She told him everything.

The theatre, the attacks, the blood and gore. Being rescued by the DEI. Being a prisoner. Escaping. Everything—everything except for Liam, of course. Emma talked till her voice was hoarse, talked as the tears welled in her eyes, and still her father didn’t interrupt her. Instead, he listened, and somewhere amidst her torrent of words, he lost sight of his anger.

Eventually the words trickled to nothing and Emma sat on the living room sofa, biting her lip, waiting for his judgement. Whatever he said to her, at least her mother was safe from his anger. At least he hadn’t discovered her drinking.

“Emma,” her dad said, with that familiar, bone-weary sigh. “You’ve disappointed me.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said those words, but each occasion stung like a newly sharpened knife.

“You knew Lilith wasn’t allowed to go to the theatre, and bought her a ticket anyway. You ran away from the police like a criminal. You’ve brought the press to our door, the government into our computers, and you know your mother can’t handle the stress. At work I was called into a meeting by the director, who asked me why my daughter was on every news site in the district, and how that made the company look. But—”

“I’m sorry,” Emma began, but her words were cut off as her father reached forward and pulled her into a hug.

“But you’re alive,” he said into her hairline. “You’re alive, and that’s what matters.” He pulled back, and for the first time Emma realised how much he had aged over the last few years, the bags under his eyes heavy and dark, his stubble flecked with grey.

“We’ll get through this,” he said, calm and assured.

But Lilith was in danger, and her mother was drinking, and there were all those rejected baby application forms on Emma’s desk. Yet she smiled, nodded, leaning into his arms again. For this one moment, she was safe.

“Where’s mom?”

“Resting, I think.” The truth could wait. “She was a bit rattled by the press.”

The doorbell rang, saving Emma from having to lie further. Her father leaned back into the sofa and turned on the TV. “If it’s anyone from work, tell them I’m not in,” he said.

It wasn’t work—at least, not for her father. The slim, polished figure of Arlene Gray was in the monitor, her hair swept back in its usual chignon. She’d replaced her skirt with a pair of dark tailored trousers and a matching jacket, her makeup minimal save for dark red lipstick.

Emma looked down at her clothes, rumpled from two days’ wear, and felt self-conscious. When she glanced back at the monitor, Dr Gray was staring straight into the camera, one eyebrow quirked as if she knew Emma was watching.

A deep breath for courage, then she opened the door.

“Hi, Emma,” Dr Gray said warmly. “Can I come in?” She walked past Emma without waiting for a reply and stopped in the hallway, gesturing for Emma to close the door. “You never know who’s listening,” she said the moment the door was shut, all traces of warmth gone from her expression. “They’ve cleared the press, but who knows what they might have left behind.”

Then she glanced Emma over, her gaze cool and assessing. “You locked me out,” she said.

“You read my emails,” Emma replied flatly.

For a long moment Dr Gray didn’t speak. Then her lips quirked with the suggestion of a smile. “You’re learning. Good.”

The compliment was unexpected. Emma smiled, relaxed. Perhaps she could learn to like Lilith’s mother after all. What she lacked in motherly warmth she made up for in other ways, using her government connections to protect Lilith, and, by extension, Emma. And if she was heavy handed and brusque in her decisions, well . . . Dr Gray was a leader, used to making tough decisions. It couldn’t be easy, working in a male-dominated environment and being a single mom. Emma’s mother, in comparison, had the luxury of time . . . and perhaps that was why one child wasn’t enough for her.

“Thank you,” Emma said slowly. “I didn’t get the chance to say it earlier, but you’ve really help me and my mom. I appreciate it.”

Dr Gray nodded.

“Who is it?” her dad called from the living room. Before Emma could answer, he peered around the doorway. “Oh, hi Arlene,” he said. “Here to see Ruth?”

“Here to take Emma, actually,” she replied with a smile. “Ruth asked me to drop her off at a friend’s.”

Emma’s dad stepped out of the hallway. “Oh, you don’t need to.” He looked at Emma. “Where are you going? I can take you. Your mom probably didn’t think I’d be back in time.”

Lying was never her forte. Emma froze, looked at Dr Gray with an expression she hoped was more indecisive than clueless.

“It’s no problem at all,” Dr Gray said, placing a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “It’s on my way.” She glanced at Emma. “Did you want to get changed? I don’t mind waiting.”

“Um, yes, please.” Emma hurried past her father, afraid to meet his gaze and give everything away. Once up the stairs the mask dropped, a frown settling upon her lips as she grabbed a set of clean clothes. Where was Dr Gray taking her? Or more interestingly: why didn’t Dr Gray want to tell her parents?

The bathroom ventilator drowned out the phatic conversation between Emma’s father and Dr Gray. Emma locked the bathroom door, washed up hurriedly in the sink. King had told her not to leave the house, unless accompanied by Dr Gray. Was this a DEI-approved excursion, or were the other political manoeuvrings afoot?

Washed and changed, Emma took a moment to look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Pink-scrubbed cheeks. Fresh jeans, blue top, grey cardigan. Her hair was a mess, but it always was. She tied it back to flatten the waves and studied herself again. Better. Wherever she was going, it would have to do.

“Emma!” her dad called from downstairs. “Arlene’s waiting!”

She opened the door, poked her head out. “Coming!”

“I swear,” she heard him say to Dr Gray, “Girls these days . . . .”

“Lilith’s ten times worse,” Dr Gray laughed.

Emma stood stock still on the landing. Amid the stress of the last couple days she’d allowed herself to forget the most important thing: Lilith was gone. How could Dr Gray stand there and laugh when Lilith might never return home? Unless . . . unless they were going to save her. Unless there was a plan in place and they needed Emma’s insight as a witness. But Dr Gray could just as easily be taking Emma back into DEI custody.

She moved slowly to her parents’ bedroom, stopped in the doorway, looked in the darkened room. Her mother was curled up on the bed, eyes closed, face relaxed and vulnerable. However hard an outer appearance, Dr Gray had to have the same motherly instinct inside, the same instinct to protect. Emma touched her wrist—the bare skin where her mobile phone had once been—and straightened her shoulders.

She owed it to Lilith to do whatever it took to get her home.

“Emma!” her dad called again.

This time she didn’t answer. Emma walked purposefully down the stairs, gave her dad a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back later,” she promised, the words almost sticking in her throat. “Mom’s asleep upstairs.”

Dr Gray opened the door, gestured her through. “See you later, Ned,” she nodded.

The door barely made a sound as it closed.

“So,” Emma said, “where are we going?”

“To meet your friends.” Dr Gray gestured to the left, towards the outer circle, and began walking.

Of course. Somebody might be listening. Emma walked beside Dr Gray down the hallway, forcing a smile. It was almost lunchtime and the hall was all but empty, their footsteps loud against the concrete. “Do you have any plans for later, Dr Gray?”

