Try to call me again.

And Kayla, give her a hug for me.

As soon as you can.

I miss you, Jenna.

We know you’re where you need to be.

And tell Allys the chocolate peach was gone in the first five minutes.

Be careful, Locke.

Always.

And one more thing, this girl Raine. Be careful about collateral damage, even for a noble cause. She’s only a girl.

I wi—

The phone goes dead. Our time has run out. Like it always seems to.

I close my eyes, crumpling the phone tab in my fist.

“Hey. You gotta move. We bring supplies in this way.”

A kid looking around a stack of boxes in his arms waits for me to move. I leave, squeezing past him, and throw the tab into a trash can I pass out on the market mall.

Collateral damage. What does Jenna think I’m doing? And talk about collateral damage? What does she think I was for 260 years? Kara and I were the price of progress. And I’m still paying that price.

I would never hurt Raine, not the way I’ve been hurt, but nothing is going to stop me from getting this Favor done, one way or another. I’m not going to carry illegal ID forever and this is one step to get me where I want to be.

I pass a basket of the government issue charity coats near a recycle chute. The small cylinders that contain each coat look dusty and old, which isn’t surprising. Most citizens won’t touch them and a Non-pact could never pick one up here because it’s restricted public space. I remember the first time I put one on and saw my reflection in the train station window. I saw someone I didn’t recognize. Someone I needed to be. Someone dark and dangerous.

I reach down and grab one of the coat cylinders from the basket and throw it into my pack. I know I can’t wear it, but I want it just the same, maybe as a talisman like the green glass of Liberty, a reminder of why I’m here in the first place.

Carver calls twice about nothing in particular, just checking on me. It’s clear he’s on edge when he sees I’m not at the apartment, but he doesn’t lose his cool. He never seems to. Everything about him seems neatly tucked and squared away. Still, I see the hunger in his face again. The eagerness. That he can’t hide. I guess the things you want the most aren’t so easy to disguise. I need to remember that.

I ask him about Karden and the lack of images in the file.

“We don’t have any,” he says, and cuts off suddenly. I don’t know if the cutting out was deliberate or if modern communications still suffer from dropped calls. He seemed agitated so I will assume the former. It’s hard to believe there are no images of Karden, considering his notoriety and role in the Resistance. On the other hand, he did keep an extremely low profile in order to avoid detection. He would have avoided recorded images at all cost. I can always get a physical description from someone, maybe from Jenna. I don’t want Xavier to know that I plan to take over his role in getting Karden.

In the afternoon I take what appears to be a slow leisurely walk along where I think the green line used to run. A lot of the buildings have changed and that skews my point of reference, but I remember walking the streets and knowing where the tunnels ran beneath the city. I walk the distance between the Old Library Building and the public gardens looking for anything that hints of a detainment complex under the streets but see nothing suspicious so I go to the public gardens where Xavier said there was a hidden entry point to the tunnels. It’s not that hidden, only a few overgrown bushes cover a makeshift stairway made of rocks and rubble, but I guess with sightings of body parts, no one would venture down there even if there were flashing neon signs pointing to the entrance.

I take a few steps down. In the light of day, I can see the pathway ahead easily. I assume the body parts were a ruse but I’m not foolish either and I listen for any kind of sound. It’s quiet, not even the rush of a fleeing rat. I proceed down a few more steps until I can see into the cavern. It’s dark but there’s still enough daytime light filtering down the stairway for me to see that it’s the old Arlington station. A few of the turnstiles are still there and some of the white tiles that used to cover the walls are there too, but most of it’s a grim decaying mess smelling of waste and neglect. I can’t imagine the very fastidious LeGru walking five steps into this rathole, much less all the way down one of the tunnels.

My eyes adjust to the dim light, and I take a few more steps in until I’m on the edge of where the real blackness begins, the original green line tunnel, and miles of other tunnels that could go anywhere.

I hear movement, a faint skitter, something small, maybe a mouse or a rat. I take another step and a loud screech blasts the air around me seeming to come from all directions, bouncing off walls so it sounds like a hundred screeches. I bolt for the entrance and scramble up the steps as fast as I can, stones tumbling down behind me. In seconds I’m back in the gardens and I breathe deeply, telling myself I was just spooked with all of Xavier’s talk of body parts and half-dogs. It was probably just an owl. Lots of normal creatures could live down there. They probably do. Their noises may be what started the rumors of half-dogs in the first place. Still, next time before I go down, I think I’ll have Karden’s knife out of my pack and ready in my hand—with the largest blade extended.

When I’m almost back to the apartment, Xavier calls. He wants to make sure I’m staying in tonight. I tell him I plan to do some reviewing. “There’s always more to learn.”

“Good idea,” he says.