She was barefoot in a sundress, her hair a cloud of wild red curls and her shoulders speckled with stars, but it was the brutal red scar across her throat that Kate saw first.

The man at the desk stood and bowed his head, a gesture halfway between deference and fear, but Kate’s spirits lifted at the sight of the Sunai.

The first—and only—time they’d met, Kate had woken in a strange motel to find the Sunai’s face inches from her own. She’d heard the stories of Ilsa Flynn. The ones that painted the first Sunai as the worst of the monsters, a walking massacre who’d once shed her human form and reduced two hundred lives and a downtown block to charred remains. But the Ilsa in that hotel—the one here now—was someone else. Someone gentle, kind.

She gave Kate a look, lightly scolding, and even without a voice, Kate could imagine her saying, You shouldn’t be down here and you know it.

Ilsa flicked her fingers toward the soldier, as if shaking off water, took Kate’s hand, and drew her back into the elevator.

“It was worth a shot,” murmured Kate as the doors closed, but Ilsa’s expression was already twisting, a shadow crossing the delicate planes of her face. The air itself seemed to change, laced with a sudden new chill, as if Ilsa’s mood were a tangible thing.

“What is it?”

Ilsa reached up, thin fingers hovering over Kate’s eyes—no, just the one. Her stomach dropped. Ilsa knew—about the shard, the sickness. A dozen different thoughts rose to Kate’s mind, but it was a question that crossed her lips.

“What happened to August?”

Ilsa’s hands fell away.

She shook her head, but Kate had the feeling that Ilsa wasn’t saying no, so much as expressing some great sadnesss.

The elevator stopped on the training floor, and the doors slid open. As Kate stepped out, Ilsa brightened, holding up one hand. The other vanished into the deep pockets of her sundress, and a second later she produced Kate’s tablet. The one Soro had taken.

Ilsa held the device up, as if in answer, before pushing it into Kate’s hands. Kate stared down at the tablet, then slipped it into her vest pocket as her watch chimed a warning. She was out of time.

At one end of the corridor stood an exit, unguarded.

At the other, the door to the training hall.

Kate swore under her breath and took off running.

She was late.

Team Twenty-Four was already gathered, two of the older soldiers squaring off, one with a red kerchief knotted at his throat.

“Your objective,” the instructor was saying, “is to subdue the Fang as quickly as possible.” The woman saw Kate jogging up and a malicious little glee sparked on her face.

“Ten laps.”

Kate opened her mouth to say something, but the rest of the team was already heading for the track. Nobody argued or groaned, but she knew the moment they started running that whatever traction she’d earned that morning was officially gone. Boots appeared out of nowhere, clipping her ankles or heels.

Kate stumbled once or twice, but didn’t fall, and soon the team gave up trying to trip her and focused on leaving her behind.

“You came back.”

It was Mony, her stride easy, as if she could do this all day.

“I’m starting to regret it,” said Kate.

As they circled the hall, Kate watched a dozen other teams practice the same maneuvers, watched as a pair toward the center scuffled, and went down in a tangle of limbs that ended with the “Fang” pinned, one arm behind his back. The soldier started to let him up when the “Fang” threw an elbow. It was a dirty move—but the message was clear. The Fangs wouldn’t fight fair.

“What happens if you can’t subdue them?”

“We don’t have a choice. It’s a crime to kill another person.”

“Sure, but has it ever happened?”

“Tanner,” said Colin, a stride or two behind them.

“Alex Tanner,” said Mony, picking up speed. Colin yelped, but Kate lengthened her stride to keep up.

“Go on.”

“Alex was a North City guy in the first batch of converts. Never should have had a gun. The kind of man just looking for an excuse to shoot something, you know? Which is fine if all you’ve got to shoot are monsters.”

Their shoes found a steady rhythm.

“But his first time out, he empties his weapon into a group of Fangs. Didn’t even try to bring them in.”

“What happened?”

“His squad tried to cover for him,” called Colin, breathless.

“Idiots,” muttered Mony. “Like that kind of thing just washes off. Sunai can smell it. So, the Council decided to make an example. They gathered all the squads here in the hall, and brought Tanner out, and made us watch while that one”—at this, she flicked her head toward the doors and Kate twisted to see Soro, straight-backed and chin high, surveying the hall—“reaped him. An object lesson in what happens to sinners.”

Kate’s chest tightened. “Did it work?”

“I’m telling you the story, aren’t I? Every now and then, someone messes up. Tensions get high, mistakes are made. They don’t make an example of those. When it happens, the soldier just disappears. There’s a saying in the ranks: Soro comes for the bad, but Ilsa comes for the sorry.”