“We need to go,” she says. “My father—Secretary Branson—is probably loose by now. He’ll stop at nothing to get you back.”

“And you,” I add. The Secretary may want Karden for money, but I saw the wild fury in his eyes as we walked away. He wants Raine for something even more dire. Betrayal.

We make our way up the steps, Xavier holding Karden, who by now has little strength left at all. I step out from the bushes first, seeing if it’s safe. Xavier has a CabBot waiting not far away. I ask Raine to stay with Karden and I wave Xavier out so I can talk to him alone. I tell him about Carver. He squints, a mixture of anger and horror pressed across his face. I know the two of them didn’t get along, but it’s obvious he never expected such blatant betrayal, especially when he learns it was Carver who turned in Karden in the first place. We both agree that now is not the best time to tell Karden.

“There’s only room for the two of you in the cab,” I tell him. “We’ll take the PAT.” I slide the knife into his hand. “Two for two. Karden and the account,” I say. “We did it.”

He looks in my eyes, for once not in a hurry to look away. “Favor,” he answers. “You asked me what the F stood for in Mr. F. Favor. Only a code name but not friendly like your friend suggested.”

I grin. “Yeah, I knew it couldn’t stand for that.”

He grins. “I underestimated you, kid.”

“We’re not home free yet,” I answer. “You still have to get back and get that account secured—and hide Karden. The Secretary will be turning this city upside down looking for him.”

Raine comes through the bushes, supporting Karden with her good shoulder. “He’s getting weaker,” she says. “He needs to go.”

Xavier swings Karden’s arm over his shoulder, tightens his grip, and when we’re sure there are no Security vans in sight, makes a run for the cab.

When they’re gone, Raine and I step out, heading for the PAT station, but from out of nowhere a Security van cuts us off, its sirens piercing the air. We run for Beacon Street and the maze of alleys just beyond it that might give us an escape, but another van cuts us off. They converge from all directions, sirens screaming, another, and another, trapping us in the intersection, leaving us nowhere to go, but almost as quickly, yellow cabs invade the spaces between them, a small fleet darting into the intersection, filling it, recklessly ramming vans, stopping, jamming traffic, ten, twenty, thirty, an army of yellow cabs snug against van doors, blocking all possible exits from the vehicles. I see the Secretary in one of them, pounding on the window, trying to disengage it, screaming, his shoulder banging on his door to force it open against the cab that wedges him inside, his face spasming with rage at his inability to stop us when we’re within his sights. I recognize the CabBot crashed up against his door—Bob, the first one I told Dot’s story to.

“What’s happening?” Raine asks.

“A Favor,” I answer. I grab her hand, and through the chaos and snarl of crashed vans and cabs, we escape.

Sanctuary

I savor the silence, a different kind, not the nervous silence that listens for footsteps, or an alarm to ring. Just silence that is warm, slow, gentle to breathe, calm as a summer sea. The kind of silence where small sounds are welcome, the murmur of prayers below, the rumbling roost of pigeons on nearby window ledges, the occasional whispering groan of the ancient organ like it’s still settling in.

It wasn’t possible to go all the way across town. The city was crawling with Security Forces looking for us, and Raine’s bloody shoulder was a flag drawing attention. But we did find safe haven. Father Emelio bandaged both of our wounds and gave us a place to clean up. He’s one of many priests who are part of the Network. He had always been aware of our midnight visits to the Cathedral but never made himself known until he saw us in trouble. Word had spread quickly.

Raine emerges from behind the crimson velvet curtain, her hair still wet. He brought us brown friar robes to wear while our clothes are cleaned and repaired. Raine’s robe is several sizes too large and hangs off her shoulder.

It’s the first time we’ve been alone and not running since all the secrets between us were revealed. She steps into the organ gallery, the dim light of dusk washing through the stained glass casting us both in a jeweled glow.

She steps closer, no words, only our breaths, our hands barely grazing each other’s arms, our lips slowly meeting, mine sliding across her shoulder, along the crest of her collarbone, the faintly beating hollow of her neck, lifting her hair, kissing the creamy blade of her back, not in a hurry, breathing in each inch, our lips finally sliding closer until they meet again and linger, savoring the moment.

“You already told me how you feel, but I never got to tell you,” she whispers. “I love you, Locke. I love you. I’ve wanted to say that from nearly the first time we met.”

I pull back so I can see her eyes. “Even now, knowing what you know about me? What’s beneath my skin…”

Her eyes grow impossibly deeper and warmer. “Especially now, with everything I know about you.” She reaches up, smoothing back hair that’s fallen in front of my eyes. “We’ve both had something taken from us,” she says. “Lives we never got to live. I want to start living mine now—with you.” Her lips part and a worried sigh escapes. “But I’m not going to deny I’m terrified. I don’t know what will happen—”