“Yes: work.”

“To do with Li—what happened at the theatre?”

Dr Gray’s eyebrow quirked. She didn’t like the question, clearly. “Yes,” she said again, more slowly this time. But her reticence didn’t deter Emma. This was it: she was going to help save Lilith.

They’d reached the end of the hallway. It opened onto a wider passageway—a long series of shops and retailers which curved around the entire residential quarter. Following the passageway to the left led to the Chute, and to the right led to the motorway.

Dr Gray turned right. “My car’s parked nearby,” she said. “You’ll be at the Old Brass early, but I trust you can keep yourself busy.”

Emma’s steps faltered. “The . . . the Old Brass?”

Dr Gray stopped, looked over her shoulder. “Yes. To meet Marie and your other friends.” She cocked her head to the side, her smile a little cold. “You didn’t think I’d take you with me, did you?”

---

Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay on this chapter. Long story. Pfft. See you next week!

Emma awoke face down on her bed, fully clothed, a blanket thrown over her shoulders. She stretched, patted the bedside table till her hands closed around her glasses, then squinted at the wall clock.

11:27am.

She blinked. The time stayed the same. She could remember dinner, her careful avoidance of Lilith’s mother, and sitting at her desk, watching as each sensationalist blog post slowly disappeared. Then her eyes growing heavy, and then . . . .

Someone had put her to bed, and it couldn’t have been her mother.

Emma sat up, scanned the room for signs of tampering. There! Her slippers were in the wrong place, by the door. Her pyjamas had been folded. Her empty mug was gone, replaced by a fresh glass of water. Emma eyed it with suspicion. That Lilith’s mother was capable of such small kindnesses was unnerving.

She stood. Even her desk has been tidied, her mother’s baby application forms stacked neatly in one corner. Emma picked up the first page, traced the slanted lines of her mother’s handwriting, each vowel and consonant so carefully penned and so brutally rejected. Not enough resources, the government said. Small sacrifices for the greater good.

Some couples weren’t even granted the license to have one child, let alone two. Yet Emma’s mother had insisted, pinned all her happiness on the thought of having a second child. Ten years of petitions and applications. Ten years of rejections. Emma put the page down carefully and wondered, not for the first time, why she wasn’t enough.

The monitor was a pale, soothing blue, streaked with white, slow-moving clouds.

“Computer, any emails?”

The screen brightened. “One unread email from Marie. Would you like me to read it?”

Emma had forgotten about the new AI. She stared at the monitor, longing for the old robotic voice with its archaic technology and simple voice commands. This. . . . It sounded too human. If she hadn’t known the charter laws, Emma would have suspected the AI of having a personality.

“I thought I had ninety emails,” Emma said.

“Your inbox was cleared by Dr Gray,” the AI said. “All theatre-related emails and press queries were seized for inspection. Your personal emails are untouched.”

“She can’t do that!”

“Dr Gray has full access to this network.”

“Block her,” Emma said. “I don’t want her in my stuff.” Then came a horrifying thought: “Can she override my settings?”

“No. Only you have admin rights to your personal data.” A pause, then: “I have set your account to private.”

Unprompted, the AI spoke again: “First new message received today at 10:34am from Marie: ‘Hi Emma, a few of us are having lunch at the Old Brass today around one. Would be cool if you came along.’ End of message. Would you like to reply?”

“I didn’t ask you to read it,” Emma said.

“The contents were time-sensitive. Would you like me to turn off auto-reading?”

“Yes.” Then, because she felt rude: “Please.”

Rather than speak to the AI, Emma used the touch screen to open her emails. She scanned Marie’s email again, suspicious. The timing of the invite seemed too convenient.

“Shall I add it to your calendar?”

“No! I mean, maybe . . . I don’t know.” Emma huffed. “Please stop doing things until I ask you to.”

“Suggestions are now disabled,” the AI replied.

A soft chuckling from the doorway drew Emma’s attention. Her mother was leaning against the doorframe, dressed in jeans and an orange v-neck jumper. The colour clashed with her hair, but at least she looked presentable.

“I struggled with her this morning, too,” Emma’s mother said, nodding towards the monitor. “She’s too advanced for the likes of us. What do you think of the name Vicki?”

“People don’t name AIs, mom.”

“Why not? It’s faster than saying ‘computer’.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You might as well name it Kunama and be done with it.”

“But that’s not shorter than computer.” Her mother raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to take the bait. When Emma only shook her head, she chuckled again, and said: “So what did the computer want to put in your calendar?”

“Oh, Marie invited me for lunch today. Not sure if I want to go.” Then she remembered the phone call with King, and frowned. “Not sure if I can go.”

“Of course you can! I’ll ask Arlene to escort you when she gets back. She went home to freshen up.” She pulled her jumper straight, keeping one shoulder propped against the doorframe. “You can’t stay locked indoors all the time; it’s not natural.”

Emma nodded reluctantly. It seemed stupid to go see her classmates when Lilith was dead—maybe worse. But she didn’t want to disrupt her mother’s calm mood.

Too calm, in fact. Emma walked towards her mother with growing disappointment, noticing the flushed cheeks, the heavy movements.

“You’ve been drinking,” she said. In her heart where the pain had used to be there was now only an empty hole.

“No,” her mother said, but the lie didn’t stick for long. She patted her curls self-consciously. “Only one glass. Maybe two. Don’t blame Arlene, she doesn’t know.”

“Where is it?” Emma said. “Give it to me.”

“But I’m not going to have any more. I just needed a little to steady my nerves—”

“Mom! You promised. It’s been six months . . . I thought we were past this!”

“I was so sure I’d get the license this time,” her mother said, eyes flicking towards the application forms. “I—” Her shoulders slumped. “In the kitchen, behind the cleaning products.”

Emma swept past her mother, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Behind the washing up liquid was an unmarked glass bottle. Unscrewed, the alcohol fumes made her eyes water. Emma poured it down the sink, shaking out every last drop as her mother watched.

“Is there anything else?” she asked flatly, dropping the bottle into the recycling.

Her mother shook her head. “Only that. I— I’m sorry, Emma. I’m a terrible mother.”

Emma’s repy was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and closing. For a moment she thought it was Dr Gray, then she heard the familiar thump of a briefcase hitting the floor. Heavy footsteps down the hallway. Her father was home.

“Pull yourself together!” Emma whispered. “I’ll go stall him.”

Her mother had paled. She grabbed Emma’s arm on the way out. “Don’t tell him about the baby,” she said. “He doesn’t know yet.”

Her father was standing in the hallway by the coat rack, his movements careful and precise as he removed his jacket. He glanced towards her, but didn’t say a word, his mouth a flat, hard line. Emma felt her stomach clench, braced for the worst.

“Hi dad,” she said.

