Cam nodded, and I nudged the door open with one foot while he knelt in the open doorway, below typical firing height, gun aimed and ready. He held that pose for a single breath, then rose smoothly to his feet.

I peeked into the apartment. The living room was empty. But Hunter was still in there. I could feel the pull of his blood, stronger than ever. Yet somehow different than it had felt before.

Cam stepped inside and I followed him, then pushed the door closed. Or, as close to closed as I could get it, because of the broken door frame. I checked the right half of the room while he checked the left, silently clearing the possible hiding places and turning on lights to banish the shadows one by one. You can never be too careful about shadows when tracking a Traveler.

The living room and kitchen were both clear, the only remaining shadows too small for a man to fit through. The bathroom was open, the shower curtain pulled to one side to reveal the empty tub. That only left the bedroom. But surely Hunter wasn’t in there. Why would he be, when a Traveler can leave a room just by stepping into a shadow?

Yet his blood pulled me toward the closed bedroom door.

I tossed my head toward the door and gave Cam a questioning look. He closed his eyes for a second, meditating on Hunter’s full name, then nodded. Every tracking instinct we had said that, in apparent defiance of logic, Hunter was still in his room.

Possible explanations ran through my head while fear and doubt prickled my skin. Was this a trap? Had Tower found out about my mark and hired Hunter to kill me? If so, this would be the easiest hit in history— I’d actually tracked the man contracted to shoot me.

And what about Cam? Did Tower consider him a traitor? Was he on the chopping block, too?

Or was there a simpler explanation for why a Traveler would stay in an apartment with two people intent on killing him? Was his bedroom somehow devoid of shadows? Was he too weak from blood loss to travel? Could that have something to do with why the level of Skill in his blood had dropped between the sample Anne had provided and the one I’d found in his bathroom?

We took positions on either side of the bedroom door, and again, I knocked on the frame. “Eric, come on out,” I said.

Harsh laughter from the other side of the door, followed by a man’s voice. “They sent a girl. I’m not sure if that’s insult to injury, or a gift from above.”

I glanced at Cam. Hunter thought I was alone, which gave us the element of surprise. I chose to ignore his misogynistic underestimation of my abilities, but who were the “they,” who’d supposedly sent me? “I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

Yes, I was lying. But considering I was about to commit vigilante murder, a half-truth felt pretty insignificant.

“Yeah, right.” Hunter laughed again, but this time sarcasm exposed his nerves. “Because you guys are known for asking questions first.”

You guys? I mouthed to Cam. Who did he think I was?

Cam pushed up his left sleeve and tapped chain links on his upper bicep.

Oh, shit. Hunter thought the Tower syndicate had sent someone to kill him. But why? Had he assumed that our break-in earlier meant the syndicate would rather kill him than pay him? Or had he actually given Tower a reason to come after him?

Was he running his mouth? Demanding more money? Threatening to turn state’s witness?

“So you know why I’m here?” I said, playing along, hoping for more information.

“Unless they’re sending singing telegrams now instead of mercenaries—in which case you should start warming up—I’m gonna have to assume you’re here to kill me.”

Funny. We might have been friends, if he weren’t a hired killer. But then, considering I was standing outside his door with a loaded gun, maybe we had more than sarcasm in common.

“Look, I know you got your orders, and I know I fucked this up. But how ’bout, instead of killing me, you take him a message from me instead?”

Cam and I shared a look of mild surprise. The killer had messed up? “And what would that message be?” I called through the door.

“Tell him that if he kills me, he’s just going to have to hire someone else to clean things up. Or he can let me fix my own mistake—at no additional charge, of course.”

The man had balls—I had to give him that. But if I were under orders to kill him—and I was—going back to beg for mercy on his behalf wouldn’t even be a possibility. I’d be physically incapable of leaving until I’d done my best to kill him. Did Hunter really not know that, or was he speaking from desperation?

Cam looked as puzzled as I was.

“Why the hell should I put my ass on the line for you?” I asked.

“Because it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do the recon,” Hunter insisted. “Your guy did that. How was I supposed to know she wasn’t going to be there?”

She?

With that, my mental fog lifted, revealing the truth in stark, devastating clarity. Hunter wasn’t after Shen. He was after Annika. He thought Tower wanted him dead because he’d missed his target. Which might well be the case—was that why the syndicate seemed content to let us go after Hunter? Because we were saving them the trouble?

“You should have known exactly who was in the house before you went in,” I said, the facts and implications still tumbling around in my head.

“Fuck you, I did my job,” Hunter snapped. “I’m not gonna pay for someone else’s mistake. You come in here, and you won’t go back out.”