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?”

Five paces by five. Halogen strip lights, solid concrete walls. The seam of the door was all but invisible and resisted scrutiny, no matter how many times Emma let her fingers trace the walls. It was of no use: she was trapped.

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

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

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

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

Second, the door swung inwards.

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

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

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

“Hi,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“It’s red.”

“Dark red.”

“I see: you prefer Shorty.”

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

He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

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

“You didn’t ask.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Move,” he said, feeling the wall.

“What are you looking for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know?”

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

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

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

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

He relented. “Liam.”

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

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

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

“It’s the least-monitored route.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Silver! Silver!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fang intervened. “We hope so, Howl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was late afternoon by the time Silver arrived at the riverside. The wind here was more humid than in the Tulkan scrublands, the soil darker and less sandy. A thick growth of trees hugged the riverbank, leaning lazily over the rushing waters.

They followed the river downstream, away from the nearest settlement and toward the pack’s summer resting place. The musky scent of wolves was heavy in the air; Dev wagged his tail but Silver only felt a growing cold conviction that he shouldn’t have come. He should have dealt with the girl himself, and not involved anyone else. He didn’t need anyone else—had made a vow not to seven years ago when he’d stood over the grave of his alpha. Living with this new pack was making him soft.

Dev paused, howling to announce their presence. A reply came almost immediately: it was Jake, and he sounded worried. The wolves exchanged glances and hurried onwards, heads raised, ears pricked forward. Something was wrong.

Jake was waiting for them further upstream, in human form. He was pacing back and forth, his dark hair tousled as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly. He didn’t smile, his expression lacking its usual insufferable charm.

“You’ll all need to shift here,” he said. “Al’s orders. We can’t risk upsetting Vera.”

They dropped their clothes onto the ground and shifted. As they were getting dressed, Dev cross-questioned Jake. “How is she?”

Jake shook his head. “Worse.”

“And Al?”

“He just watches over her. Everyone’s waiting for him to do something, but he isn’t even moving. He won’t eat, he won’t sleep . . . .”

Dev frowned, fingers lingering on the drawstring of his trousers. As beta, it was his job to step up to the plate, but whether he wanted to was another matter entirely. He tugged on his earring thoughtfully, ignoring Rae’s pointed yawn. “What about the ewtes?”

Jake’s lips thinned. “When Al said what we needed the nitum for, they jacked up their prices.”

“Al’s a dick,” Rae said. “He should’ve killed a couple of them. That’d change their tune entirely.” Her lip curled into a sneer. “Then again Al’s never had the guts to do what’s needed.”

“Rae!”

One word from Dev was enough. Rae pursed her lips, looked away. When Dev marched off in the direction of the pack, she trailed after him sullenly.

Silver stayed where he was, watching them leave. He was tempted to turn around and head back to Tulkan to collect the girl. No, not tempted—he needed to, it was an urge he couldn’t control. Somehow she had gotten her claws into him and every second apart only made it worse. In that moment, Silver was convinced of two things: firstly, that the girl needed to be kept safe at all costs, and secondly, that he completely hated her.

Silver reached into his pocket for a cigarette and scowled when he realised he had none. Jake’s resumed pacing only made him more irritable. He glared. “Are you done moping?”

Jake bristled. “I’m standing guard!”

Silver didn’t reply—his sceptical expression said it all. He walked away from Jake, toward the pack, then realised the idiot wasn’t following. “Only pups sulk alone,” he called over his shoulder.

Jake chased after him, blocked Silver’s path. He looked angry. It was an improvement.

“Who’re you calling a pup?” he snarled.

Silver gave him a long look. “Do you care?”

“Why would I care what you say?”

“Exactly.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You asshole,” he said, but the words lacked any real force. Then he began to walk to the pack, keeping three paces ahead, as predictable as a child. Silver let him take the lead with thinly veiled amusement.

It was odd to think that they were only a year apart. For a twenty-three year old, Jake had the emotional maturity of a bat. Or maybe it was Silver who was old for twenty-four; he felt the years press down on him, the weight of so many memories he wanted to erase.

Had it really been seven years since Caleb’s death? The memory still ached like a burn that couldn’t quite heal. He could remember the slipperiness of blood on his hands, the nausea as Caleb named him alpha with his last breath. At the funeral, Silver had lit the obligatory incense and bowed his head in thought. But the words had deserted him, and it had seemed so impossible that Caleb was actually dead and in the ground beneath his feet that Silver had walked away without even saying a prayer.

He’d vowed to never form bonds again, to rely only on himself. Relationships were a weakness. Yet others still turned to him for help: first Al, then Jake and Fang, Amber and Howl, and now this girl, this worm he barely knew. And this time he couldn’t run away and leave it all behind.

When they entered the clearing, Howl ran up to them, grinning widely. His hair stuck out at odd angles, and his clothes were ragged and dirty, as if he’d been rolling around in the dirt. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Howl beamed. “You’re back! How was the theatre? D’you see the worms?” He hovered by Silver’s elbow, as close as he could get without touching.

Thankfully Jake welcomed the distraction, pushing Howl away playfully. “Obviously he saw the worms, stupid. The theatre was full of them!”

Howl shoved back, teeth bared. “I en’t stupid! How many times do I gotta tell you?”

Jake pretended to think. “Hmm, I don’t know. Until you’re not stupid?”

“Take it back!” Howl launched forward, arms swinging wildly, but he moved too slowly to land a hit. “Take it back!”

“See? You’re stupid!” Jake dodged another lunge, smirking. “You can’t even hit me!”

The two ran off, the sound of their laughter too loud in the tense silence of the clearing. Al was slumped on his knees in the middle, oblivious to everything but the still figure lying before him. The rest of the pack was keeping their distance, huddling together in small groups, eyeing each other in suspicion. Dev was moving between each group, bending low, speaking softly.