“I couldn’t get home last night.” His voice was deep and quiet. The calm before the storm. “Came back from work to find the press on our doorstep,” he continued. “My doorstep.”

He hung up his jacket, turned to face her fully. “What’s going on?”

---

Over on Facebook I’ve asked: if you had to design the front cover of Above Ground, what would it look like? Maybe you have a more helpful suggestion than Jaid’s . . . .

(Psst! Top Web Fiction!)

Howl was back to his grinning, bouncy self by the time they reached the other werewolves, all vestiges of his previous seriousness so carefully erased Lilith couldn’t help but wonder whether it was deliberate.

He ignored her sidelong glances and tugged her towards the others. Only Silver, Amber, Jake and Fang were there, loitering at the very fringe of the forest, where the trees thinned out and the open sky was ominously visible. Silver and Amber were standing face-to-face, intimately close, talking quietly. Fang was sitting cross-legged on the ground, and Jake was off to one side, leaning against a tree.

They all noticed Lilith and Howl at the same time; turning simultaneously in an eerie animal-esque movement reminiscent of a hunter scenting its prey. And they were animals; Lilith couldn’t let herself forget that. However human they looked and dressed and behaved, hidden inside was a wild creature.

Even Howl was an animal, she thought, peeking at the boy once more. This was no time for her to make friends, and neither was it the time to indulge her curiosity about the infected; not here where the danger was so close she could taste it.

Thus she avoided looking directly at Silver, choosing to smile at Amber instead. But Amber didn’t smile back. She was frowning, her furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips a clear expression of concerned, motherly disapproval. It took Lilith a few seconds to realise that Amber wasn’t frowning at her, or rather, at her face.

Lilith looked down, following Amber’s line of sight, until her eyes fell upon her hand, which Howl was clinging on to. First Howl’s questions about Silver, then this disapproving stare from Amber. It seemed the wolves were a touch more possessive than any sensible person had a right to be. She was half-tempted to wrap an arm around Howl’s shoulders just to see what kind of reaction that would get, but that would be asking for trouble. She pulled her hand free instead and let Howl take the lead.

Howl marched right up to Silver, his head tilted slight back, a huge smile on his face. “We gonna eat now?”

Silver stared, then said: “It’s not lunch time.” His tone was curt, but Howl didn’t seem deterred.

On the contrary, Howl began toying with the necklace around his neck—a fang necklace, Lilith realised, annoyed she hadn’t thought to ask about it earlier—and then jutted out his lower lip. “But Silver, I’m hungry!”

Jake pushed himself off of the tree and sauntered towards them. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

Howl scowled. “Don’t call me kid!”

“Calm down, you two,” Fang said, getting to his feet as well. He joined them, forming a neat circle with the others, too symmetrical to be a coincidence. Silver was directly across from her, with Amber and Howl at his sides. Next to Howl was Jake, and next to Amber was Fang. But she was on the outside of that circle; only half-a-step or so, but outside nonetheless.

It was a clear message, so Lilith decided to send one of her own back. She took a step forward, and Silver’s face darkened. But he said nothing, and she didn’t move back.

Jake punched Howl’s arm playfully. “What do you say, Silver? Should we feed this brat before he whines us to death?”

Lilith’s stomach grumbled in sympathy. “We did do a lot of walking,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind something small.”

Howl grinned. “Let’s go eat together!” He turned to Silver. “Can we go to the market? Or to the Alder?” He licked his lips. “Or Brauer’s, since Jake likes all the sausage.”

Jake shot an amused look at Lilith over Howl’s head, and added, with a wink, “I’m equally as partial to fish.”

Fang nodded. “Any one of those would be a good option.”

Howl was disappointed. “Just one?” He turned to Silver. “We could go to all of ‘em! Please? Please?”

Silver silenced Howl’s budding protests with a look. “It’s up to Fang.”

Jake and Howl spoke at the same time. “Why?” Then they scowled at each other.

“Because you’re not coming with us.”

And then there was a long pause, where the werewolves all looked at each other in silent accord, as if they understood something Lilith did not. She pushed down a wave of irritation. It didn’t matter what they thought, she told herself, as long as they got her home.

Jake stretched, and the circle broke up, everyone relaxing. “I don’t mind splitting up,” he said, putting his hands behind his head. “I’m getting sick of Silver’s face.”

Silver shot him a sour look. “Likewise.”

“Stop it, you two.” Amber shook her head. “But Jake’s got a point. It’s nice to get a break from Rae. I can’t wait ’til Vera’s better, the closeness is getting a bit much.”

Jake frowned a little. “Hey. Rae’s been a bitch lately, but she isn’t all bad.”

Lilith stared. Was he serious? Rae, alright? Had Jake not seen Rae nearly strangle her to death?

It seemed Amber shared her opinion, for she scoffed and said, “Lately?”

Jake shrugged self-consciously. “Okay, well, always. But she’s alright, really. Underneath it all. Really deep down.”

“Any girl is acceptable in Jake’s opinion, more so when his alcohol intake increases.” Fang chuckled, and Lilith couldn’t tell whether he was joking. Fang didn’t wait for a reply, though. He turned to leave, beckoning to Jake and Howl. “Shall we go get a bite to eat?”

Howl needed no further prompting. He tore off, quickly overtaking Fang. Jake, after a casual nod at Lilith and Amber, strolled after them.

“Girl,” Silver said, and it took Lilith a few seconds to realise he was referring to her. It hardly deigned a response, so she just quirked an eyebrow at him, feeling a little daring. No way was she going to let an animal push her around. Not anymore.

With stiff, reluctant movements, Silver dug through his pockets and pulled something out, handing it to her. It was the fang necklace, the one Silver had given to her in the hotel.

She held it gently, noting the uneven knot on one side, a clumsy repair from where Rae had ripped it off.

“Put it on,” Silver instructed, and then turned away and began walking in the same direction Fang had, Amber following.

Lilith didn’t move. “Why?”

Silver froze. “Excuse me?”

She’d decided they weren’t her friends, and that they were only animals, but Lilith knew it would be stupid to anger the wolves. Yet she couldn’t help her sudden stubbornness, the need to confirm that they were going to help her get home.

“Why do I need to wear it?” At the hotel, he’d said it mark her as a werewolf, but it hadn’t done her any good.

Silver looked over his shoulder. “None of your business.”

“I think it is,” she retorted as Amber began to edge away from both of them.

There was a tic in Silver’s jaw. “Put it on.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not until you tell me why.”

Silver turned around fully, a fluid, rapid movement. He bared his teeth, seeming to grow in size, his eyes boring into her. Lilith tensed, expecting tight fingers around her neck, her skin crawling with the unnerving certainty of her death. Or maybe he’d give her another scar to add to her collection, like the Snake had, and with that thought her right wrist itched uncomfortably, to the point that she looked down to stare at the bandages. But there was nothing there, no blood seeping through.

