“The room isn’t soundproofed,” said August.

“Then play softly,” countered his father. “It’s worth some dazed bystanders, if it helps with their pain.”

August fetched his violin. Henry stepped outside, and August closed the door behind him and drew up a chair, bow hesitating over the strings.

He thought of the soldier in the cell.

Soro snapping the man’s neck.

Leo saying it was a waste.

But he also thought of the relief washing over the soldier, the struggle going out of his limbs.

Maybe there is more to us than murder.

He started to play, softly, and within seconds the muffled sounds of pain fell away. The tension in the patients’ limbs slackened, their breathing eased, and their souls began to surface, filling the infirmary with pale but steady light.

August exhaled, his own body loosening with the music, and for the first time in four years, the song itself felt like a kind of nourishment, filling him like light, like life, like a soul, and— Tablets began to chime. They went off at once, all over the Compound, and August faltered, losing the melody. A broadcast? Across the entire task force?

He set the instrument aside, drawing his own device from his pocket.

He read the message once, then again and again, and then he was on his feet, the violin abandoned as he ran.

The doors banged open, revealing an empty roof, an open sky.

And no Kate.

August backtracked to the apartment, trying to stay calm, telling himself she wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t walk straight into a trap, not alone, that Kate was smarter than that— But he also heard the words she’d whispered into his collar and saw the silver dancing in her eyes, a demon twisting her thoughts toward violence.

Harris and Ani were playing cards on the couch, Allegro between them.

Ani looked up. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

Jackson was making coffee, his tablet in his hand.

“Hey, August, any idea what this means?”

He didn’t answer.

The bedroom was empty.

The bathroom was empty.

Harris was on his feet now. “What’s going on?”

I’ll kill her myself.

He should never have left her alone.

“It’s Kate, isn’t it?” said Ani, shoving on her boots. “I can tell by your face.”

Jackson blocked his path, coffee in hand. August was taller, but Jackson was broader by far. “Get out of my way,” ordered August.

“Where are we going, captain?”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” said August.

Ani tsked. “No solo missions.”

“I’d never ask—”

“You don’t have to,” said Harris, zipping up his vest. “You go, we go.”

August shook his head. “You don’t even care about her.”

“No,” said Ani, holstering a blade. “But you do. And that’s a first.”

Jackson downed the last of his coffee. “Where’s she headed?”

“The tower,” said August.

“Odds of catching her before she hits the Seam?”

“Depends if she’s on foot . . .”

Ani was on the comm. “Alpha squad here; we need a jeep.”

Just like that, they’d fallen into form. As if this were any other mission. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us, boss. Not until we bring her back.”

Kate was many things, but she wasn’t stupid.

She knew it was a trap. Of course she did. But the way she saw it, either Alice would be waiting for her, or Sloan would, and either way, she had a debt to pay.

She didn’t look back, couldn’t afford to second-guess.

The Seam rose ahead of her, and the line of light that traced its spine must have been on a different transformer, because it was still up, soldiers pacing on top. Kate secured her helmet and started up the ladder, reminding herself over and over that she was one of them—or rather, still suited up from the attack at the power station, she looked like one of them.

She crested the edge and stepped onto the Seam’s spine, thankful she’d never been afraid of heights. North City sprawled out below her—from this position she could see down the main thoroughfare, straight to Harker Hall.

“What are you doing here?” demanded an FTF with the bearing of a squad leader.

Kate didn’t hesitate. Pauses give a lie away. “Here to relieve someone, sir.”

The soldier held out a hand, as if to shake, but when Kate took it, he pulled her close.

“Relief units arrived ten minutes ago,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “Try again.”

Kate let out an exasperated breath. She really didn’t have time for this. One hand still pinned in the FTF’s grip, she drew her gun with the other, leveling it at his chest.

“I’m going over this wall,” she said quietly. “One way or another.”

The dark sang through her: the weight of the steel in her hand, the shock on his face, the dizzying relief of being in control. It would be so easy—but she kept the safety on and her finger away from the trigger, and the sight of the weapon—or maybe her willingness to use it—was enough to make the man let go.

Kate took a step toward the nearest ladder.