Rae broke off from one of the groups and loped up to Silver. “Dev’s rounding everyone up. We’re to watch over Al.” She stepped closer, lowered her voice. “There’s a rumour of a WPL attack.”

He tensed. “Another one?”

“Yeah.” She tucked her blond bob behind her ears, tilted her face up to catch the sun’s rays. With her eyes closed, Rae was transformed. There was a startling softness to her face, her jutting cheekbones balanced by the curve of her cheek. Then her attention refocused on Vera and the illusion vanished, every trace of innocence stripped from her expression.

“Come on, then,” she said.

Silver led the way into the centre of the clearing, where Al was slumped on his knees. Once he was close enough, he crouched down to get a better look, careful to keep his distance. Vera’s eyes were closed, but she was twitching and moaning in her sleep, one hand curved protectively over her belly. The air around her was warm with pent-up energy.

He looked at Al, keeping his voice low. “How is she?”

For a long moment Al did not reply. Then he sighed. “She won’t be able to hold her human form for much longer.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Rae said from behind them.

Al turned his head slowly to stare at her. “What did you say?” The muscles in his legs tensed, his jaw clenched. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his cheeks. He was close to snapping, and Rae didn’t seem to notice.

She shrugged, looked away. “If the baby’s a wolf, he’ll be fine. If he’s not, well, who cares?”

“It’s not the baby I’m worried about,” Al snarled, standing up. “It’s Vera! Do you know what a human foetus could do to a wolf’s womb? Or do you care so little for your alpha?”

With every word, the air around them heated. Rae ducked her head to one side, exposing her neck in submission, but her display did nothing to appease Al’s anger. He growled lowly, his inner wolf rising to the surface.

Then Vera whimpered. They all glanced down to see her left hand twitch and shift into a wolf’s paw.

Al deflated, sinking back down to the ground without another word. He couldn’t lead in this state, Silver realised with growing anger. Dev would have to take charge. And with the pack politics so unstable, it was too dangerous to bring the girl here. If only he could forget about her . . . but the thought of her at the mercy of the scum in Tulkan made his jaw clench.

“Go patrol,” Silver told Rae brusquely. “I’ll stay here.”

For once she didn’t argue. “I’ll keep a look-out for any WPL,” she promised, eyes darting nervously to Al’s slumped figure.

Silver settled cross-legged by Al’s side, near Vera’s feet, fighting back the frustration. Without Al, their twelve-strong pack would fall into total disarray. What, then, would happen to the girl?

Al was holding Vera’s paw in his hand. When he looked up at Silver, his eyes were filled with despair. “She’s barely holding herself from shifting as it is. I don’t know how long she’ll last.” Al dropped his gaze, and spoke even softer than before, so that Silver had to lean forward to hear him. “She can’t leave me, Silver. She promised.” And it was those words that brought back the ache of memories full force.

The small jug in his hands was cold against his skin. His limbs were heavy and his stomach was tight. The sun hung low in the horizon, fighting a losing battle against the growing darkness, but it was just bright enough to see the neat rows of white tombstones, each one long and rectangular like a finger pointing at the sky. Caleb had been dead for a month, and only now Silver was returning to the tombstone to pay his respects.

Five rows back, eight along, was Caleb’s tomb, the earth raked flat, a small vase pushed into the ground and filled with half-burnt incense sticks. Silver carefully poured water over the tombstone, using his hand to ensure every inch was covered. Then he set the jug aside, added his own incense sticks to the vase. Ritual observed, he bowed his head and tried to find the right words to say to the man who’d been his mentor, his friend, and his adoptive father. But he could think of nothing. The white stone was so far removed from his memories of Caleb that it seemed ridiculous to talk to it.

All he found instead was a growing anger. He could still see it in his mind’s eye, see Caleb crumple to the ground, a silver dagger in his heart. Caleb hadn’t even tried to fight back, had been willing to die for what he believed in, without thinking of how it would affect anyone else.

The words came, finally. “You left me behind. You promised you wouldn’t. You promised!”

Silver punched the tombstone, bit back a cry when his knuckles split open and began to bleed. But it wasn’t enough. A second punch, more blood, and Caleb’s name smeared in red.

How could Caleb have left him? Dying for others—the supposed ultimate sacrifice—was a coward’s way out. Had Caleb even thought of what it would do to him, how responsible he’d feel? Silver punched the tombstone again, ignoring the trembling in his hand. He’d never die for anyone else. He swore it, right then and there, with his blood dripping down onto his mentor’s grave.

“Never,” he told the tombstone. “Never.”

He’d stayed just long enough to find the Reke pack a suitable replacement alpha, and then he’d left. He’d headed far to the west, to the most far-flung edges of the Empire, and he hadn’t looked back. Silver stared unseeing at the ground. If Vera died and the pack fell apart here, he had nowhere left to run.

“She promised, Silver,” Al repeated desperately.

Silver didn’t answer. He knew promises meant nothing.

The stairwell door did not open onto a hallway.

Instead, Lilith was facing a wide open space, devoid of furniture, the floor poured concrete and the ceiling criss-crossed with beams. People hung upside-down from those beams, cloaks wrapped tightly around their bodies, exposing only small pointy noses and unblinking black eyes.

All of them were staring at her.

She pressed back against the wall and stared back, heart pounding. Not only were these infected hanging upside-down like bats; their eyes were a solid ring of black, with no whites visible. Were they dangerous? The only exit was behind her, back onto the stairwell, but she didn’t want to risk meeting the trackers. She clutched the sheet tightly around her and waited for the infected to make the first move.

The one closest to her shifted on its perch, then spoke—but not in any language Lilith had ever heard.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, hesitant. “I don’t understand.”