When she looked back up, Silver had calmed down. Lilith’s heart was still racing. She didn’t dare push him further. She slipped the fang necklace around her neck, resigned to asking someone else about it later.

“Right,” Amber said, looked relieved as she grabbed Lilith’s arm and tugged her forward. “No time to argue. Things to do, people to see.”

Silver looked annoyed. “Things to do?”

“People to see?” Lilith echoed.

Amber grinned, then gave Silver a sly look. “Don’t you want to see Manda?”

Fang’s smile was close-lipped but polite, his posture straight and a little stiff. “Your offer is very kind, Amber, but I couldn’t possibly accept.”

“Nonsense.” Amber shooed him away. “You’re always the one to stay behind with Howl. I can do it this once. You go catch up with the others.”

It was early morning, the sun barely cresting the spiked treetops, the sky a delicate eggshell pink. Lilith was still groggy, eyes heavy with sleep, her every muscle aching. Two nights of sleeping above ground, outside on the dirt with nothing to cushion her head, had taken their toll. The skin of her face was tight and sore, and she’d had to flex her legs several times before they would support her.

The clearing was all but empty, the fire pits scattered, the flattened patches of grass serving as sole witnesses to the pack’s presence. Only Amber and Fang remained—and Howl, although he was off running in the trees. The rest of the pack, Silver included, had shifted and gone on ahead to Rivton.

“I’ll be fine,” Amber said. A veneer of dislike coloured her voice.

Fang shook his head gently. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

Their quasi-argument had been going on for ten minutes, both pretending that the conversation was solely about Howl’s guardianship. Lilith rubbed the sleep from her eyes, glanced at them sourly. “Can you two make up your minds on who’s going to watch over me already? I’d like to get home sometime today.”

Amber looked guilty, but Fang’s smile didn’t even twitch. “Amber is merely concerned that you will affect me in the same way you have Silver,” he said. “I believe you will not. Am I correct?” When Lilith nodded sulkily—she hadn’t done anything to Silver, dammit—Fang turned back to Amber. “Problem solved.”

Amber huffed, irritated. “Fine. You win.” To Lilith: “See you later.” She loped out of the clearing before Lilith could reply.

And then there were two, thought Lilith, glancing at Fang. He was about her height and of wiry build, with sandy blond hair that just about fell into his eyes. He had a kind face, gentle, his default expression a small, polite smile—so unlike the visible malice the other werewolves had shown her that Lilith was immediately on her guard. He was still an infected, capable of inhuman violence. His deceptively friendly appearance only made him more dangerous.

“I don’t bite,” he said cheerfully, catching her gaze. “Much.” He turned on the spot, calling for Howl, and then beckoned Lilith forward. “Shall we go? It’s a few hours’ walk.”

“Aren’t you going to change into—” a half hearted wave of her hand “—you know.” A part of Lilith was curious. She’d only ever seen Silver close up in wolf form; how did another wolf compare?

“I enjoy walking,” Fang said, shouldering a small pack.

Howl crashed through the undergrowth, grass and leaves in his hair, utterly at home in the wilderness. “Are we going?” At Fang’s nod, he tore on ahead.

Fang and Lilith followed at a more sedate pace, heading first for the river, and then, when they reached its banks, turning to follow it upstream. The forest had come alive with the morning, trills of birdsong rippling through the air. The birds themselves hopped from branch to branch without collars or leg bands, free for anyone to steal. If the werewolves were so desperate for money, why hadn’t they captured a few of these birds? Alive, they were worth thousands.

But Fang barely seemed to notice the birds, humming to himself as they walked. It was just as well he hadn’t changed to wolf form, or Lilith would never have been able to keep up. Her muscles were stiff and sore, and as the sun climbed steadily higher she only felt more fatigued. Still human, she thought, oddly relieved by her inadequacies.

Eventually Fang stopped, crouching to drink by the river. He lifted his head to the sun, closing his eyes. “What a beautiful day,” he said. “So peaceful without the others.” He looked at her. “Shall we take a break?”

Lilith sank down gratefully onto the riverbank, rolling her shoulders to try to loosen the muscles. She splashed her hands and face with water, then shielded her eyes from the sun, surprised by its intensity. Yesterday afternoon it had been hot, yes, but it had been nothing like this, this late morning glare which heated the skin.

Fang took two small pouches out of his pack and passed one to her. Inside was a mixture of seeds, nuts, and dried berries. The combination was salty and sweet, rich with flavour. Lilith poured a handful into her mouth, then slowed, embarrassed, when she noticed the dainty way Fang was eating.

“You’re not like the others,” she said. “You’re more—” civilised, but she couldn’t say that.

“Polite?” Fang asked. He nodded. “Aggression should be the last resort, not the first.” He leaned forward, trailing his fingers through the water to wash off the crumbs. “Every action has consequences, violent actions more so than most.”

A pacifist infected—an oxymoron, surely. Violence was an everyday occurrence above ground, and Fang’s mild-mannered approach seemed suicidal. Perhaps he was a coward, the type to hide behind others during a fight. Was that why Amber had wanted to stay behind with Lilith, instead?

Fang stood, and Lilith followed suit, brushing the twigs off her jeans. “I didn’t think,” she began carefully, “that anyone could survive above ground without being violent.”

“Ah.” Fang retied his pack, slung it over his shoulder. This time there was an edge to his smile that Lilith had never seen. “An aversion to violence does not signify an inability to commit violent acts. It is often the strongest fighters, who have full knowledge of their strength, who are the most reluctant to engage.”

Lilith nodded, keeping the disbelief from her expression. Fang was hardly the strongest fighter: his wiry build was a far cry from Dev’s solid pack of muscles, and his expression lacked Al’s confident dominance. But he was intelligent enough to sidestep her questions, and for that she had a grudging respect.

“Can we walk under the trees?” she asked. “I’m hot.” She shielded her eyes, tried to peer at the sun, but it was too bright and left purple afterimages on her eyes.

As they resumed walking, Fang fell into step beside her, the silence between them more companionable than it had been in the morning.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Fang eventually said, “what is it like, living underground? I cannot imagine a life without sunshine.”

“Oh, we have daylight.” And a bunch of other conveniences that the infected didn’t seem to have. Lilith half-shrugged. “Well, we call it daylight. We have lights on all public paths and buildings on a timed schedule. It’s pretty much the same thing, only not as hot.” It was strange to think about home; it seemed so distant, so irrelevant.

“It doesn’t get as dark on a night, either,” Lilith continued. “The street lights dim, but they never go out.”

“It seems so unnatural to grow up under artificial light,” Fang said. “Starless, moonless—what do your poets write about?”

He was judging her. An infected, judging her. Lilith bristled slightly. “It’s unnatural to live up here,” she replied.

