Eyes hot, she touched the spot on the bed where Jitterbug would’ve curled up had he been alive. “You’re free,” she said through the tears that wanted to fall. “And so am I.” Now, she had to become strong enough to take on Renault when he came after her. Because as Amara had confirmed, she was a drug to psychopaths. Renault wouldn’t give up.

Rising, she took a long shower, then dressed in the fresh clothing that had been left for her. After making her bed, she folded up Alexei’s T-shirt and put it under her pillow. It was hers now and tough luck to him. He could fight her if he wanted it back.

Her stomach fluttered, the sadness of the past beginning to be outweighed by the unfurling wonder of the present. She had curtains she could pull to allow in daylight, a window she could open, a door of her own. She could choose what to eat, what to wear. Her heart threatened to explode, it was so full.

As she fluffed up her pillows, she wondered when the new clothes she’d ordered would arrive. Though the Empathic Collective stipend was a generous one, she’d been careful to use only a small percentage of it. Until she knew when it would be renewed, if it would be renewed, she had to hoard her resources. But clothes were a necessity . . . to her body, and to her soul.

For the first time, Memory alone had made the decision on how she would dress.

Likely, delivery this deep into DarkRiver territory would take a few days at the very least; she didn’t imagine the cats permitted the drone drops advertised on several of the catalogs. She could be patient. She’d wash the sweats that Alexei had given her at the substation, wear them in conjunction with this set of clothing until she had her order.

As for her hair, she’d decided to wash it again, this time skipping the shampoo and using only great helpings of the tea-tree-oil-based conditioner Alexei had found for her. The strands remained a knotted mess—she’d taken great pride in tangling her hair to thwart and frustrate Renault—but it did feel better than before. She’d finger-combed her wet curls as much as she could before getting sore arms and promising herself she’d have another go tomorrow.

If she tied the mass back once it wasn’t so damp anymore, she could get away with it. It’d be far from pretty, but no longer did she look like she’d taken up keeping birds in her hair. That counted as a definite win. Smiling, she went into the kitchen and prepared coffee and toast. Sunshine poured in through the windows, but it was weak and soft. As if dawn hadn’t fully come.

Though the weather appeared to have a crisp edge to it, she decided to sit on the porch while she ate. When in the bunker, when in her prison, she’d often dreamed about small, everyday things that would be a wonder when done in freedom. Some dreams, however, had been beyond her comprehension.

She touched her fingers to her lower lip, still able to feel the imprint of Alexei’s kiss and the tug of that small, wicked bite. Her skin prickled with sensation, her cheeks flushing. Ready to battle him today until he stopped attempting to play knight protector—she knew who and what she wanted thank you very much—Memory picked up her breakfast and went to sit out on the porch. It had no railing, so she was able to sit on the edge with her feet on the ground; her intent was to watch the quiet waking of the compound.

She’d just taken her seat, her plate beside her but the mug yet in her hand, when she noticed a small box sitting off to one side of the front door. Putting down her mug on a wave of anticipation that one of her orders had somehow arrived, she dragged the box close.

Inside sat a pair of sparkly sneakers covered with multicolored sequins.

Her eyes went huge. They were wonderful.

Immediately shucking off the ugly blue trainers that Renault had forced her to wear, she pulled on the sneakers that fit perfectly and glittered even in the washed-out morning light. Only after she’d admired them for at least five minutes did her brain compute that she hadn’t ordered sparkly sequined sneakers.

She examined the box again and spotted a small piece of paper that she’d missed in her earlier excitement. It was covered by a black scrawl: I thought you might like these. Brand-new. Found them in the pack stores and they looked like they might fit you.

That was it. No signature. No other explanation. Yet she knew without a single doubt that it was Alexei who’d left the shoes for her. Because he thought she would like something pretty and shiny and new. Even though she’d yelled “Chicken!” at him when he left.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” she promised her golden wolf, “even if you threaten to eat me.” Bubbles of joy bursting inside her, she picked up her abandoned coffee and took in the compound.

The Arrows were difficult to see, ghosts in the mist, but a dark-skinned woman with a lovely oval face came out of the cabin directly across from Memory right then. She looked to be close to Memory’s age, but held herself with a confidence that Memory had never known.

“Hi!” A huge smile on the stranger’s face, her hand rising in a wave.

Memory’s stomach muscles clenched, but she waved back. She had no idea how empaths aside from Sascha would react to her.