This time it spoke in English. “Who you?” it said, startling Lilith. Multilingual infected that hung upside-down from ceilings: the situation was absurd.

“Lilith.” She cleared her throat, staring at the reddish cast of its cloak. “My name is Lilith.”

Red’s voice sounded irritable. “No. What you?”

Of course it wasn’t her name they’d wanted, but her race. Lilith grabbed hold of the fang necklace and held it up. She opened her mouth to reply but Red beat her to it.

“Werekin upstairs!” it cried.

The others took up the chant. “Werekin upstairs! Werekin upstairs!”

Their voices were sing-song, mocking. Panicked, Lilith put her finger up to her lips and shushed them, surprised when it worked. The chanting stopped and they stared expectantly. These infected were a far cry from Wolf’s tightly reined savagery or Sla’ik’s smooth talking ways. If anything, they were rather like children.

She kept her voice gentle, non-threatening. “I’ll go back upstairs soon. I’ll just hide here for a bit. There are some bad people upstairs.”

Red cocked its head sideways. “Trackers?”

“Trackers! Trackers! Trackers!” The others flapped their cloaks out to either side, and it was then Lilith realised that they were not wearing cloaks. These people—creatures— had wings. The ceiling beams creaked ominously with their movements

Lilith shushed them once more. “Yes, trackers!” And she’d thought Wolf was bad. At least he’d shown some intellect; these bats, for lack of a better word, were nothing more than oversized mammals. Semi-intelligent oversized mammals, but animals nonetheless.

Yet there seemed to be some kind of primitive social hierarchy even in these creatures, for the bats on the right side of the room turned as one and said to the others, “Your side.”

The left bristled collectively. “Your side!”

“Your side!”

“Your side!”

The bats fell silent before she had to shush them. A long staring match ensued, the bats glaring and serious, like children intent on a game whose rules only they knew. Lilith had to stifle her giggles, struggling to make herself as small and still as possible in the hopes that she’d be forgotten.

Then the bats seemed to reach an unspoken agreement, for they began to stare at one of their companions in particular. The bat in question shuffled uncomfortably, then sighed in defeat, letting go of the beam. It unfurled its wings and twisted in midair, landing several feet away from Lilith.

Her amusement vanished. She watched the infected approach with wary concern. It hobbled awkwardly towards her, claws scraping the floor. Up close, Lilith could see the short, dark fur which covered its face. The features were those of an animal: long snout, black button nose, and curved leathery ears. The torso, however—ignoring the covering of fur—was unsettlingly human. It stopped right in front of her and Lilith tensed, unsure whether to lash out or escape.

The bat cocked its head to the side and yapped several times, ears flicking back and forth. “Not dangerous,” it pronounced to the room. “Cub.” But it didn’t look away, and now the other bats were staring, shuffling restlessly. What did these bats eat?

Lilith slid her hand along the wall, towards the door handle. “I’ll just go now. Sorry for bothering you.”

The bat bared its teeth. “Stay?”

The chant was taken up by the others. “Stay! Stay! Stay!”

The bat waved a wing and the others fell silent. It shuffled closer, seeming to relish the attention. “Stay. Pay.” Another step closer. “Blood. Pay.” Its mouth hung open, the fangs gleaming white against a bright red tongue. The other bats were nodding in agreement, ruffling their wings, preparing for flight. “Blood!”

Her hand closed around the door handle. Lilith didn’t hesitate. She pulled the door open and raced through, slamming it shut behind her. The bats began shrieking, chanting incomprehensibly as she backed away, her shoulders hitting the cold stone wall on the other side of the landing. She could hear the whooshing sounds of flight, but the door remained closed.

A door upstairs thumped open. A man spoke, his voice gravelly. “Something’s bothering the teras.” Lilith’s skin crawled: it was a tracker.

“Everything bothers the teras,” a second voice replied, almost condescending. “Let’s move to the fourth floor and keep searching.”

“Orders are orders,” the first said. “Investigate all disturbances. That’s the orders.”

“Fine.” There was a brief silence, then heavy footsteps, marching down.

Lilith hurried down the stairs on her tiptoes, cursing her luck. After her encounter with the bloodthirsty bats, she wasn’t going to risk hiding on the first floor. Her only option was to wait outside until the trackers left. But what if the Snake was in reception?

She hesitated when she reached the bottom of the stairwell, making sure her necklace was clearly visible. The door to the reception opened soundlessly. She peeked outside, breathed a sigh of relief. The room was empty. Pulling the sheet firmly around her, Lilith walked across the reception, her pace brisk but unhurried. Her stomach was a tight bundle of nausea.

She had just reached the entranceway when the stairwell door banged open. It was the trackers, the cloaked figure closely followed by the stern rock-like men. They paused when they saw her, took in her white sheet. The man in the cloak pointed. “You there. Stop!”

Lilith broke into a run. She raced down the alleyway, heart galloping in her chest, the sheet billowing out behind her like a wedding train. Eventually she burst out onto the main street, where the market was still in full swing, and turned right, back the way they had come.

This time infected did not move out of her way. She ducked and twisted through the crowd, her ears echoing with the growing shouts behind her. Then a hand closed over her bicep, bringing her to an unceremonious halt. A man with a drooping moustache eyed her, the green cross-shaped tattoo on his cheek creased by his scowl. He opened his mouth to speak, noticed the necklace hanging around her neck, and dropped her arm as if burnt. Lilith didn’t question her luck: she ran on.

Lilith ducked between two stalls and into a side street, hoping to lose her pursuers. It was darker, here—the narrow street ran between two buildings tall enough to keep the cobblestones in constant shade. Then the heavy stench rotting food hit her. Four industrial-sized rubbish bins lined one wall.

