“Terms?” Lilith asked slowly. She fought the urge to cross her arms; defensive body language would send the wrong message.

Al stared, unblinking, all traces of warmth vanished from his expression. While his expression lacked Rae’s cold, cruel mockery, there was a glint in his eyes—a sheer force of will—that made him no less intimidating.

Sweat prickled the back of Lilith’s neck as the late morning sunshine beat against her skin. “I think you’ve made a mistake,” she said, hesitant. Now was not the time to lie, if Rae’s attitude to witches was any indication. The thought came with a flashback of Dylan, of the ragged, torn flesh on his neck. Lilith swallowed hard, looked into Al’s brown eyes and forced herself to remember: this man wasn’t human. He wasn’t a person. He was an infected, and she’d have to be careful.

“A mistake?” Al repeated flatly. He didn’t believe her—the almost parental disappointment in his eyes was tangible.

She nodded, widening her eyes. “I haven’t done anything to Silver. I mean, I can’t have done. I’m not a witch.” Lilith looked down, feigning shyness. “He . . . he saved my life. I’d never do anything to him.”

A quick peek through her lashes confirmed that, human or not, Al was susceptible to her charm. “You’re not?” He looked perplexed. “Not a renegade?”

Lilith played it safe and shook her head.

Al propped his chin on his hand, stroking his cheek with a thumb. The skin of his hand was a deep, rich brown, his fingers short and thick, blunt-tipped. “Tell me how you and Silver met,” he said.

“I was at the theatre,” Lilith began, hesitant, feeling none of the usual storytelling thrill. What was safe to say, what best left out? This man was Silver’s leader, but he was Rae’s, too; she couldn’t trust him.

Al’s eyes narrowed. “During the vampire attack?”

Lilith nodded. “Silver helped me escape.” She narrated their arrival in the city, glossing over her capture by the trackers and Bryan’s advice. Hearing the words aloud made the events seem oddly distant, as if they had occurred to a stranger. She was lucky, Lilith realised, so very lucky to be alive.

“You’re tougher than you look,” Al remarked wryly, a comment which made her muscles ache as if in protest. She tried not to let the weakness show. “I’m just curious: what was a sipid doing at the theatre?”

Her confusion was impossible to hide. Al’s lips thinned. “So you really are a bland,” he said.

Her growing confidence vanished. Bland—that was the word Sla’ik had used for human. It was too late to pretend now. Lilith nodded, tense. “What gave it away?”

“Sipid is an insult,” he said, leaning away from her, giving her room to breathe. “It means a human raised above ground. Humans who live underground are blands—” he half-shrugged —”but you already knew that.

“Your thing on your wrist was a giveaway,” Al continued. “When you didn’t react to the insult, I was sure.”

Lilith had forgotten about the phone strapped to her wrist, so accustomed was she to wearing it. She tapped the screen half-heartedly but the phone was dead, its circuitry fried by magic.

“Bury it,” Al advised. “The more you look like us, the longer you’ll survive.” He stood, helped her to her feet. “I’ll wait till Silver wakes to make a decision. Until then, you’re welcome among us.”

“Thanks.” Her voice sounded dubious even to her own ears. Rae was on the opposite side of the clearing, scowling in their direction.

Al noticed. “I am the alpha, and you have my word.” He put a hand on her shoulder, his smile was tight. “But if you try to escape, I can’t make any promises.”

“So I’m a glorified prisoner.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “For the time being.” Then he shooed her towards Silver with a nod of encouragement.

Every eye was on Lilith as she returned to Silver’s side. He was fast asleep, face turned away from her, the long line of his throat pale and delicate in the sunlight. She wanted to run her finger along his skin, marvel at its smoothness and warmth. That she could feel this much yearning for someone she barely knew was frightening, even more so when she had to forcibly remind herself that he wasn’t human.

Maybe it was the shock, some kind of hero worship. He’d saved her life; gratitude was expected. But she didn’t really know him, nor he her. So Lilith took the yearning, the strange sense of belonging, and pushed it far deep inside of her, to be buried and hopefully forgotten.

“You might as well sit down.” Amber was standing across from her, arms in the air as she pinned up her curls of red hair. She was shorter than Lilith, her rounded hips and chest feminine in a way Lilith’s lean, straight figure could never be. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Lilith sat down, fighting back annoyance as Amber settled on the other side of Silver and stroked his cheek. He was infected—she had to remember that.

