Archer follows him. “What’s going on?”

“One of our Conduits is in danger. We must—”

The connection to Archer, to Troika, is severed, cutting off his words.

“No!” I gasp out. “How is a Conduit in danger?”

The entire house shakes, a crack appearing in the wall. Am I the one in danger?

When the shaking stops, Deacon pushes us off the bed. “Someone’s coming.”

As we hop to our feet, a thump sounds in the hallway. Then the door bursts open and Killian strides inside the room. There’s a cut on his temple, the flesh leaking shimmering Lifeblood.

“We need to go,” he says to me. “Now.”

MYRIAD

From: P_B_4/65.1.18

To: K_F_5/23.53.6

Subject: Not Your Smartest Move

Where did you take the girl, Killian? Bring her back or this won’t end well for you.

MPB

MYRIAD

From: P_B_4/65.1.18

To: K_F_5/23.53.6

Subject: Answer Me!

We’ve captured one of Troika’s Conduits. He made the mistake of leaving the realm.

Bring the girl to me, or I kill the Conduit—and your mother.

MYRIAD

From: P_B_4/65.1.18

To: K_F_5/23.53.6

Subject: Too Late

The Conduit is dead. Your mother is next.

MYRIAD

From: P_B_4/65.1.18

To: K_F_5/23.53.6

Subject: Last Chance

Troika is severely weakened. Now is the time to strike! You’ve always wanted a chance like this. Come back, and you’ll get it. Or I can return to Myriad and track the girl, which I WILL do. Afterward, I’ll assign you to the Kennels for a decade—if I don’t kill you outright.

Chapter twenty-two

“We see who you’ll be.”

—Troika

Killian takes my hand. He’s trembling and mumbling about Pearl being a bitch. As he tugs me from the bedroom, I cast Sloan a look goodbye, but Deacon is already hustling her toward the window.

“Jump,” Killian says. There’s a dark edge to him. One I’ve never seen before.

I obey and end up on the other side of the fallen guard. Judging by the fist-size lump on his temple and the trickle of blood running down his cheek, he’s human rather than Shell.

Word about my earlier outburst must have spread, because no other guests have come up here.

“What are you doing, Killian?”

“Making sure you survive the night.”

We pass my mother’s room. At the end of the hall, he stops to pick the lock on my father’s door. We rush inside. Well. Not everyone heard I’m on a rampage. Three people in different stages of undress leap from the bed when Killian flips on the light. He palms a gun, aims and fires off three consecutive shots. There’s no boom, no pop, only a soft whiz. Darts, I realize. All three people collapse.

He pushes me into the walk-in closet. He throws clothes from one of the racks, and I kick off my high heels. If we’re going on the run, I kinda need to be able to run. “Your dad needed a way out of the house if protests ever got too violent. There should be a lock—here.”

Click.

A doorway opens up, revealing a dark, dank staircase. We enter, the door closing behind us automatically. The scent of dust pervades, tickling my nose and throat, and I sneeze.

“I don’t want you in trouble, Killian,” I say.

“My choice, Ten.”

Zero! He’s using my own words against me. “Why are you choosing to do this?”

“I told you. You’ll make your decision without pressure.”

I can’t stop my next actions and have no desire to try. As soon as we reach the bottom, I throw my arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. “You are a wonderful person, Killian. Better than you’ve ever given yourself credit for.”

He turns and clings to me for a moment, only a moment. A stolen treasure of time. Then he disengages and, as if nothing happened between us, continues down the passage. When we reach the end, he punches a code into the pad by the door. The door’s hinges creak as he peeks outside.

“How did you know the code?”

“Archer spoke to Maggie, then to me.”

The two are working together now? Without my aid?

Killian leads me into the haze of the approaching night, the security lights that surround the house shining from different walls. Not that it matters. He’s an expert at evading every pocket of illumination. And the guards on patrol. Without incident, he gets us to the road, where a silver Porsche awaits. I’m surprised when Elena climbs out and throws the keys at Killian.

He utters a hasty “Thank you” before taking her place behind the wheel.

“I hope you’re worth it.” She glares at me. “He’ll never recover from this. Neither will I.”

“I— Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say, and know she won’t accept an impromptu hug. I climb into the passenger seat. Tires squeal as Killian speeds away. “Killian—”

“I’ll be fine.” He reaches over and takes my hand. He’s still trembling. Our fingers link, and I don’t mean to, but I cleave to him. “I always am.”

“There’s a first time for everything. What if—”

“No. We can’t go there.” Can’t operate in a state of fear. “Do we have a destination tonight?”

“Yes. Your aunt’s house.”

Aunt Lina. Loony Lina. “I haven’t seen her in years.” I wonder which version of her I’ll find today. “Won’t that be the first place Pearl looks?”

“Yes,” he repeats, “but she won’t find you there.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry. You will. Pearl mentioned tracking you, which means she had a tracker put inside you. I should have known.”

A tracker? “How?” I ask, appalled. “Where?”

He squeezes my hand. “Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you?”

There’s a sense of urgency in his tone now, as if he has a wealth of things to say but only a short time to do so. “Let me guess. Great, she’s crazier than I heard.”

His chuckle is soft but ragged. “Yes, but soon after that?”

“After I punched you in the throat?”

“During our date.”

“No.” I lose my breath. “Tell me.”

“I thought of something Archer told me right before he defected to Troika. Something I hadn’t allowed myself to think about until that day. About a horse—”

“Hey!”

He smiles at me. “A warhorse. It’s a compliment.”

“Well, then, let’s hear the rest of this supposed compliment.”

“The day Archer chose Troika, I told him we were enemies and I would come for him. I told him that his father would forever hate him, and that he’d make it a personal mission to destroy him. His response confused me, until today. He said, The warhorse paws fiercely, rejoicing in its strength, and charges into the fray. It laughs at fear, afraid of nothing; it does not shy away from the sword. The quiver rattles against its side, along with the flashing spear and lance. In frenzied excitement it eats up the ground; it cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds. At the blast of the trumpet it snorts, ‘Aha!’ It catches the scent of battle from afar, the shout of commanders and the battle cry.” Killian squeezes my hand. “Then he added, When you fight for what you know is right, my friend, you already have the victory. There’s nothing to fear.”