Perhaps Fang sensed her anger, for the conversation petered out there. Lilith kept walking, her legs protesting each movement. With each step, her frustrations over the last two days mounted. The werewolves didn’t seem to care about getting her home, didn’t realise how little time she had left. Only 24 hours, every minute slipping through her fingers. Soon it would be too late.

“Silver told me about the theatre,” Fang said.

Lilith stopped, crossed her arms. “And?”

His gaze was steady, assessing. “You will need to face it someday.”

“That someday isn’t today.” A childish response, but satisfying. “What does Silver even know?” she seethed. “He never even met Emma.”

Fang’s concerned smile faltered. “Emma?” And the sound of that name on those lips made Lilith furious. Fang had no right to even say Emma’s name.

“Emma’s dead.” It was the first time she’d said the words out loud; they stuck in her throat, rough and unforgiving. But already Lilith was shaking her head. She didn’t believe it, couldn’t shake the certainty that when she returned home, and everything would go back to normal.

“Emma’s dead,” she said again, to overcome the denial, but she couldn’t; not now, not here. So when Fang reached out to touch her shoulder, Lilith shrugged him off. “Don’t.” The anger was a welcome refuge. She started walking again. “Just get me home.”

A scuffling came from ahead, and Howl broke through the bushes, jogging towards them. “I’m gonna walk with you!” he announced, eyes sliding over Fang’s face.

Fang’s head tilted slightly, as if in assessment. “We’re not far now. Do you remember the way?”

“Duh,” Howl said. “I’m not a baby.”

Fang couldn’t mean to leave her with this brat. Lilith tried to catch his eye, but he feigned ignorance, smiling at them both. “I will scout ahead, then.” He turned and jogged out of sight.

Lilith started walking again, slowly this time. It took her a few minutes to realise that Howl was walking right next to her, staring at her. His eyes were big, unblinking, focused solely on her.

Great. Another lecture. From a teenager now.

“One of my friends died,” Howl said.

She cast around for something to say, and only came up with: “Were you spying on us?”

Howl nodded, not in the least embarrassed. “She was my first friend ever. It was before I met Silver and the others. We played together lots. She even stayed in my cave when it got really cold in winter.”

He looked so earnest, and Lilith realised with a sudden pang that he was trying to make her feel better, to show her he understood.

“That sounds nice,” she said finally, because it looked like he was expecting a reply. “Emma and I sometimes slept over at each others’ houses, too.”

Howl nodded. “It’s really sad when they go. But we’ve gotta smile anyway. Fang says our friends are watching us, and they would get really bored if we were sad all the time.”

She blinked a couple of times before answering. “I guess.”

He grabbed her hand and led her away from the river, onto a narrow trail. She could hear noises ahead—voices, laughter—they were nearly there.

Just before they reached the others, Howl tugged her to a halt. “You’re not gonna take Silver away, are you?”

A little thrown, Lilith took a moment to answer. “No. No, I’m not.” She barely understood what Silver was thinking half the time; he’d never leave the pack for her.

Howl bit his lip. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” And then he grinned at her so widely Lilith couldn’t help but smile back, a real smile—painful and small—but real.

Evening had fallen, the temperature plummeting as a cool breeze tickled Lilith’s cheeks. She hugged the cloak closer to her, stared at the flickering fire which cast spidery shadows across the grass. Only 36 hours left before her inoculation lost its efficacy. Only 36 hours before she turned into an infected.

How Lilith had ever confused the werewolves for people was beyond her. Now, with time slipping out of her fingers before she became one of them, their animal nature was grotesquely apparent. Jake and Howl were snarling—snarling—at each other. Beside her was Amber, her yawns too wide, her teeth too sharp. And on the other side of the fire was Silver, the firelight reflecting in his eyes, lengthening the planes of his face to something barely human.

Beyond Silver, scattered throughout the clearing, were other small fires, each attended by a small group of werewolves in some kind of primitive attempt at civilisation. Lilith longed for electricity, for technology, for running water and the security of locked doors. Even her broken phone would have brought her a measure of comfort. And Emma, Lilith thought with a pang, blinking to forestall the tears. Everything she had once known was gone.

“Do you reckon dinner’s ready?” Amber asked, nodding towards the centre of the clearing, where Fang and Scar were tending to a large pot.

Lilith didn’t move, and Jake and Howl were too busy squabbling. Silver sighed, rose to his feet. “I’ll go check.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Amber turned to Lilith. “Have you seen Dev and Rae? It’s disgusting.”

Rae and Dev were sitting by another fire, kissing enthusiastically, Rae straddling Dev’s lap. They were a study of contrasts, blond against black. Then, because Amber seemed to be expecting a reply, Lilith said, “I don’t know what Dev sees in her.” Maybe he liked the whole ‘I-can-tear-your-throat-wide-open’ thing. Or maybe Dev was just as bad as Rae; he was built like a rock, his dark skin enhancing every curve of muscle.

“I don’t think I want to know,” Amber replied with a headshake and a small smile.

Lilith only nodded.

The following silence was noticeably awkward. Amber began untangling her hair with her fingers, glancing at Lilith. Just get on with it, Lilith wanted to say, dreading the inevitable conversation. Here she was, talking to an infected, with only 36 hours left to get underground.

“Your parents,” Amber began, and to her credit she sounded sympathetic, “must be frantic with worry.”

Lilith shrugged. “My mother, maybe.” Worried, yes; frantic, no. Lilith’s mother was a woman of action; frantic didn’t really enter her vocabulary. She was far more likely already arresting whoever was responsible for the theatre attack.

“Not your father?”

Lilith looked away. “I haven’t seen him since I was eight.” It was a lie, but a small one; the last time she’d seen him she’d been four days away from her eighth birthday.

“Oh.” Amber shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry.” The fire crackled. Amber leaned forward to tend to it.

Could an infected even feel sorry? Lilith took her time to reply, her mood darkening with each passing moment. “It doesn’t matter.”

There was another awkward silence, and then Amber shot her a quick glance. “Can I ask what happened?” She was cringing, as if fearful of the worst. But Lilith knew better, had seen the way Rae delighted in suffering. The infected were animals; they only understood pain.

“He’s not dead,” Lilith replied bluntly. A vicious twist of satisfaction burned through her when Amber looked embarrassed. And then, even though there was no point confiding in an infected, Lilith couldn’t help but continue: “The day after my eighth birthday, my father called to tell me he wouldn’t be coming back anymore. He’d met someone else.”

It was the first time Lilith had ever said the words aloud, and she was almost disappointed by how nonchalant she sounded. Not even Emma knew the full story.

Her father had been gone for the weekend for a business trip—a common occurrence—and had called to wish Lilith a happy birthday. Never mind that he was a day late, Lilith had been surprised he’d remembered her birthday in the first place. It was one of the few times he’d remembered without prompting from her mother.