“Looks so peaceful, doesn’t he?” Amber said.

Lilith nodded, but she didn’t agree. Silver’s face didn’t have the youthful relaxation of sleep: his brow was furrowed, his cheeks a touch gaunt, pale eyelashes pressed firmly together. If this was Silver at his most peaceful, she couldn’t help but pity him.

“He’ll be fine,” Amber said. “Not a scratch on him. He’s just tired.”

“I know. I was there when you checked.” He was still only covered by her cloak. Lilith’s cheeks warmed as she remembered his nakedness, the sight of him in the clearing. But that hadn’t been the first time; in the hotel he’d been naked as well, comfortable in his own skin, so self-assured Lilith couldn’t help but wonder—

“A friend of Silver’s is a friend of mine,” Amber said, running her fingers through Silver’s hair.

Lilith bristled, but said nothing. What could she do? No doubt every werewolf in the clearing was watching her.

Amber seemed oblivious to the tension. “You must be overwhelmed. It’s not every day a pack has visitors, and after what happened to that witch . . . ” Her expression was earnest, concerned, but Lilith was sickened to realise it did not contain even a trace of regret. Amber was worried about her; that Dylan had been brutally murdered seemed to escape the werewolf entirely.

“Rae killed him,” she said, daring Amber to contradict her. “An innocent man.”

Amber’s eyes flashed. “Before you feel sorry for that witch, you should know he was part of the WPL. They’ve murdered dozens of werekin.” She leaned over Silver, lowered her voice. “They raped our alpha. They deserve to die.”

“Al?” Lilith said, confused, but Amber was shaking her head.

“Vera, the female alpha. And if her baby is a half-breed—”

A flat male voice interrupted the conversation. “That’s none of her business.”

They both looked down. Silver had cracked open one eye and was looking at Amber with a sour expression.

Amber wagged a finger. “If she’s yours, Silver, then it is her business.”

“She isn’t,” he said, the corners of his mouth curling downwards.

Amber broke the awkward silence by scoffing. She touched Silver’s hand. “I’m sure you two have things to talk about,” she said, standing.

All too soon Lilith was alone with Silver. Now that he was awake, the gulf between them was impossible to ignore. This wasn’t her place, Lilith realised. She didn’t belong. The surge of homesickness made her heart ache,

She didn’t look at him, put her hand on the ground between them to push herself up. “I’ll just go now.”

Silver grabbed her wrist, held her in place as he sat up. The cloak slid down his chest to pool in his lap. Lilith could feel his warm breath against her neck, couldn’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

His sharp grey eyes were scant inches from hers. Lilith held her breath, watched his eyes darken, his head tilt towards her. Her gaze dropped to the faint smirk on his lips.

Then his amusement vanished. “What’s on your wrist?”

Lilith frowned, drew back. “My phone? You’ve seen it before—”

“Not that.” He pushed the phone out of the way, fingers digging into her hand. The cut on her wrist, the one Zachal had given her, was still raw and red around the edges of the scab. She’d need to bandage it.

Silver held the scar up. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You made a deal with the Snake? Are you an idiot?”

“He helped me!” She tried to tug her wrist free but it was of no use.

“You’ve paid for that help with your life,” he sneered.

Lilith’s composure snapped, the pent-up anger and fear flushing her cheeks. “You left me!” she retorted heatedly, oblivious to the stares of the other werewolves in the clearing. “You abandoned me in an infected city, at the mercy of trackers, with no way of getting home! Was I supposed to sit there in that hotel, do nothing while the trackers came looking? I was chased and shot at and mind-raped! Because of you,” she finished, limbs trembling.

Silver dropped her arm as if burned. “It’s my fault,” he said. Lilith felt a brief spasm of gloating triumph, until he added, “I shouldn’t have rescued you in the first place.”

“If you’d wanted me dead you should’ve said so ages ago,” Lilith replied, cold now, and so very furious. “I would’ve gone straight to the Guild instead of wasting my time here.”

He stilled. “The Guild?”

“Mind rape, remember?” She crossed her arms. “A telepath told me the Guild would help.”