But she’d made the wrong choice, for the street was a dead end, cut off abruptly by a tall wire fence. Lilith’s legs almost buckled beneath her at the sight. She hooked her fingers into the wire, tried to pull herself up. It was too high, her arms were too weak. Only seconds remained before they caught up with her. She had to hide, but where? The bins were too obvious a choice.

Frantic, Lilith looked at the buildings on either side. There was a ledge running across the side of one building, which ran past a fire-escape ladder. Knotting the sheet around her neck, Lilith moved closer to one of the rubbish bins. Black insects droned in the air. As she climbed on to the bin, one landed on her arm. She yelped, shook it off. It didn’t bite.

When she stood on top of the bin, the ledge was level with her waist. She pulled herself onto the ledge, stood up slowly. Keeping her body sideways, Lilith began to shuffle along towards the ladder.

The trackers pounded into the side street. “You! Stop! That’s an order!”

Two of the rock-men clambered on to the rubbish bins and began pulling themselves on to the ledge. The other rock-man and the cloaked figure had their heads bent together, conferring rapidly. They backed out of the alleyway. Two less to worry about.

Lilith crossed the wire fence, kept moving towards the ladder. The rock-men moved more slowly than her, their wider frames harder to balance on the thin ledge. She could do it. She could escape. Lilith grabbed the ladder, pulled herself on. Her feet hit the rungs loudly and she began to climb, skipping several rungs at a time.

Something whizzed past her head. The rock-man furthest away had pulled out a gun and was aiming it at her. There was an odd click; she ducked instinctively and heard another bullet hiss past. As she straightened, something clattered down the side of the wall. Lilith looked down and her heart sank. Gleaming innocently from the bottom of the alleyway was her hotel key.

The ladder shook as the rock-man in the lead reached the bottom rung. Lilith forced herself to keep moving. She’d deal with the key later.

The window on the first floor was closed. On the other side of the glass was a vampire who had his face pressed against the window. Surprise flitted across his face when he saw her, his lips parting, exposing his fangs.

The gleam of his bright blue eyes and his teeth sucked her in. Lilith couldn’t look away, her mind flashing back to the carnage in the theatre, her limbs heavy with fear. She froze on the ladder and watched in numb disbelief as the vampire slid the window open and leaned out to grab her.

His hand was inches away when the vampire jerked and emitted an odd garbled cry. He clutched his neck, pulled out a feathered dart. A tranquiliser. They both looked down to find the rock-men aiming their guns at the vampire. Then the vampire fainted, his body half-in and half-out the window.

The surge of adrenaline unlocked her muscles. Lilith began to climb further up the ladder just as the vampire was pulled back into the bedroom. His unconscious body was replaced by two more vampires, a male and a female, their mouths contorted into vicious snarls. Within seconds they’d launched themselves out of the window and at the rock-men, arms outstretched. The force of their attack knocked both trackers off of the ladder, and the four fell down to the ground, a tangle of limbs.

Lilith didn’t stay to watch. She continued upwards to the second floor, where there was open window. She hauled herself through, grunting at the effort, only to come face to face with the third rock-man, the cloaked figure behind him.

“Hello, pebble,” the rock-man said, jabbing a dart into her neck.

Then everything went dark.

There was an odd clicking coming from the door.

Lilith sat up, flattening her hair, smoothing the bed sheets on either side of her. She felt drained, her stomach tight, the heat in the room pressing down upon her skin. She hadn’t opened the window—hadn’t wanted to stare out upon the infected city outside—and hadn’t dared drink from the bathroom tap, fearful of contaminated water. But Wolf was back, now. She could make him take her home.

The door handle turned slowly. The door eased open. The cloaked stranger who entered was too small to be Wolf.

Lilith jumped to her feet, heart pounding. “Who are you?”

The stranger froze, then reached up to push back its hood, its fingers thin and green, tipped with dark nails. The hood dropped to reveal a reptilian face: pebbled skin and wide-set yellow eyes. Its nose was curiously flat, its lower jaw long. Two tubes connected to either side of its neck, disappearing into the front of the cloak.

It was an infected. Despite the vaccine, Lilith could not suppress a shudder of disgust.

It kept its hands half-raised. “Sorry. Thought ‘twere empty in here.”

Lilith gaped. It—he, for the voice was unmistakably masculine—sounded so human. She shook off the surprise, put her hands on her hips to look more intimidating. “You didn’t answer my question: who are you?”

As she moved, the necklace Wolf had given her swung free, drawing his attention. He cringed, hunching his shoulders. “Sorry, miss. The name’s Sla’ik.” An odd name, the second vowel long and drawn out. “Didn’t mean to intrude, only needed to top up my tank.” He pulled the cloak aside to reveal a metal container strapped to his chest.

She forced herself to step forward, bluffing through the fear. “Do it in your own room.”

He ducked his head. “Don’t have a room here. Just . . . passing through.”

His alien features were indecipherable. Was he a fugitive? A thief? Or—and she shuddered as the thought struck her—some kind of rent boy? Whatever the case, he was an infected and she should steer clear. Except she couldn’t quite suppress the thrill of knowing she was speaking to a real life infected, a monster, an anomaly. The very type of creature she wanted to study at university. In Wolf’s presence, Lilith had felt off-balance and wary, but now with her humanity so clearly superior she couldn’t help but feel curious. But was it safe?

The creature seemed to notice her indecision, for he held out his palms. “Only to top up my tank. Don’t want trouble with you nor your friend.”

Curiosity won out. “Go on then,” Lilith said. She sat back down on the bed, angling herself so that she could see into the bathroom.

“Mighty kind of you,” he said. “Us ewtes, we’ve got a bad rep for no reason, I tell you.”

He walked across the room, his gait slightly awkward and duck-footed. He had clawed toes and a long, thin tail which poked out the back of the cloak. The receptionist also had a tail, she remembered, and similar reptilian skin. Perhaps the two were related.

