the pack to approach the ewtes covertly, that person would stand a better chance of negotiating a reasonable price.”

An unrelated negotiator? Silver allowed himself a smirk. Maybe he’d found the answer to his problems.