“That explains things.”

Silver wrapped her cloak around him and stood. Then, without another word, he walked away, leaving her gaping like a child at his back.

Rae snapped the necklace off of Lilith’s neck, raised the fang into the air. She tapped the surface with a blood-flecked nail.

Scar sidled closer, twisting his hands together. “Is that . . . ?”

“Looks like his,” Rae answered darkly. “We need Al to be sure.” She shoved the necklace into her pocket, looked down at Lilith, her lip curling into a sneer. “Who are you?”

“I . . . .” The fear-induced adrenaline left as quickly as it had come. Lilith slumped. All she could see was Dylan’s face, the gurgling of his throat. There was still blood in the grass by her feet. “My name is Lilith,” she finished, eyes dropping.

Rae bent down and grasped Lilith’s chin tightly, her skin surprisingly warm as she examined Lilith’s face. “You’re not a covened witch, nor in the Guild.” Her eyes narrowed, strands of short blond hair swinging forward. “Maybe the better question is: what are you?”

Human. The answer was on the tip of her tongue, but even through the shock Lilith knew it was the wrong answer to say. There was a bounty on her head—on any bland’s head—and she’d be playing right into their hands if she confessed to her humanity.

Rae’s hand slid down her chin, only to circle her neck. Her fingers tightened, pressing against Lilith’s jugular. “Doesn’t matter,” she purred, pulling Lilith to her feet. “You won’t be alive for much longer.”

Lilith’s neck was throbbing, her pulse beating in a wild staccato. Rae wrapped her other hand around Lilith’s neck, pulled her closer, so that there were mere inches between them. “Just tell me: where did you get the fang?”

Lilith looked past her, hoping to see Wolf, but the only faces she could see were unfamiliar, and unfriendly.

“Well?” Rae tightened her grip.

“Wolf gave it to me,” Lilith gasped.

“I know it’s a werewolf,” Rae ground out, infuriated. “What’s his name?”

Lilith blinked back tears, scrabbled at the fingers around her neck. Her chest was burning, her throat ached from the pressure.

“She’s crying,” Scar said, gloated.

Rae was unmoved, eyes frighteningly intense. “His name,” she said.

Lilith’s face burned. She managed to gasp, pull in some air, but it wasn’t enough to speak.

“Rae!”

Lilith crumpled to the ground as Rae jumped and turning to face the newcomer. A tall man was striding towards them. He was stocky and muscular, and cut straight across the clearing as if he expected everyone to move out of his path. The smile on Scar’s face vanished. He edged away, head down, but one sharp hiss from Rae and he froze, shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow.

The man stopped beside Rae, scrutinised Lilith with a grave expression. He had short dark hair and olive skin that gleamed in the sunlight. Lilith stayed on the ground, massaging her throat, using the raspiness of her breath as an excuse not to speak.

“She had this, Al,” Rae said, handing over the fang necklace.

He examined it.”Definitely his.” His voice was deep, rumbling from his chest. He looked at Lilith. “Where did you get this?”

“That’s what I was trying to find out,” Rae said, sullen.

Al wasn’t impressed. “By choking it out of her? And then what? You kill the only person who might have a cure.”

“Cure?” Rae scoffed. “She has no mark. That girl’s nothing but a sipid. Probably stole the fang. Might as well kill her.”

“You’d risk Silver’s life over it?” He leaned closer, into Rae’s face, his eyes gleaming. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? With Silver out of the way, there’d be no one to challenge Dev.”

“Dev is beta,” she hissed.

“And I am your alpha,” Al snapped. “For as long as you are part of this pack.” He put a hand on Rae’s shoulder, loomed over her. “Don’t think I can’t smell the blood. I know you killed the other witch. I make the decisions here, Rae, and if you’re not prepared to follow them . . . .”

The air around them heated. Scar, who had been quiet until then, whimpered. The sound snapped Al out of his mood. He took a deep breath. “Go take a walk.”

Rae’s eyes dropped. She looked away, bared her throat to Al. “Yes, alpha,” she muttered, with barely concealed dislike.

“You too, Scar,” Al said. Once they were out of sight, he ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes, reining in his emotions. “If Dev isn’t back soon, I’m going to tear Rae into tiny pieces,” he muttered.