She remembered her father being forcefully cheery on the phone. He was in Aspin, he explained, with a lady. He wasn’t coming home.

The words had made very little sense to Lilith at the time. She had pictured him on the swings, next to an unknown woman with blonde hair. The woman’s face was a soft blur, a question mark.

“Like a friend?” Lilith had asked, knowing somewhere inside of her eight year old heart that dad wasn’t talking about a simple friend.

“No, honey,” he had said, slowly. “Not quite.”

Lilith hadn’t had the chance to ask him when she would see him again. Her mother had walked in and snatched the phone. Then she’d hung up the phone very, very carefully, an odd, concentrated look on her face.

She never saw her father again. The calls petered out, until all that was left was a dull ache and a growing stack of half-hearted birthday cards covered with pink ponies and pictures she had outgrown years before.

Lilith stared at the fire, hoping the brightness of the flames would burn away the tears in her eyes. Only 36 hours left. Not enough time to make it home. She struggled to swallow against the sudden lump in her throat.

“You okay?” Amber shuffled closer. “Sorry about asking about your parents.”

Lilith turned her head away, closing off her body language. “I’m fine.”

This time, when silence fell, Amber didn’t try to break it.

Lilith turned fully away from the fire. Trees ringed the clearing, ominous in the darkness, their needle-like leaves hissing in the wind. Beyond the trees were only shadows and flitters of movement best undisturbed.

The sky was a yawning emptiness overhead, a frightening reflection of how Lilith pictured the rest of her life. She longed for the narrow streets of Etal, the familiar press of walls on either side. How pitiful her dreams for open space now seemed! She’d been so in awe of Precision Horizon’s offices, but it was nothing—nothing—compared to this.

An elbow bumped against hers. Silver sat down next to Lilith, facing the fire. He passed her a plate piled high with food. He didn’t say a word, but his thigh was a line of warmth against hers.

---

Thanks for reading along! If you’re enjoying the story, why not give it a vote on Top Web Fiction?

Next chapter continues Lilith’s point of view as the main characters make their way to Rivton. Also, Howl gets some air time! See you next week.

Barely an hour had passed before the first reporters turned up outside Emma’s door. They rang the doorbell, milled outside with tablets in hand and wide, hungry eyes, begging for their questions to be heard.

Dr Gray muted the door, stared at the growing crowd with visible disapproval. “Unbelievable,” she said, for the third time. She turned to Emma, her face beautiful even when twisted into a scowl. “This is your fault,” she said.

Emma stood in the hallway, arms crossed, awkward. If only she’d never escaped the DEI. If only she was still locked up in that bunker. Anything was preferable to this public humiliation, her name and photo spreading across the web in a chain of sensationalist blogs.

Not that the content was humiliating—Mike had kept his promise, and not said one bad word about Emma. Instead he’d praised her: praised her for escaping unscathed from the theatre, praised her for coming forward with the truth, praised her for uncovering yet another government conspiracy. A pack of lies, but none of it was malicious to her.

The picture he’d painted of Lilith, on the other hand . . . .

The house phone rang. Dr Gray answered using the hallway monitor. “Walker residence.” After a few seconds she hung up. “Damn reporters.”

Dr Gray stalked into the living room, Emma trailing behind. “I can understand your mother not knowing much about basic security, but someone of your age?” She shook her head, paced in tight circles in front of the living room’s main monitor. She looked at her phone, seemed irritated when it did not ring. “No passwords, no voice or face recognition, no centralised AI . . . I’m surprised no one’s hacked into your systems before now,” she said.

“Not all of us can afford to throw money at problems until they go away,” Emma snapped, knowing that she was letting the anger get the best of her, but unable to stop herself. Home security software was a luxury reserved for Lower Hallers. Food, travel, bills, education—the average Middle Haller had so many more immediate demands, and that Lilith’s mother did not realise this struck Emma forcibly. For all her intellect and power, Dr Gray had a very limited view of the world.

“Passwords are free. Five minutes of searching will turn up hundreds of freeware equivalents.” Dr Gray’s gaze was cool, assessing. “I thought you would be a good influence on Lilith. Perhaps I gravely overestimated your intelligence.”

The comment stung. Emma stiffened, lifted her chin. “Hard to be a good influence when she has you as a role model.” It was a cruel thing to say, and the moment the words left Emma’s mouth she regretted them. Her face flushed, the tips of her ears tingling with mortification.

But Dr Gray was unaffected, flicking through command screens on the living room monitor that Emma did not recognise, long lines of black and white gibberish. She found what she was looking for. “That should do it,” she said. “Check the phones.”

The phone in the living room was dead, the screen blank and unresponsive. Emma went out into the hallway. Same thing. When she came back into the living room, Dr Gray had resumed pacing. “They’re not working.”

“I disconnected them.” Dr Gray looked at her phone, and this time it rang. She brushed her thumb over the touchpad to answer.

“L? Are you in?” She listened, nodded. Dr Gray had the ultimate in business phones: a thin, flexible touchpad around her wrist, with a wireless microphone and earpiece hidden in a small black clip on her ear. The most expensive models were noise-cancelling, and only transmitted the voice of the owner.

“Is everything installed? Great. Any trace of the reporter?” Dr Gray opened a browser to Down the Chute, scrolled through the latest theatre-related article. “No, leave the site up for now. We don’t want a martyr.”

She hung up, turned back to Emma. “All computers in your house are now locked to you, your parents, and me.” Her smile was cold. “Go on, test it. Check your emails.”

“But this is the living room computer,” she replied. “It’s not linked—”

“It is now.”

The challenge in Dr Gray’s eyes was impossible to ignore. Emma approached, cautious, half-certain it wouldn’t work. Her house didn’t have a centralised AI, and something so expensive couldn’t take so little time to set up. “Computer, any emails?”

The reply was immediate: “You have ninety seven unread emails, Emma. No priority messages.” Even the voice was different now, more feminine. “The majority are regarding the theatre. Would you like me to read a selection?”

“Good,” Dr Gray said, completely unimpressed by the AI. “It works.”

“I— how—” Emma looked between the screen and Dr Gray. “You did this?”

“We keep a hacker on retainer,” Dr Gray said. “For when official channels move too slowly.” Her phone rang again and she turned away as she answered, snapping terse orders.

Emma sank down onto the couch, overwhelmed. The monitor was directly opposite the couch, still displaying her inbox. “Computer, close emails.”

“Sure, Emma.” The window closed, returning once more to the front page of Down the Chute. “Anything else?”

“Um, no, thank you.” Emma wondered if there was a way to tone down the AI’s chattiness—its presence unnerved her, as if the screen had taken a life of its own and was now watching her back. “I’m just going to read this article,” she said, awkward.

Maybe it had sensed her discomfort, for the AI did not reply, although it did zoom in to the article and adjust the text so it was easier to read.

