Shoot, said the voice in her head as he got to his feet, but his heel skimmed the first stair and he lost his balance, tripping down the three short steps and out of the safety of the light.

Shoot, said the monster, but she didn’t know if it would be a mercy to Rick or a gift to the madness inside her, so she threw the weapon into the grass. Rick staggered toward it as Kate backed into the house, and the last thing she saw was the glint of the shotgun as he swung it clublike at the shadows before she slammed the door and drove the bolt home.

The house was empty.

Kate knew because she had checked the whole thing, top to bottom, back to front. Rick had done a solid job of securing the windows and doors, but if she listened she could hear the scrape of nails on wood, on brick, on glass, the trail of the Corsai’s claws outside, scratching to get in. Reminding her that she was trapped.

“Where are you, Kate?” she wondered aloud, and when her first thought was of Riley and Prosperity and the coffee shop table with the Wardens, she decided she didn’t want to play the stupid game anymore.

She had passed the mirror in the hall three times—now she stopped in front of it, a pair of scissors in her hand. Avoiding her own gaze—she didn’t want to see the silver spreading, didn’t need to be reminded, could feel the thing like a weight, leaning against her thoughts—she loosened her hair, combed it before her eyes, and began to trim.

Strips of blond fell to the floor, and Kate didn’t stop until her hair carved a path across her face, sweeping over her left eye. Just another scar.

Torn between the desire to collapse and the fear of letting her guard down enough to sleep, she raided the kitchen cabinets (she ended up with powdered coffee, a liter of water, and a protein bar processed enough to last an apocalypse), switched on every flashlight she could find, and finally retreated to the living room.

Slumping down onto the couch, she dug the tablet out of her bag and booted a message window.

Riley, she started, then stopped when she remembered there was no connection, no signal to tap into.

Her fingers hovered over the blank screen. The cursor blinked, waiting, and she knew it was useless, but the house was too quiet and the monsters too loud, so she started typing anyway.

My real name is Katherine Olivia Harker.

Her fingers moved haltingly across the screen.

My mother’s name was Alice. My father’s was Callum. I didn’t want to lie, but sometimes it’s so much easier than the truth. Shorter. I just wanted to start over.

Have you ever done that?

It’s freeing, at first, like shedding a heavy coat. And then you get cold, and you realize life’s not a coat at all. It’s skin. It’s something you can’t take off without losing yourself, too.

Kate stopped, pressing her palms against her eyes. Why was she writing about Verity as if she’d missed it, as if she’d been looking for an excuse to go home?

She set the tablet aside, the message unfinished, and stretched out, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. Outside the house, the Corsai grew restless, the grinding of their claws and teeth now paired with whispers that whistled through the cracks like wind.

come out little harker come out come outcomeoutcomeout

It sounded as if they were right beyond the windows.

Kate tensed as nails scraped over glass, her nerves tightening with every hiss and scratch and taunt. The iron spike sat on the table, and her fingers drifted toward it as Rick’s tired eyes and desperate words came back to her.

Just one night. Let me sleep.

Kate dug through her bag and came up with the music player, skimming through the songs until she found something with a heavy beat. It filled her good ear, blocking out the Corsai’s relentless calls, and she turned the volume up and up and up until it drowned out the monster in her head as well.

The Malchai fell to the ground at August’s feet, a hole torn through its chest.

“That was close,” said Harris, stepping over another body.

“Too close,” said Ani, breathless, a shallow cut along her cheek.

It had been a careless attack: a pair of Malchai and a Fang had thought to catch them by surprise, as if two monsters and a human stood a chance against a squad of FTFs, especially one with a Sunai at the helm.

“What should we do with this one?” asked Jackson. The Fang was trussed up at his feet, one eye swelling shut and blood running into rotting teeth.

It would be easy enough to reap his soul, but August had already taken a half dozen lives, and the thought of taking on another made his bones ache.

“Call a jeep,” he said. “We’ll take him alive. See if Soro can get anything useful out of him.”

They started back, covering the short distance to the Seam, but as the barricade drew nearer, August’s steps slowed.

The thought of returning to the Compound, of standing still with all these souls inside him—no wonder Leo never stopped.

The night was full of monsters, and he needed to hunt.

So hunt, said his brother.

And why shouldn’t he?

They reached the Seam’s gate. Harris signaled on the comm and the doors ground open, the jeep waiting for them on the other side. The squad passed through, but August stopped.

Harris glanced back at him. “What’s up?”

“I’ll meet you back at the Compound.”

“No way,” said Ani.