Lilith choked on a laugh, clamped down on the rising hysteria. Somehow she found the energy to stand. If this was it—if this werewolf would kill her—then she wanted to die standing, not cowering into the ground.

Al had the necklace in the palm of his hand. He held it out. “The fang belongs to my pack. How did you get it?”

“A werewolf gave it to me,” Lilith replied, fist clenched, steeling herself for the final blow. “I don’t know his name. He has grey fur, and a big scar across his chest.” Now that she’d begun speaking, the words wouldn’t stop. “We were separated in Tulkan. I was kidnapped, and when I got back to the hotel, the room was torn apart. I thought something had happened to him. I thought—” it took every ounce of willpower to keep her eyes on Al’s “—I thought he’d be here.”

But behind Al was only a row of unfamiliar faces. Lilith half shrugged, as if finding Wolf didn’t matter, even though she couldn’t shake the nagging insistence that, without him, she was terribly alone. “He saved my life,” she said. “I never thanked him.”

“Saved your life?” Al shook his head. “Silver was always one for heroics.”

Silver: that was Wolf’s name. Lilith tested the word in her mind, curved her tongue around its unfamiliar shape. “Is he here?”

Al was grim, resigned. “You better come with me.”

He led her away from the camp, further upstream. The river burbled even louder, the waters white with froth. Lilith kneeled by the bank, rinsed the taste of acid from her mouth, washed the grime from her hands and face. The water was cold and clear but she didn’t dare swallow a drop; the risks of drinking unfiltered water, exposed to the dust and dirt and countless other contaminants, were too high to be ignored.

When she was done, Al cut a path through the trees, away from the river. The fading roar of the water was replaced by another sound: a weak and pitiful growling. A grey shape was just visible through the trees

“Wolf,” Lilith said, softly, her pace quickening.

Al held out an arm. “Not too close,” he warned, holding her back, slowing their approach.

Wolf was growling. His lips were pulled away from his teeth, head angled towards the ground, his black-tipped tail a straight, horizontal line. He hadn’t noticed them yet, his legs trembling as he struggled to stand. He straightened his legs inch by inch, until finally he stood tall, muscles straining, every breath forced. Then his legs buckled and he collapsed.

“Wolf!” Lilith cried, dodging Al’s grasp. She ran forward, stopped just short of touching him, all too aware of his size and his weight and his muscles. “Wolf?”

His eyes slid open. He stiffened when he saw her, inhaling deeply, then his entire body relaxed. His eyes closed, his breathing deepened.

Lilith reached out, fear warring with the impulse to ensure Wolf was okay. She’d forgotten how big he was, and his mouth, parted in sleep, only highlighted the sharpness of his fangs. She summoned her courage, let her fingertips brush against the fur of his neck, then froze as Wolf began shrinking before her, his body rippling, returning to human form. Lilith caught an eyeful of skin before she looked away, embarrassed.

“Give me your cloak,” Al said, amused.

She handed it over without looking, kept her face turned away until she was sure Wolf was decently covered. When she turned around, Al was scooping Wolf into his arms as if he weighed nothing more than a feather. Al led the way back to camp, his steps slow and careful. Lilith followed without question, unable to tear her eyes from the curve of Wolf’s throat and the straight line of his cheekbones.

When they re-entered the clearing, a woman with curly, ginger hair immediately approached them. “How is he?” she said, touching Wolf’s face with easy familiarity. Lilith stiffened, suspicious.

“Let me put him down first, Amber,” Al chuckled, lowering Wolf to the ground.

The woman lifted the cloak, glanced down his body as Lilith bristled with anger. “Not a scratch,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

“He could hardly disobey,” Al retorted.

Lilith forced the words out. “Don’t you have clothes for him?”

Al shrugged. “Serves him right.” He beckoned for Lilith to follow. “He’ll be fine with Amber. You and me need to talk.”

She complied reluctantly, shooting Amber a venomous look that the woman didn’t even notice. She was checking Wolf’s pulse and temperature, running her hands along his body in an entirely unnecessary manner.

“He just needs rest,” Al said, steering Lilith away.

She forced herself not to look back. “What happened to him?”

“He was adamant about finding someone.” Al shot her a shrewd glance. “And I ordered him to stay.”