It was the second time she read the article, although what with the crushing anxiety and Dr Gray’s hovering presence, very little had sunk in during the first read. Now, calmer and resigned to what was happening, Emma could study the article with a clear head. It was difficult to reconcile Mike’s awkward clumsiness with the self-assured commentary before her, but she had to admire his writing. It was nonsense, the lot of it, but it was well-written, convincing nonsense.

Rather than make outright accusations, he suggested and implied. These were the facts, he said. Make your own conclusions. Yet the facts so happened to be presented in an order that only one conclusion was possible: the theatre attack was a government stunt to militarise the Upper Halls and begin a full-scale war against the infected.

Mike made it sound so plausible, but he hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen the blood or heard the screams and spatters of the dying. No human could have ordered that attack. No government would organise wholesale slaughter.

Emma closed the browser, put her head in her hands, and that’s when it happened.

The phone rang.

Emma stared at it, at the black screen, all its lights switched off. Her heart skittered in the long pause between one ring and the next.

The phone rang again.

Dr Gray’s only reaction was to narrow her eyes. Her lips pursed when she answered on a private channel, so that only she could hear the caller. “Walker residence,” she said flatly. “King. I thought it might be you.”

Emma froze. King. The DEI had found her at last. This was it: she was going to prison.

“This is your mess to clean up,” Dr Gray was saying, “and you can tell him I said that.” She looked at Emma. “Yes, she’s here.” She stepped away from the phone. “He wants to speak to you.”

Emma pushed off of the couch, felt her legs trembling beneath her and wished that the handset wasn’t upstairs, so that she could sit and talk, rather than stand. She walked over to the phone, stood in front of the monitor. The screen was blank, dead.

“Hello?”

“Emma. You have a lot of explaining to do.” King’s voice was hard-edged, rough, appealingly masculine.

“So do you,” Emma replied, hoping to cover up her nervousness. “Dr Gray disconnected the phones.”

“Some phones can always be called.” He paused, then added wearily, “And don’t go changing your phone after this. It won’t make any difference.”

Before Emma could reply, King continued: “Under DEI orders, you are hereby banned from speaking to the press and from leaving the house without Arlene’s or the DEI’s knowledge. Any breaches to these orders will be dealt with severely.”

Arlene? Emma glanced at Dr Gray, who was once again talking to someone on the phone. Why was King on a first name basis with her? King worked for Lilith’s father, and the relationship between Lilith’s parents had always been strained. “It’s not like I could leave anyway,” Emma said. “There’s hordes of reporters outside.”

“We’ll clear the press,” he said, dismissive. “You just sit tight until the meeting tomorrow.”

“Meeting?” Emma felt foolish for asking but had to be sure: “So you’re not going to arrest me?”

“That depends,” King replied, “entirely upon you.”

Al wasted little time on the formalities of greeting the pack; he was changed within minutes of arriving, pulling on his clothes as he called for a pack meeting.

Silver held on to the girl’s arm a moment longer. “Don’t talk during the meeting,” he said, tightening his grip when her eyes flashed angrily in response. There were flecks of gold in her eyes, he noticed, hidden amidst the brown.

She glanced over his shoulder, her lips thinning. “Whatever you say.”

“I mean it, girl.” His eyes burned into hers, willing her to understand. If she spoke up, she would be challenging his role as her guardian—his status wouldn’t protect her.

“My name’s Lilith, Silver,” she snapped.

His name sounded different coming from her lips, disconcerting in a way he couldn’t quite explain. “Don’t talk, Lilith,” he replied, pleased when she, too, looked uncomfortable hearing her own name.

It was hardly surprising that she acquiesced; she had no choice. Out of the twelve-strong pack, only he was on her side—it was up to him to convince the others.

He let go of her arm, nodded for her to follow. His hand felt hollow without the curve of her forearm. It was a stupid thought to have, yet Silver couldn’t help but rub his palm against his trousers to erase the memory of her warmth.

Howl was still standing, waiting to sit behind Silver in his customary position. He rocked impatiently on his heels as they approached, blissfully unaware of the strands of grass tangled in his hair, green streaks amidst the darkness.

Silver frowned; he wasn’t in the mood. “Behind Fang,” he ordered, ignoring Howl’s crestfallen expression. The day when Howl could join the circle as a mature wolf couldn’t come soon enough.

“But, Silver—”

“Behind. Fang.”

Howl ducked his head, scowling as he walked over to Fang. He dropped onto the grass with a sulking lack of grace.

“Behind me,” Silver said to the Lilith. For once, she complied without arguing.

Silver took his place beside Al, nodding to the alpha. His gaze drifted across the rest of the pack—Fang and Jake on his left; then Claw, Elle, and Scar, the lowest ranking members; then Amber, Rae and Dev. There was a small, conspicuous gap where Vera usually sat.

There was a moment of silence, the evening wind rustling through the trees. The last rays of sun pushed weakly through the branches, tinged red and gold.

“Vera is safe in Rivtown,” Al said. He paused, then added: “For now.”

Al let the ripple of unease linger, studying each wolf in turn. He looked drained, the bags under his eyes heavy, but there was a renewed strength to his gaze that gave Silver cause to hope.

“We need nitum powder to stop her from changing,” he finally said, “and the ewtes aren’t budging on their price.” He spread his hands, palms upward. “I am open to your suggestions.”

“Let’s raid the island,” Dev said immediately, white teeth glinting. “Steal enough flowers and make the powder ourselves.”

“And risk alienating the ewtes?” Al shook his head. “Not an option. Besides, Fang tells me the drying process is difficult—it’s too risky.”

“What about the girl?” Rae jumped in, leaning forward to smirk at Silver. “We can sell her to the slavers. Gets her off our hands, and gives us money for the nitum.”

Silver tensed as every wolf glanced at him. He shook his head. “No. She can renegotiate for us, get a cheaper price. The ewte’s won’t overcharge a non-wolf.”

“My way will work,” Rae said, shrugging one shoulder, her expression cold and unsympathetic. She placed a hand on Dev’s knee, leaning into him. “Besides, all the worms will be on panic mode after what happened in the theatre. It’s not like you’re ever going to get her back underground.”

The pack was turning against him: Rae’s suggestion had elicited nods of agreement. Silver snarled, letting his wolf rise to the surface, ready to challenge anyone in his path— then Fang’s placid cough broke the tension.

“Silver is tied to Lilith in ways we do not yet understand—possibly magical ways. Selling her to the slavers before we dissolve this bond would put Silver’s life at risk.” Now Fang had everyone’s attention. He cleared his throat and smiled. “I recommend we take her to the Guild to be examined.”

“More money,” Rae snapped. “We don’t need another burden. We’ve enough to deal with as it is.”

“They won’t charge us,” Silver said. “They think she is one of their own.”