He left the bathroom door open without her asking and stood by the sink. He pushed off his cloak and unstrapped a pouch from his waist, placing it on the ground. Then he leaned over the sink as he unscrewed a slot at the base of the metal tank strapped to his chest. Water gushed out. Was the tank a recycling unit? Lilith looked at the dusty curtains, at the slivers of sunlight pouring in through the edges. Perhaps water was scarce, evaporated by the heat.

When she turned back around, the creature—the ewte, she supposed—was screwing the slot back into place. He turned on the tap, detached one of the tubes from the side of his neck and bent to put it under the stream of water. On the side of his neck were three odd folds of skin, slightly paler than the rest of his body. They flapped open and closed like tiny mouths as Lilith stared, fascinated and repelled.

Eventually the ewte re-attached the tube to his neck, straightening as he adjusted the tank. He took a deep breath and the tank gurgled in response. He looked at her. “When’s your friend back?”

“Soon,” Lilith lied. If only she’d thought to ask Wolf more questions, although it was doubtful he’d have answered; he seemed to have the slenderest grasp of common social norms. It was strange to think that this ewte—so inhuman in appearance—was behaving more courteously than Wolf.

The ewte hovered awkwardly on the threshold of the bathroom, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth. He was just as nervous of her as she was of him, Lilith realised, relaxing at the thought: infected or not, Sla’ik wasn’t dangerous. She leaned back on her elbows and returned his timid stare with a raised eyebrow. “Well? Are you done?”

He shifted nervously. “You being so kind and all, I was asking myself if maybe I could just stay in here a while, ‘course only until your friend comes, or even before that. You see, there’s someone in the corridor who doesn’t like me much.”

“Why doesn’t he like you?”

“Ah, um . . . ” His pupils flickered. “A misunderstanding. We were business partners.”

The infected were organised enough to have companies. Lilith filed that away for future reference, almost grinning at the thought of returning to school and giving her old history teacher a lesson or two. “Fine, you can stay,” she said. His thanks were so enthusiastic she decided to humour him by using his name. “You can sit at the desk, Slake.”

“It’s Sla-eek.” He moved quickly, setting the pouch on the desk, then pulling out the chair. Once settled, he jerked his head towards her. “Your first tooth?”

Lilith looked down at the necklace Wolf had given her. “What else?”

That’s when Sla’ik smiled, slow and unpleasant, as he leaned back in the chair. For a moment Lilith was sure she’d given herself away, and that he knew of her humanity. But no: Sla’ik was just getting comfortable. He nodded at her. “You keep that tooth right visible. The trackers are tearing up the city. Barred the gates, too.”

She grasped on to the fang. “Why? What do they want?”

Sla’ik tapped the base of his jaw smugly. “You haven’t heard? There was a huge uproar several miles northeast. Someone fed the vampires some bland blood. They killed at least a hundred before they were put down.” A wistful sigh, then: “Wish I’d seen it. Blands must’ve been terrified.”

“Blands?” The question slipped out before she could censor it.

“Your first time in the city, huh?” Sla’ik blinked slowly without closing his eyes; he had a second eyelid underneath the first. “Blands are what you wolves call worms. The undergrounders.”

Lilith blanched. Sla’ik was talking about the theatre! A hundred people killed, and she had left Emma behind. What if Emma was among the dead? What if Emma was gone and it was all her fault? Lilith turned away from Sla’ik on the pretence of plumping up her pillow. She swallowed hard. “What happened to the other pe—worms?”

“Taken underground, ‘course.” The chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “And all of them checked out by a doctor in case they were affected, as if they didn’t know the dust’s in the air, not the blood.”

That had to be wrong. Everyone knew the infected virus was transferred by blood. The chances of airborne contagion were microscopic. But it didn’t matter: she’d been vaccinated that morning, she was protected for another seventy hours at least. Surely that was enough time to get home. . . . 

“Anyhow, that’s not the best bit.” Sla’ik leaned forward, grinning. “Some blands are missing, and they’ve put trackers on the trail. They think they’re here. That’s why the gates are barred. Trying to catch ‘em if they escape.”

That didn’t sound good. “Do they have any clues?”

“Nah. I figure half the ones missing are dead, shredded by the vampires. ‘Course they’re most interested in finding the blands who got away alive.”

“To take them home?”

Sla’ik chuckled, waggling a finger at her. “To find out who they work for, of course.”

“Work for?”

“Sure. Those upper ones do anything for money. They have it worse than we do. I bet they didn’t know what they were getting into, though.” Sla’ik laughed, the metal tank gurgling in symphony. “The trackers’ll probably give them to the vampires as punishment. Bad stuff, bland blood. No surer way to drive a vamp crazy, other than killing one of their coven, ‘course.”

Sla’ik rubbed his hands together. “There’s a bounty, too. Two hundred for any information. And five for a living bland.” He tapped his tank affectionately. “Just as well I got this. Wouldn’t want anyone mistaking me for a bland in these times, eh?”

Lilith agreed half-heartedly. With his flat, reptilian features, it was unlikely that Sla’ik would ever be mistaken for a human. Her face, on the other hand, stood out. Even Wolf, who looked the most normal, had an animalesque cast to his eyes and movements. She’d be in danger if anyone spotted her—that much was clear.

Sla’ik stiffened, rubbed a wrist anxiously. “Going to check if the coast is clear,” he said, standing up.

He barely opened the door, peering through a thin crack at the hallway outside. Satisfied, he widened the gap till he could stick his head through and peer in both directions. “Someone on the stairs,” he said softly. He glanced at her. “I’ll be right back.”