“He ignored you?” Lilith guessed, hopeful.

“He can’t ignore my orders, but he did his best to fight them. Ripped right through his clothes like a cub.” Al smiled. “Never seen him so flustered. Didn’t do him any good, though.”

“I knew it,” Lilith said, triumphant. “He wouldn’t have just left me. It didn’t make sense.”

Al’s smile vanished. He stopped walking, pointing to the ground where a blanket was spread out. No cushions, though there was a small pile of luggage nearby. “Sit.”

Lilith sank onto one edge of the blanket awkwardly. He sat down opposite her, hands on his knees, brown eyes thoughtful.

“Whatever you did to Silver, it is impressive magic,” he said. “But you cannot risk the wrath of a pack without consequence.” He leaned forward, unsmiling. “Now, to business: what are your terms for his release?”

The journalist stared into the camera, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, his lips a flat line that gave nothing away. It’s about the theatre. Emma’s finger hovered over the mute button. How did he know that she was involved?

“Emma?” The crackle of the speakers added a sinister overtone to his voice. “Can we talk?”

He had to be a DEI agent, here to arrest her. It hadn’t taken them long to find her; if anything, Emma was surprised they hadn’t come sooner.

“Emma? Are you still there?”

“Let him in.”

Emma looked over her shoulder, startled. Ms Gray was in the hallway, her hair tied up once more in an elegant bun. She was slipping on her shoes—black patent pumps with a rounded toe—calm and cold, as if her neatened appearance was a mask behind which she could hide. Or maybe it was the other way around, and her earlier dishevelled state had been an act to get past Emma’s defences.

“Emma?”

She turned back to the screen. “I’m here. Just a minute.” Emma hit the mute button, turned back to Ms Gray. “I’m only telling you this because, despite everything you’ve said, I believe you care for Lilith. No mother wouldn’t care for her child.” A deep breath, then: “The DEI are involved in what happened at the theatre, and they want Lilith for something. I think this guy is an agent . . . and that he’s here to arrest me.”

If she was looking for a reaction, Emma was sorely disappointed. Ms Gray only looked at the screen. “We’ll see about that.”

The part of her that had been hoping for some form of reassurance baulked, but Emma had no choice. She reached slowly for the unlock button. This could be it: arrest, imprisonment, loss of her citizenchip. But she couldn’t live in hiding, not when her best friend was risking her life above ground. For Lilith, Emma thought, and opened the door.

The journalist was taller in person than she’d expected. Taller, but not intimidating. He was skinny, awkward, stiff-limbed as if not quite certain of his balance. He stepped into the house, nodded a hello without taking off his dark glasses or wide-rimmed hat, his appearance cartoonish. He looked nothing like King, had none of that hard-edged determination. And his clothes were wrong for a DEI, too:

“Would you like a drink?” Emma said uneasily when the journalist did not immediately arrest her. The dark glasses put her off; she could not see the expression in his eyes, could not tell where he was looking.

“Water would be great.” Soft-spoken, with a gentle twang that told Emma he, like her, was a Middle Haller.

Ms Gray took charge, all sleek professionalism. “Why don’t we speak in the kitchen?” She led the way, had already poured out a glass by the time the journalist stood on the threshold. Waved a hand at the table. “Please, sit.”

Emma sat down with her back to the wall, but the journalist hesitated. “I’d like to speak to Emma alone.” He still hadn’t taken off his hat or glasses, seemed to have no intention of doing so.

But Ms Gray , unfazed, only smiled. The expression was so gracious it was impossible not to charmed; even Emma found it difficult to hold onto her previous anger. Ms Gray took the journalist by the elbow and steered him to the table, directly opposite Emma. “Don’t mind me,” she said, setting the glass down before him. “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your little chat with Emma.” Her hand lingered on his forearm. “In fact, I was just asking her about the theatre myself. You don’t mind me staying, do you?”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine.” The fingers of his right hand drummed against the tabletop as if typing. His left hand lay quite still, numbed by Ms Gray’s touch. This close, Emma could just about see through his dark lenses. His pupils flickered side to side nervously.

“Wonderful.” Another smile again, gentle and sincere. For the first time Emma could see where Lilith had gotten the knack for lying, although years of experience meant that Ms Gray was far more convincing than Lilith could ever hope to be.

