“How do we know he isn’t working a night shift?” I asked Marcus.

Marcus propped his feet up on the porch’s railing. “Because he’s an Alchemist that got in trouble for breaking rules and stepping out of line. If he was an Alchemist who’d become so fascinated with vampires he was in danger of collaborating with Strigoi, they’d give him a night shift to keep an eye on him. But for general insubordination? He’s probably on an eight-to-five schedule, just to remind him what normal human life is like—and to save those night shifts for the real risks.”

Marcus was proven right ten minutes later when a Kia Sorrento pulled up in the parking lot, and Keith came striding out toward the apartment. When he caught sight of us—specifically, me—he ground to a halt and grew visibly pale.

“No. No,” he said. “You can’t be here. Oh my God. What if it’s too late? What if someone’s seen you?” He looked around frantically, as though expecting an Alchemist SWAT team to leap out at him.

“Relax, Keith,” I said, getting to my feet. “We just want to talk.”

He shook his head vehemently. “I can’t. I can’t talk to your kind, unless it’s business. And I’m not allowed to actually do business with your kind until I—”

“It’s about Carly Sage,” I interrupted.

That drew his rambling up short. He stared at us for several long moments, deliberation written all over his features. “Okay,” he said at last. “You can come inside.”

Nervously, Keith stepped forward and unlocked his door, continuing to cast anxious looks at both us and the rest of the parking lot. Once we were in, he drew all the curtains and then backed up as far away from us as possible, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Who is this guy? Is Carly okay?”

“This is my friend, uh, John,” I said, realizing I probably shouldn’t cite the first name of one of the Alchemists’ most wanted renegades. As it was, he’d put on some sort of makeup to cover his indigo tattoo. “And Carly’s totally fine. We just saw her yesterday.”

Keith’s demeanor softened a little. “You . . . you saw her? She’s doing well?”

“Very well,” said Marcus. “She’s the one who gave us your address. She wanted us to come talk to you.”

“S-she did?” Keith’s eyes widened in wonder, which was actually kind of creepy, since one of his eyes was made of glass.

“Sydney’s missing,” I told him. “Carly wants you to help us find her.”

Keith looked genuinely surprised to hear this, then his expression turned to one of wariness. “Missing where?”

“She’s in re-education,” I said bluntly.

“No,” he groaned. “No. I knew I shouldn’t have let you in. I can’t have anything to do with this. I can’t have anything to do with her, not if she’s there.” He closed his eyes and sank to the ground. “Oh, God. They’ll find out you were here and send me back.”

“No one will know,” I said, hoping that was true. Until this moment, I never thought I’d feel pity for Keith. “We just need to know where Sydney is. She’s at the same place you were. Where’s it located?”

He opened his eyes and managed some kind of choking laugh. “You think they told us? They don’t even let us see the sun! We’re lucky to get light of any kind.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

A haunted look crossed Keith’s features. “It’s what happens when you’re in isolation.”

“Sydney’s not in isolation,” I said, not entirely following. “She’s with other people.”

“That’s its own kind of torture,” he said bitterly. “You learn pretty quickly what to do and not do to make your life easier.”

I was kind of itching to get more details, but Marcus pushed us back on track. “Okay, I get that they wouldn’t tell you where you were, but you did leave eventually. You had to come outside that place to get here.”

“Yes. Blindfolded,” Keith said. “I wasn’t allowed to see anything until I was far away from there. And don’t ask me to gauge distances because I have no idea. I was in different cars and planes. . . . I lost track after a while. And honestly, getting back to that place was the last thing on my mind, so I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“But you were conscious,” Marcus reminded him. “You couldn’t see, but you had your other senses. Do you remember anything else? Sounds? Smells?”

Keith started to shake his head, but then I saw a spark of remembrance flash in his eye. He kept his mouth shut, the earlier wariness returning.

“I don’t know if Carly will ever forgive you, even if you help us,” I said quietly. “But I know for a fact she won’t if you’re sitting on information that could help her sister.”

Keith looked as though I’d hit him. “I tried everything,” he murmured. “I begged. I pleaded. I even got down on my knees.”

I realized he was talking about Carly now, not re-education. “Why?” I asked, in spite of myself. “Why do you care now about her forgiveness? Where was your conscience all those years ago? Or any of the years since then?”

“Re-education did it,” he said, staring down at his feet. “I’d never felt so helpless—so hopeless—in my life as I did there. To be completely under someone’s power, with no one to turn to for help, to make someone feel like they’re at fault for you hurting them . . . I realized that was exactly what I’d done to Carly. That hangs over me every day.”