Lilith barely had the time to nod before the ewte had left the room, the scratch-scratch of his nails against the floor steadily growing fainter. He’d left his cloth pouch on the desk, its sides bulging with whatever junk an infected carried. Lilith stood, slowly approached the desk. When she picked up the pouch, its contents clinked gently.

She was about to open the pouch when Sla’ik hurried back into the room. He snatched it from her hands. “Hands off!” he snapped, but there was little bite to his voice. The tip of his tail was twitching as he peered out into the hallway once more. “I was right,” he told her. “There was someone on the stairs: trackers. They’re searching every room.”

Lilith froze. “Searching? Why?”

“For the blands!”

“Then why are you leaving?”

Sla’ik looked sly. “You think they’ll see an ewte like me and say I’m not a thief?” Shaking his head, he strapped the pouch around his waist. “Don’t know what those blands were thinking of, coming here. Everyone knows you can’t sneak anything past the Snake.”

The receptionist! Hadn’t Wolf gone down to speak to him? She fought back the nausea. What if something had happened to Wolf? What if the Snake had turned him in to those dreaded trackers? He was her lifeline; without him she had no guide to lead her through the masses of infected and back underground.

Sla’ik pointed at her necklace. “A werewolf has little to fear from trackers.” Then he hurried out of the room and Lilith was left staring at the closed door, panic rising. She was in the middle of an unknown infected city, her only contact most likely imprisoned, and about to be caught herself. She had to act quickly.

Lilith strode over to the window and opened the curtains, squinting at the sunlight. She pushed the window up, stuck her head outside. There was no way down, no fire escapes. The street was far below; jumping was out of the option. And there was no one she could call out to for help—everyone shuffling below was an infected, cloaked and suspicious, dangerous.

Cloaked! Lilith turned to the bed and pulled the bed sheet off, wrapping it around her, making sure to cover her face. She went into the bathroom and examined herself critically. The effect was slightly ridiculous, but perhaps the disguise would last long enough to get her outside the city gates. Lilith paused, considering, then tugged the necklace free from the sheet so that it was clearly visible. It was the best she could do.

From down the hallway came the sound of marching feet. Tendrils of panic squeezed her stomach as Lilith stuffed the room key into her jeans pocket. She eased the door open, glanced outside. Four men were at the other end of the hallway, near the stairwell. Three looked human, although their skin was dull grey and rock-like. They had the stiff, self-confident movements of men who weren’t afraid to use their fists. The fourth was hidden under a cloak.

They moved down the right side of the hallway first. Thanking her luck, Lilith slipped out of the door, closing it softly behind her. She didn’t have the time to lock it. She slipped down the hall and heaved a sigh of relief when she reached the stairwell without being noticed.

It was only as she began to descend that she realised she’d no idea where Wolf had gone. They needed to meet: there was little chance she’d return underground without him. And he was expecting to find her here. She’d have to go somewhere, come back to the room when the trackers were done. But she couldn’t leave the hotel: Sla’ik had said nothing escaped the receptionist’s notice.

Lilith forced herself to keep moving. If she couldn’t leave the hotel, she could hide until the trackers were done, and where better to hide than on a floor they had already searched? She descended to the second floor, pushed open the hallway door and slipped inside, looking back at the stairs fearfully. Then she turned around and froze. A hundred eyes stared back at her.

Emma’s fingers tightened around the edge of the cot as King stepped towards her. Deal with her? Did it mean—?

“Certainly, Doctor,” King said, betraying none of his intentions. He grabbed Emma around the bicep, pulled her to her feet. She stumbled forwards, wincing as he guided her none-too-gently to the door. Dr Gray had turned his back on the proceedings, typing calmly at the console as if kidnapping were an everyday occurrence.

King swiped his thumb on the door lock. There was a soft series of clicks, then the door swung inwards on well-oiled hinges. Outside there was only darkness.

“Come on,” he said, pulling Emma across the threshold. She followed hesitantly, squinting. The light from the surveillance room revealed the first few metres of a narrow service tunnel which disappeared on either end into blackness. As King pulled the door closed, the long shadows on the walls crept closer, until only a sliver of light remained and the darkness was lapping at their feet.

King unstrapped a long glow stick from his leg. He shook it briskly till the surface began to glow, then pulled the door fully shut. She looked away, blinking, waiting for her eyes to adjust as King finished recharging the glow stick. When she looked back, the green light had lent a sickly cast to his face, making his cheekbones seem even sharper.

“Come on,” King said again, more gently this time.

They followed the service tunnel downwards, around curving bends, the walls on either side a continuous stretch of concrete turned green by the glow stick. King walked slightly ahead, his strides long and unhurried. Studying him in the half-light, Emma was struck by his loping grace and the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck, a touch of boyishness against his combat uniform.

She glanced back, saw nothing but shadows and afterimages of light, as if they were alone in the universe. It seemed, then, that nothing but this moment existed, that the massacre in the theatre hadn’t happened, and that any minute now her mother would wake her for school. But the ache in her head and the cold creeping in through her socks revealed the lie for what it was. And with the pain came the unsettling certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.

Emma kept walking, left foot, right foot, each limb raised with mechanical precision. “Is it much further?” she asked.

King glanced at her. “Not long now.” He slowed, fell into step beside her. “It’s just a room with some cots. We bunked there earlier before the surveillance room was done.”

“Not a—” what was the word Dr Gray had used? “—a containment cell?”

A headshake. “He was trying to scare you.”

“It worked,” she said, hugging her arms to her body. “I can see why Lilith has always avoided him.”

King only shrugged, and Emma fell silent, uncomfortable. Lilith. Who knew where she was, whether she was safe?

“You . . . .” Her voice came out smaller than expected, lost in the sound of their footsteps. She cleared her throat, started again. “You will rescue her, right?”

King sighed. “That’s not my decision to make.”