Ms Gray’s eyes flicked up to hers and narrowed slightly. Emma took the cue and coughed, bringing the journalist’s attention back to her as Ms Gray stepped back and leant against a kitchen counter, out of the journalist’s line of sight.

“So you wanted to speak to me?”

It took a moment for the journalist to refocus. “Ah. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “As I said, I run a blog called Down the Chute. My name’s Mike. You may have heard of me . . . No? Well, never mind.” He laced his fingers together, cleared his throat again. “I report on all the stuff the government would rather keep secret.” A smile, now, very thin and eerie. “Just picking at the flaws in the system.”

Emma barely concealed a flicker of irritation. He was one of the conspiracy theorists, of the kind that plagued the internet with misinformed, badly constructed arguments. She had little patient for sensationalist news—if it could even be called news.

“So what did you want to speak to me about?”

Mike adjusted his glasses. From the way his eyes flicked back and forth, he was reading. “I’ve been writing a transport piece on chute fare evaders and how Upper Hallers can easily infiltrate lower levels. It’s a serious security breach: imagine, those without citizenchips just strolling down whenever they feel like it. It comes hardly as a surprise that break-ins and thefts are twice as likely to happen around chute entrances.”

“That statistic is meaningless,” Emma interrupted. “Break-ins are going to occur more often in areas where there’s an easy getaway. You’ve no way to prove that it’s an Upper Haller committing the crime.”

“I’ve been tracking the travel routes of fare evaders,” the journalist continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Flagging the anomalies, looking for patterns. And your name came up this morning. Chute 9. Ring any bells?”

Emma went cold. She glanced at Ms Gray, but the woman’s flat expression did nothing to reassure her.

Mike touched his glasses again, adjusting whatever screen he was looking at. “You touched out on this level,” he said, “but there was no record of you touching in.”

“You got that information illegally,” Emma said, nervous. “The privacy acts—”

“So you don’t deny it?”

“I’m not a fare evader,” Emma replied. “I paid for my fare in cash, and forgot that I didn’t need to touch out.”

“In cash?”

“It’s archaic, not illegal.” Or so Emma hoped. If Liam had lied to her . . . .

“Either way, I don’t really care,” Mike said, dismissive. “I’m not writing that piece anymore, not when there’s a bigger story out there. The theatre,” he added, once again flipping through screens on his glasses. “I ran checks. You’re the only one who went above ground this morning who has come back. The only traceable one, anyway. If you hadn’t touched out, I wouldn’t have found you.”

He pulled his glasses down for the first time. His eyes were small, bloodshot, the blue pupils fixed on Emma. “You bought two tickets to the theatre; I know you were there. Tell me what you saw. Give me the exclusive, and I’ll make you look like a hero.”

His proposition was entirely unexpected. “A hero?”

“Hero, heroine—same thing. We both know the government’s up to something. Tell me your story, and I’ll make you so famous they won’t be able to touch you. Or your friend, the one you went with.”

He pushed his glasses back up. “Who was the other ticket for, anyway?”

The question was too casual not to be a trap. Before Emma could respond, Ms Gray stepped forward. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to continue this conversation anymore, do you, Mike?”

He half-turned to face her. “But . . . I’m just getting started.”

“And you’ve confessed to breaking privacy laws, bribing the transport police, hacking the border control database and possible Emma’s personal banking details to trace her payment to the theatre.” She smiled, hip against the kitchen table, looking down at Mike. “I hope for your sake you didn’t leave any trails that could lead back to you.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, leaned down. “If you so much as mention Emma on your blog, I’m taking you down.”

Mike stiffened. “And you are?”

“Dr Arlene Gray, department of future plans.”

Mike’s face, the strip of cheek visible beneath his glasses, paled.

“We’ve read Down the Chute,” Ms—no, Dr—Gray continued, her smile growing colder. “And we’ve been very concerned about the content.” It was an unmistakeable threat, but one Emma couldn’t fathom.

In either case, Dr Gray was protecting her. If she was this protective of Lilith, Emma could not help but feel newfound respect for her. Even if Emma did not agree with Dr Gray’s methods, this love—this protection—was something she understood.

“Are you going to get a gag order?” Mike asked, shrinking in his seat, thin arms pulled tight against his body.