“I’m Jaya,” her neighbor said when she reached Memory. “One of the teachers here—I was part of the first intake. We’re short on experience, so anyone who can teach anything is roped in.”

Of course. Many of the first trainees would’ve been young—individuals not so entrenched in Silence that there was no hope of pulling them out. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Memory.”

“Yes, Sascha told me.” Jaya’s welcoming smile showed no indication of fading. “You always up so early? If you are, we can get in an hour or two of drills before everyone else starts stirring and Sascha arrives for your sessions on shield mechanics.”

“I’d like that.” Blanketed by the warmth of Jaya’s presence, Memory dared imagine the young E might one day become her friend. “It won’t trouble you to wake early?” At present, the only others who appeared awake were the Arrows . . . and a slinky gray cat who came over to talk to them.

“Hello, Phantom—back from your morning prowl, are you?” Jaya reached out to scratch him behind the ears. “He adopted me about three months ago, and when a cat adopts you . . .” A sudden, quiet glance. “Oh, this hurts you.”

Memory rubbed a fist over her heart. “I had a cat,” she whispered through a thick throat. “He died of old age just before Alexei found me.”

Jaya patted Memory gently on the thigh as she stood back up.

After rubbing his body along one of Jaya’s legs, Phantom ignored Memory to pad off into the morning mist. “He’s a terrible snob.” Jaya sat down beside Memory. “Takes days to decide if you’re acceptable and worthy of his attention—half the time, he glares at my husband for having the nerve to kiss me.”

Memory gave a laugh that felt rusty and wet.

Jaya ran her hand down Memory’s spine. “They get inside your heart, don’t they?”

Memory could only nod.

“As for me,” Jaya continued, “I tend to wake with Abbot’s shifts. I’ve become so used to cuddling next to his body that my eyes snap open the instant he leaves the bed.” She pointed to a shadow in between two cabins in the far distance. “The one with the killer sea-blue eyes and black hair is mine.”

Memory bit down on her lower lip. “He doesn’t seem like a cuddling sort of man,” she ventured warily. Alexei knew how to cuddle. Even when he was growling at her, if she went to him, he’d hold her. Jaya’s Abbot, in contrast, stood expressionless, his body at battle readiness and his eyes as cold as the Arctic.

Jaya laughed—and Memory saw Abbot’s gaze turn toward her. But there was no softening in his features, nothing to betray that Jaya meant more to him than any other empath under his watch. Except . . . Jaya blew him a kiss, as if he’d made a grand gesture of love. “I had to work on him a bit,” the other woman whispered conspiratorially. “But my Abbot once stayed up all night with me—playing cards very badly—just so I wouldn’t be scared. I knew then that he was a keeper.”

“I understand.” Someone who stood with you in the worst times and who didn’t take advantage of your weakness, that was a person you could trust. Like a wolf who kissed you even after he’d learned your most terrible secret.

Memory’s toes curled inside her astonishingly wonderful shoes. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked hesitantly, not sure she wasn’t assuming too much in Jaya’s friendliness.

“When I get back from my walk, if that works for you?” At Memory’s nod, she added, “I need to shake off a few of the cobwebs from staying up late to write my first column.” Jaya got up with a groan. “I don’t know what I was thinking, agreeing to be the Beacon’s new social interaction columnist.”

Memory made an immediate note to download a copy of Jaya’s column.

“We should have forty-five minutes together after I get back. Now I have to go distract Abbot for a minute.” A wink before she turned to walk in the direction of the blue-eyed Arrow.

He watched her come to him with no alteration in his expression . . . but cupped her cheek with one hand when she reached him, a piercing tenderness to his touch that was wholly unexpected in a man so outwardly martial and cold. Smiling, Memory looked away to give the couple their privacy, and finished her breakfast. She was considering whether to go inside and pour herself another coffee when her eyes widened.

Ashaya Aleine had just walked out of the trees from what Memory guessed was the DarkRiver side of the border. The M-Psy carried a small bag and at her side walked a tall man with amber-colored hair tied back in a queue and watchful eyes of near-gold, his movements subtly feline. He stopped next to one of the Arrows, an older man who appeared to be in charge of this unit, while Ashaya moved toward Memory.

The other woman’s face was drawn, her body stiff.

Rising to her feet, Memory girded herself for the confrontation to come; she had no idea what had passed between Ashaya and Amara after they left the cabin, but she could guess that it had been nothing good.