Emma stopped walking. “But she’s his daughter.”

“I know.”

“His only child,” she clarified, but King shook his head.

“Doctor Gray is not like other men,” he said, reaching towards her. His fingers, when they found her arm, were slightly cold. “I’m sorry, but we need to keep moving.”

She bit the tip of her tongue, blinking back a few tears, and let him lead her onwards. It was hard to keep track of the long, twisting passageway, but King knew where they were going, and eventually stopped in a stretch of tunnel that looked, to Emma’s untrained eye, entirely unremarkable.

He placed his hand against the concrete, and after a few seconds a section of the wall swung inwards. As King stepped into the room the lights flickered on, harsh halogen strips against the ceiling. The room was a square box with two cots on opposite walls and a small sink between them. On one side of the sink was an internet socket.

“If you’re thirsty, the tap has a purifier,” King said, pointing. “There’re no glasses but I’m sure you can manage.”

“Thank you.” Emma walked further into the room. For all his reassurances, the room felt like a prison. The internet socket in the wall was a mocking reminder of how little freedom she had. If only she had her phone, or her laptop . . . .

King leaned against the door. “There’s no food, but I’ll bring some later.”

She wiped her hands on her jeans. “That’s fine. I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, Emma.”

The platitudes never made it past her lips. She frowned. “How do you know my name?”

“Your citizenchip.”

Of course. Anyone with a scanner could ID you in minutes, which was why their use was highly regulated. A secret service agency like the DEI would have no qualms breaking government regulations. But a supposed technology company like Precision Horizons?

Emma eyed King’s uniform, her eyes lingering on the PH logo on his collar. “I don’t suppose PH have methods to ID someone so quickly . . . ?”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s three o’clock,” he said. “You’ve been out nearly two hours.”

Two hours? It seemed only minutes ago that she’d fainted in the theatre. Emma sank down onto one of the cots, her line of questioning derailed by King’s seemingly casual comment. Lilith had been above ground for two hours. Who knew what had happened in that time? Who knew how many people had died?

“The theatre has been secured,” King continued, “and all vampires exterminated.”

Emma bit down on her tongue—bit hard—using the pain to push through her emotions. There was no time for shock or disbelief; she shoved the feelings into the smallest corner of her mind and focused on what truly mattered: uncovering the truth.

She swallowed, forced her voice to remain even. “Who do you work for? Precision Horizons, the DEI, or both?”

“You should rest,” he said. “It’s been a long afternoon.”

That he avoided the question only made her more determined. Emma crossed her arms. “You have the DEI uniform and the PH logo. I’m thinking you work for both, which leads me to believe that PH isn’t quite the innocent technology company it pretends to be.”

He shrugged. “There are many conspiracy theorists who would share that opinion.”

“And what is the truth?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” She stood, the adrenaline making her legs tremble. “You may not care but I do, Mr King. I’m in prison and my best friend’s in danger. Of course it matters!”

This time he looked at her—properly looked at her—and seemed to finally see her as something more than a schoolgirl. “King,” he said, abrupt. “Just King.”

But Emma was done. “Speaking of Lilith, why are you so interested in her? She wasn’t even supposed to come to the theatre because her mother forbade—”

The dawning realisation was a bitter taste at the back of Emma’s throat. The special ops, the surveillance room, the tracking device they’d implanted in Lilith. . . . “You knew,” she accused. “You didn’t just think the attack would happen, you knew it would.”

King’s face grew cold. He stood still, back straight, head tilted to one side. He had enviable cheekbones, a delicate nose and generous lips, but the hard edge in his blue eyes belied the femininity of his features. His was an alien, frightening beauty, and Emma could not help but shrink away.

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” he said slowly, eyes flat as he appraised her. “I thought you were cleverer than that.”

She flushed, didn’t know how to answer, her legs weakening until she sank back down onto the cot. King was right: she had no proof, merely suspicions.

“It just doesn’t add up,” Emma said, but the protest was weak.

King’s phone beeped. He glanced down, read the message without unsnapping the phone from his wrist. He’d opted for the latest model—a thin, flexible strip of smart plastic which could be worn almost anywhere—and the sight of it made Emma long for her own phone, as inconvenient and bulky as it was. She felt naked without it, defenceless. The thought of being locked up in this tiny room, cut off from the world with no means to call for help, was terrifying.

“Stay here,” King said, stepping back out into the hallway. “I’ll be back soon.”

Their eyes met, and something about her expression must have given her away. He paused, one hand on the door. “We’ll let you go as soon as it’s safe.”

But, Emma thought, watching the door close, that meant she could be in here forever.

“You saved the wrong girl.”

Emma opened her eyes drowsily and stared at the solid metal ceiling with blank incomprehension. Her body ached and every time she tried to focus, her vision swam sickeningly. Where was she? What had happened?

“There was no other girl to save.” The second voice was smoother, more a steely tenor than a rumbling baritone. Neither voice was familiar. Emma closed her eyes again. Slow, deep breaths. There was a dull thudding pain at the back of her head. Was this a hospital?

“You have put the entire operation at risk, King,” the first man snapped. “You should have brought Lilith, or nothing.”

It was the sound of a familiar name that tugged Emma into consciousness. She opened her eyes again, gingerly turned her head to the side. She was lying on a cot in the corner of a rectangular room. Large screens covered the opposite wall, showing surveillance footage of countless bodies crawling and twitching, or worse—not moving at all. One camera had been knocked askew and was pointing at a wall instead, directly at a large, dark liquid smear.

The memories returned in a rush: the theatre, the spatter of blood, the sharp grins of the vampires. She’d passed out, hit her head, and Lilith . . . Lilith had been kidnapped, no doubt eaten, her best friend gone forever because Emma had been too weak to fight. It could have been her to die, and yet here she was, bruised but safe, watching the silent carnage on-screen like it was just another horror film. Emma tore her eyes away, her stomach churning.

