My dad might have even found a new bargaining chip for Myriad.

I taste blood and realize I’m biting my tongue. My sibling will not be used the way I was used. I’ll die first.

“Did you know?” I ask Killian with more bite than I intended. “About the mistress’s baby?”

“I knew only about the affair.” His tone has as much bite as mine. “I requested reports on his activities, and they must have been redacted. Someone’s keeping secrets.”

His words spur a memory. My mother’s flash-scribe.

I know I haven’t come to see you in forever, but there’s a very good reason. A beautiful secret. One that’s taught me how to be a mother again.

While she was speaking, a baby was crying. “I wonder if the mistress already had her baby.” Was my mother allowed to claim responsibility for it?

Killian places his hand over the digital paper, his eyes closed. He’s downloading the story?

“No,” he finally says. “The mistress is only seven months along.”

I open my mouth to say more, but the guy in front of me looks over his shoulder for a moment. Our eyes meet before he turns forward then back to look again, lingering this time. He starts to grin.

Killian moves in front of me. “You’ll want ta keep your attention ahead,” he tells the guy. “The sooner the better. For you.”

The guy’s cheeks redden, and he swings around.

I’m not sure if I just witnessed a display of jealousy or the equivalent of a dog peeing on my leg. But either way, I’m smiling when I shouldn’t have anything to smile about.

My turn comes up, and I pay with Archer’s wad of cash. The cashier stuffs everything in a bag, and Killian, my gentleman bodyguard, grabs the handles. I’ve just pivoted to head for the door when a weight slams into me from behind. There’s a stinging pain in my back then a throbbing pain in my hip as I slam into the counter.

With a growl, Killian spins to push the culprit away from me. “Be careful.”

“Sorry, sorry. I tripped.” A teen who looks like he’s suffering from a cold wipes his nose with a tissue, a ring too big for his hand glinting in the light...before sneezing all over Killian. The kid apologizes again, and he does look sorry. He also looks miserable. Poor guy.

Killian stares at his soiled shirt and grimaces.

I snort as I’m dragged to the exit. Then I remember my sibling.

“What’s wrong?” Archer asks.

Rather than lie with the typical girl response—Nothing, I’m fine—I settle inside the car and angrily unwrap my first candy bar. If ever a girl needed sugar therapy...

I’m only halfway through when a horrible fog fills my head. A terrible ringing erupts in my ears. My heartbeat...warps, reduced to nothing but flutters, as if someone reached inside me and nailed the organ to my rib cage. Pain radiates from my left shoulder to the tips of my fingers.

Too young for a heart attack.

Muttering enters my awareness.

“—voice gives me a headache. Shut up.” Killian.

“How about I cut off your ears instead?” Archer.

I’m not sure if Killian responds. The pain in my shoulder increases exponentially, and I gasp. Buckets of sweat pour from me and yet the blood in my veins freezes. I open my mouth to cry for help—please!—but all I can manage is another gasp. Then I feeeel my heart welcoming death, fluttering one moment, going still the next. My lungs seize up, and suddenly I can’t breathe, can’t breathe, need to breathe.

The fog in my head grows thicker until—

The fog vanishes in an instant. And so does the pain. Suddenly I’m weightless, and I’m falling...falling...thud.

TROIKA

From: A_P_5/23.43.2

To: L_N_3/19.1.1

Subject: Now What?

I’m with Ten, and we’re headed to LA to see her dying mother. Killian is with us and the urge to attack now and apologize later is strong. Please advise.

TROIKA

From: L_N_3/19.1.1

To: A_P_5/23.43.2

Subject: My Best Advice

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

General Levi Nanne

TROIKA

From: A_P_5/23.43.2

To: L_N_3/19.1.1

Subject: Wow! Thanks!

Are your pearls of wisdom actually plastic?

TROIKA

From: L_N_3/19.1.1

To: A_P_5/23.43.2

Subject: All Right, How About This?

Don’t just protect the girl—get to know her better. I realize you like to maintain a bit of distance with your assignments because of what happened with Dior, but caring for someone doesn’t weaken you, son, it makes you stronger. To love is to have a reason to fight for something better.

Also, Miss Lockwood’s grandparents are Troikan Watchers and they’ve informed me there’s talk in Myriad of another attempt on Miss Lockwood’s life. Do not leave her side.

TROIKA

From: A_P_5/23.43.2

To: L_N_3/19.1.1

Subject: Seriously

Corroded plastic. But I won’t leave her side by choice. You have my word.

TROIKA

From: Unknown

To: A_P_5/23.43.2

Subject: Hi

She died. You should have saved her. Why didn’t you save her? She died at 10:17 on November 12 of this year. Details attached.

TROIKA

From: A_P_5/23.43.2

To: Unknown

Subject: Who Is This?

How did you access my rank and ID?

And how could she—whoever she is—have died on November 12 at 10:17 of this year? That date is a week away.

As for your attachment with “details”? It’s a crudely drawn map to a crack house. Thanks, but no thanks.

Chapter seventeen

“Truth evolves. What is true today may not be true tomorrow.”

—Myriad

I roll over bumpy ground, air exploding from my lungs.

Gleeful laughter assaults my ears just before something hard slams into my stomach. A boot? Then a bird squawks, and the laughter stops. Footsteps. A man screams in pain. A second later, a lot of someones are screaming.

Get up! Get up! Danger!

I pry open my eyelids, expecting to see Killian and Archer with blades at each other’s throats. At the very least, I should be inside the SUV, surrounded by paved roads, trees and buildings. Instead I see moonlight and ember-bugs, gnarled trees with toothy leaves that are snapping at me.

The Realm of Many Ends?

No, no, no. I’m not dead. Not again. I can’t be.

But I am. Clearly.

My heart—finally working again—trips in panic. There are no monkey-skeletons in the sky, at least. Did they already capture prey? I draw in a deep breath, but the thick smoke and black clouds burn my throat, making me cough. A storm is brewing. In a place like this, I don’t think I’ll be treated to ordinary rain.

Weapon up. Now. The more the better.

Right. I search the ground, find a fallen twig. The moment I grab it, a sharp sting causes the muscles in my fingers to spasm. I drop the twig and watch as three beads of blood well in my palm.

Three...a triad. The noblest of all numbers. The only number equal to the sum of the numbers below it.

Troika.

The wells are...puncture wounds? Crouching down, I study the short, wrist-thick piece of wood, only then seeing the little brown bugs crawling all over it. And—

Oh. Wow, wow, wow. Dizziness nearly topples me. As I fight to remain standing, a crack of thunder booms so loudly my eardrums actually rupture. Grimacing, I stand. Again I teeter. With a single step forward, I almost face-plant. Ember-bugs were waiting nearby and now strike en masse, burning me.