August came charging into the kitchen, holding the doorknob she’d removed. His black hair was still wet, and his shirt was open, revealing a lean body newly corded with muscle.

“Was this necessary?”

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “I’ve never been a fan of locks.”

August actually scowled—or what passed for scowling with him, a deep crease between his eyebrows.

She turned her attention back to Emily. “I’ll need a uniform.”

August straightened in surprise. “Why?”

Kate cracked a smile, but she let Flynn say the words: “Miss Harker has offered to join the Force.”

“This is a bad idea,” called August.

He was down on one knee, trying to reattach the doorknob to his bedroom door while Kate finished dressing on the other side.

“So you’ve said,” she called back. “Three times.”

“It bears repeating.”

She rapped her knuckles on the wood—the signal that he could enter. August straightened and nudged the door open. Kate stood there, dressed in FTF gear, her eyes shielded by that pale sweep of hair, the rest of it pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the scar that traced the left line of her face, temple to jaw.

She gestured down at the fatigues. “How do I look?”

The uniform suited her more than it had ever suited him. But it wasn’t just the clothes, it was the way she wore them. Commanding. Kate Harker had always had a kind of presence, and seeing her like this, it made him think of that game she played, imagining a different version of her life, herself. For a second he glimpsed the version where she’d stayed.

“August?” she prompted.

He couldn’t lie. He didn’t need to. “You look like you belong.”

Kate flicked him a smile and sank onto his bed to lace up her boots.

“But why would you even want to join the FTF?”

“Oh, I don’t,” said Kate briskly, “but if I stay in this apartment, I’m going to lose my mind, and that wouldn’t be much good to anyone now, would it?”

“This is a—”

“So help me God if you say bad idea.”

“You’re Callum Harker’s daughter.”

She gasped. “Really?”

“Half the FTF would probably like to see you hanged.”

She looked up. “Only half?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. He wasn’t worried about Henry or Em, but Ilsa might be in her room. “What about your . . . bond with the Chaos Eater?”

Kate’s attention snapped toward the door, even as her tone went flat. “What about it?”

“Does Henry know?”

“I didn’t tell him,” she said coolly. “Did you?”

He’d thought about it. August had never been good at keeping secrets. But if Henry found out—if Soro found out—there would be no protecting her.

Should he be protecting her?

Yes, she was a criminal, but this—this hadn’t been a crime; she hadn’t brought it on herself. She was the victim, one who’d managed to get away, if not entirely. She was their best connection—their only connection—to the monster, if it was really in their midst.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lie for her.

But he wouldn’t expose her either.

“Not yet.”

He swept the violin onto his shoulder and led Kate to the elevator.

“You’re not going to shadow me all day, are you?” she asked. “I’m already persona non grata, and I doubt I’ll earn any points by traveling with a bodyguard, especially a Sunai.”

“No.”

“Great, so just point me in the right direction. I promise not to run off or get in any fights—”

“Kate—”

“Okay, I promise not to start any fights—”

“I’ve enlisted someone else.”

The elevator came and they stepped inside, the world collapsing to the space of a five-foot square. As the metal doors slid shut, he found Kate staring at him—or at least, at his warped reflection—studying him as if she could see the blood he’d scrubbed from his skin. “What?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened to you.”

He tensed. “Not this again.”

“What am I missing? Where did you go?”

He closed his eyes and saw two versions of himself, the first surrounded by bodies, blood and shadow climbing his wrists, the second sitting on the roof, hoping to see stars; and as he watched, that second self began dissolving, like a dream, a memory unraveling moment by moment, slipping through his grip.

“I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not. I don’t know who this is, but the August I knew—”

“Doesn’t exist anymore.”

She twisted toward him. “Bullshit,” she snapped.

“Stop.”

But she didn’t. Even pitched low, her voice had a way of filling the narrow space. “What happened to him? Tell me. What happened to the August who wanted to feel human? The one would rather burn alive than let himself go dark?”

He kept his own gaze forward. “I’m willing to walk in darkness if it keeps humans in the light.”