And that—as he had known it would—brought the entire conversation to a standstill.

“We contact them tomorrow,” Silver said. “Speak to the Guild representative, say we have one of theirs. Promise safe delivery in exchange for cash. In the meantime, the girl approaches the ewtes and tries to negotiate a better price for the nitum.”

This time there were no objections. Al nodded in approval. “Should both plans fail, then we can consider selling her to the slavers,” he said.

Silver bit back a reply—he’d bought himself some time, and that was what mattered most.

Al stood, hands on his hips. “The girl isn’t to be harmed,” he said, stern. “I will stay in Rivton tonight with Vera, you will all join me there tomorrow. Any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads, dispersing to different parts of the clearing once Al stepped away. Silver pushed himself to his feet, feeling Lilith’s presence behind him like a weight impossible to ignore.

Silver pulled on a pair of trousers, not bothering to conceal his disgust.

“It’s all I’ve got,” Fang said, apologetic. “Jake has some spare—”

“I’m not wearing anything that’s touched the skin of that mongrel,” he snapped, buttoning the front. The trousers were pale brown, straight-legged, utilitarian. Loose and shapeless. The kind of trousers someone would wear to fade into the background. At least Fang took care of his clothes, kept them clean. Small mercies.

Silver took the black shirt Fang was offering and slipped it on. His chest was a touch too broad; he left the shirt unbuttoned.

Fang bent down to retie his bag, straightening the packs of supplies. Silver stood over him, scanning the clearing. The atmosphere was tense. Only Fang and Silver stood in the centre of the clearing, where most packs would normally congregate. Rae and Dev were off to one side with their three sidekicks, a clear perimeter around them. Jake was sprawled out on the grass on the other side, eyes closed, chin tilted towards the sun. Howl fidgeted beside him.

Fang straightened, dusted off his hands. “Silver,” he began, slowly, “the girl Al sent me to find—”

“She’s here,” he confirmed.

“And the body?”

“Not hers.”

“Ah,” Fang nodded. “You must be glad.” His smile was small and polite, non-committal.

Silver glared. “I get enough shit from the others, so either spit it out now or leave me alone.”

“I was only—” a pause as Fang considered his words “—curious about her reliability.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “When I picked up her scent on the way to Tulkan, she wasn’t alone.”

Silver fought back a growl. “Who was she with?”

“A ewte,” Fang said, turning Silver’s gut to stone. What was the girl planning?

“You’re certain?” A stupid question—of course he was. Fang wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.

“Perhaps you should ask her yourself,” Fang said, glancing over Silver’s shoulder. Amber and the girl emerged through the trees, on the side of the clearing closest to Jake. The girl had cleaned up, her cheeks flushed by the cold water and cooling afternoon breeze. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing ghost-white forearms that were pinked with sunburn. Slender and delicate, the girl was a pale wraith beside Amber’s curvy, sun-kissed figure.

Amber sat on the edge of Jake’s blanket. The girl remained standing, awkward, until Amber urged her down. Silver picked up the girl’s cloak and strolled towards them, Fang at his side.

“Jake, Howl, this is Lilith,” Amber was saying.

Ever the womaniser, Jake sat up, turning on the charm. “You look far too tasty to be a worm,” he said, his half-smile playful. He took her hand, kissed it.

She laughed. “Thanks?”

“It’s a good thing, girl.” Jake had the laidback confidence of a man who knows he is good-looking. It was an attitude that grated on Silver’s nerves, but it was impossible to ignore the effect of Jake’s dark hair and green eyes, nor the ease with which he struck up friendships. People liked Jake—to Silver this was something worthy of contempt.

The girl blushed, dropped her eyes. “The name’s Lilith.”

“Sure thing, girl.”

Silver stood over them, disapproving. Jake only smirked, giving Silver’s clothes a once-over. “Looking good,” he said.

“Shut up.”

The girl kept her eyes down. Silver tossed the cloak into her lap, eyes narrowing when she refolded the cloak and set it aside without a word.

“Girl,” he snapped, pleased when she looked up, startled. “Come here.” He led her aside, to the edge of the clearing, as far away from Rae as possible. As if on cue, Jake and Howl began play-fighting, their loud squabbling providing sufficient cover to speak in private. The girl kept her head down, eyes averted, half-hiding behind her long hair—whether out of cowardice or insolence, he wasn’t sure.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” he said flatly, mainly because he knew it would anger her.

She finally looked at him, straight at him, eyes flashing. There it was, that anger, that pride—emotions he could understand, and manipulate. “You shouldn’t have left me in that hotel.”

“No,” he agreed, hiding a smirk at her surprise. “I should have left you in the theatre.”

Her back stiffened. “Haven’t we had this conversation before? You hate me, I get it. Can we move on?” Temper fraying, caught off-guard, the girl could not be more vulnerable to his next question.

“Why were you travelling with an ewte?”

“A—” The girl paused, crossed her arms. “How did you know?”

So it was true. Silver raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well, what? You abandoned me, I needed a guide, he was there. End of story.” She was petulant, defensive. “It’s not like I was mixing with the WPL—and before you ask, Amber told me all about it.”

He sneered. “I’m sure.”

Howl shrieked—the boy was pinned onto the grass, Jake tickling his sides. Fang looked on, amused but not interfering. Rae was glaring in their direction from the other side of the clearing, pacing in tight circles.

Silver turned back to the girl. The sun was setting, the shadows lengthening. In the half-light, the girl looked more solid than she ever had before, as if she was somehow stronger in the absence of daylight.

“Al will be back soon,” he said, cutting to the chase. “Rae will call for your death.”

Her eyes darted to the edges of the clearing. Her legs tensed, ready to run, then she forced herself to relax, muscle by muscle. Good—the girl wasn’t a total idiot. Running from a pack of werewolves was tantamount to suicide.

“You have five minutes to tell me everything, and convince me to stop you from being killed.” He knew the girl had decided to lie before she even opened her mouth—her scent changed, her adrenaline rising. “Five minutes,” he repeated, eyes steady on hers, body language open. “No lies.”

The girl caught herself, hesitated. Then, slow and reluctant, she began—with the truth. When she was finished, Silver looked her over and had to admit surprise that she had survived so long alone. As much as she was an unwanted burden, it would have been his fault had she died: he had saved her life, and it was his to protect now.

“Well?” the girl said, when he remained silent. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Silver was spared from answering: just then Al loped back into the clearing in wolf form, yipping to announce his presence. The entire pack stood, moving towards him, the invisible boundaries disappearing with Al’s return.

Silver held the girl back, looked at her pale face and wondered how such a fragile, sheltered creature could hold such fascination. Her dark eyes were wide and hopeful, trusting—and in that moment he hated her for relying on him.

“I can’t make any promises,” he said, his stomach turning as the hope in her eyes disappeared.