The blood did not have any effect on the two men standing in front of the monitors. The first was tall, in his late forties, wearing a white lab coat that only highlighted his broad shoulders. His clothes beneath the lab coat were plain but there was a confidence to his stance that exuded power. His companion, on the other hand, was in all-black clothing, his body thin and angular, with features that fell just shy of pretty to seem, instead, masculine.

The thinner man turned to the screens, tapped a few buttons on the console below them. One of the lower monitors faded into a radar display. There were two pulsing dots on the map: one at the very centre, and one on the right, moving towards the edges of the screen.

“There she is, Dr Gray,” the thin man said, pointing, and Emma dared to hope that Lilith was okay. The man crouched lower, traced the dot with his finger, his black jacket riding up to reveal a tranq gun holstered in the small of his back. “I can track her down, bring her back.”

“And lift your topside ban, King?” Gray scoffed. “I think not. No, you will deal with this little mess you’ve created.”

Meaning her. Emma closed her eyes, tried to even her breathing. Best to feign sleep while she thought through her options. She’d been rescued from the theatre, by mistake, it seemed. Were these men secret police? Terrorists? And what could they possibly want from Lilith?

“No use pretending,” King said, loudly now. “She’s awake, Doctor.”

Emma’s eyes slid open reluctantly. King barely glanced up from the console, but Gray turned, his gaze trailing over her like he was measuring her worth. The thin, disapproving line of his lips was an indication of his conclusion.

“I want her gone,” Gray said to King, staring at Emma as if she were nothing more than an infected. A chill crept up Emma’s spine: lab coat or not, this man was no ordinary doctor.

She sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the cot. The only exit was a door by the monitors, too far for her to make a dash for it. And her shoes were missing, the cold of the metal floor seeping in through her socks. Even her phone was gone; her wrist felt bare and vulnerable without its reassuring weight.

Emma swallowed past the fear. “What are you going to do with me?”

Neither man answered. Gray had unsnapped his phone from his wrist and was scrolling down the screen. “Three targets down,” he told King. “One missing.” He turned away to make a call.

Targets? Emma stood up, approached the console slowly, her legs weak. She risked a glance at the screens, saw dark figures moving purposefully through the theatre, crouched low, guns in hand. One of them walked past a surveillance camera, his face briefly filling the screen. Only the narrow strip of his eyes was visible, the rest of his face covered in black cloth.

She frowned. “Who are they?”

King threw her a sharp glance. “DEI agents.”

King was dressed in a similar fashion to the soldiers on screen, without the face covering. Then she noticed the small, inscribed logo on the collar of his shirt: a hand-stitched PH.

“Precision Horizons,” she breathed.

King’s gaze snapped to hers, but Emma was looking through him, her mind piecing the puzzle together.

“Lilith’s father is the company chairman.” She glanced over at Dr Gray, who was snapping terse orders into his phone. The nose was different but there was a certain similarity in the jaw line, in the curve of his lips. “He’s Lilith’s father, isn’t he?”

But why would the chairman of a technology company end up in a secret surveillance room, commanding the DEI? Unless. . . . She took in the room, King’s hunched figure at the console, the uniform he wore which matched those of the DEI agents in the theatre.

“PH is a government agency, isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s all a front.”

The tiny smirk made a reappearance. “Close. No cigar.”

Was he leaning towards her, or was the concussion making her dizzy? She turned her head away, was about to speak when Dr Gray all of a sudden cursed loudly.

“What do you mean, lost her?” he bellowed.

King tapped hurriedly on the keys of the console. “No trace of Lilith’s signal. She’s gotten too close to magic; the tracker’s fried.”

“Dammit!” Gray paced in front of the screens, rubbing his face. There was only one pulsing down left on the radar display: the one in the very middle.

“Let me go after her, Doctor,” King said. “The werewolf was headed northeast. There’s only one place they could be going.”

“No: I need you here.”

King stiffened. The movement was barely perceptible, but when she glanced down, he’d clenched his hands into fists.

“Your daughter could die,” he said, softly.

Dr Gray closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “There is nothing more we can do.” Then the moment of weakness was gone, and his back straightened. “She has all the defence we can give her.”

“But no training, Doctor. This wasn’t supposed to happen until—”

“Supposed to?” The question escaped before Emma could think to censor it. Both men looked at her as if surprised by her presence, but this time, rather than feel intimidated, Emma only felt a mounting anger. “You thought this would happen?”

“That is none of your concern,” Gray snapped.

Emma’s mouth dropped. “Nearly dying is very much my concern,” she snapped, the flush of anger spreading across her cheeks and ears. “Watching dozens of other people die is very much my concern!”

“Hundreds,” King said wryly.

“Shut up,” Emma snarled, surprising herself more than anyone else. She pointed a finger at Gray. “I’ve heard about you. Lilith hates your guts, and now that I’ve met you, I’m not surprised. You’re a murderer!” She looked past him, to the horror on the screens. “I don’t know what you’ve got her involved in, but if you don’t send someone to rescue her, I’ll . . . I’ll . . . .” Words failed; she could not think of a threat big enough. Then it hit her: “I’ll tell the news everything you’ve been doing.” Her eyes fell on the logo on his lab coat, the curling PH. “Everything Precision Horizons has been doing,” she said.

The long silence that followed was more effective than any reply. Under Dr Gray’s dispassionate stare, Emma’s arm lowered slowly, until her hands hung uselessly by her side and all the fire had gone from her cheeks.

“If you’re quite done,” Dr Gray said icily, his condescending tone making Emma want to wither on the spot. He turned to King. “Take her to a containment cell. I’ll deal with her later.”