Dr Gray smiled. “Oh, we don’t need those.”

Mike was shaken. He stood, twisted his hands together. “Can I . . . Can I just used the bathroom?”

Emma took pity on him. “It’s upstairs,” she said, before Dr Gray could reply. “First door on the left.”

He ducked his head, left the room hastily. The moment he was gone, Dr Gray turned to Emma. Every trace of mirth had been wiped from her expression, leaving behind only a cold shell.

“How are the DEI involved? Has Lilith’s father kidnapped her?” She stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “No need to look surprised: wherever he is, the DEI are not far behind.”

So Emma’s instincts had been right: Precision Horizons was far more than a technology company. No doubt it was a covert research and development company, supplying the government with weapons.

“He was there,” Emma admitted, and then proceeded to tell Dr Gray the whole story, carefully leaving out all mention of Liam. For some reason, she didn’t want to share that one secret, preferred to keep the memory of his scent close.

“I went through Chinatown to the chute.” She shrugged, nodded at Mike’s empty chair. “You know the rest.”

They were interrupted by the sound of raised voices, coming from upstairs. They hurried out of the kitchen to find Mike on the right side of the landing, shifting his weight awkwardly. Emma’s mother was blocking his path.

“Tell me: who are you?” Emma’s mother demanded, clutching her dressing gown closed. “What are you doing in my house?”

“It’s alright, Ruth,” Dr Gray called. “He’s a colleague. He’s just leaving now. Go back to bed, I’ll be up with you in a minute.”

Mike nodded, slipped past Emma’s mother and hurried down the stairs. He held a hand up at Emma in an awkward goodbye.

“Not a word,” Dr Gray warned, waving him towards the door.

“Oh, don’t worry. I promise.” His voice carried down the hallway to where Emma was standing at the foot of the stairs. “I won’t say one bad word about Emma.”

His tone was wrong, too compliant and calm. Emma stared, watched Dr Gray lock the front door behind Mike. When he’d left the kitchen he’d looked shaken, but now she could not help but feel that he had gotten what he’d come for. Yet he’d promised not to say a bad word about her—

About her.

Emma’s heart stopped. He’d been standing on the wrong side of the landing. The bathroom was on the left. The only room on the right was her bedroom. She raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She hadn’t heard the toilet flush, or the water run. How long had he been upstairs unsupervised?

She slid to a halt on the threshold of her bedroom. Everything was in its place. Everything, except . . . 

Emma walked to her desk. “Computer?” The screen lit up. “Back to last screen.”

It opened her emails. The word theatre was in the search box. And one email was open: a confirmation she’d sent for the theatre tickets. The name in the recipient line was Lilith Gray. It wouldn’t take Mike long to put the pieces together.

Emma stirred, lifted her head up with a wince. Her neck was stiff, her lower back throbbed unhappily. She pushed away from her desk, blinked down at pages spread across the tabletop. One word stood out, embossed in red on every page: rejected.

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.”

Long fingers tightened, crushing her windpipe. Lilith gasped, tried to turn to face her assailant, only to be shook side to side till her limbs slackened, the fear crawling across her skin.

“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.

“Wake up, girl,” a voice whispered in her ear. “Wake up.” A hand wrapped around her shoulder and shook her gently.

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.

Night time fell quick and sudden. Used to the gradual dimming of the underground daybulbs, Lilith was unprepared for the sun’s plunging descent into the horizon. Out here the bare plains were shrouded in darkness—behind her, Tulkan was a soft glow muted by the city walls. She hugged herself and kept walking, head up, scanning her surroundings. In the pit of her stomach was that terrible childish certainty that monsters were lurking in the shadows. Lilith squelched the urge to turn around and go back.

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.”

Lilith was all of sudden aware of being awake. Her muscles tensed; she forced herself to remain still and keep her eyes closed, straining to hear whether her captors were near. It was quiet, but they couldn’t be far off.

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 didn’t give Emma the chance to protest: he took hold of her arm and pulled her along into the thick crowds, never once hesitating as the corridor tightened around them. Every single available space was taken up by makeshift stalls, wares spread out on the ground over thin sheets, merchants calling out in pidgin English to come look, come buy, come see.

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?”