New York, New York.

  “Where the hell is it going?” Misha complained to Lina as they dashed down an alleyway. They’d attempted to ambush a dog, but it had taken off. With Misha mimicking Lina’s gift of speed, the two of them could keep up with the dog just fine, so he’d have thought the dog would understand there was no point in running—but the damned thing just wouldn’t stop.

  And then it did and Misha regretted complaining.

  With a loud crash, the dog blew straight through the door of a garden level apartment. Lina flashed him a despairing look before they followed on its heels.

  Inside was a chaos of tossed furniture and panicked screams as the dog destroyed anything in its way to get to the man inside. By the time Misha got to him, the dog had managed to sink its teeth into the meat of the man’s forearm. Between the two of them, Lina was in better physical shape at the moment, so he was gonna have to leave the hard part to her. As Lina prayed in Arabic, making the dog flinch, Misha was in and gone in a flash, carrying the howling man into the alley.

  There was a lot of blood and Misha used the man’s torn sleeve to wipe it away. The bite wasn’t bad enough to be a lethal wound. Surprisingly, the dog had even released its jaws when it pulled away, so he wasn’t missing a chunk of arm.

  “You’ll be fine,” Misha ordered him briskly. “Keep pressure on it. I’ll be right back.”

  The man, face hollow and gaunt with hard living, grabbed the hem of his coat as Misha turned to speed back and help Lina.

  “Is this real?”

  Misha paused, wanting to brush him off to get back to the dog, or at least lie for his sake, but one never knew when a bite victim was hearing the call to join the cause.

  “Yes, it's real.”

  Because he wouldn't do it himself, Misha grabbed the man's hand and stuck it on the bite wound, making the man hiss.

  “Why is it doing this to me? Why me?”

  Misha’s heart fell and he dropped to one knee to look the man in the face. His eyes were as wide as the man's were squinted in pain.

  “How many times has it bitten you?”

  “Three times.”

  Misha set his jaw. Saint Jude the Apostle, he prayed silently, watch over this doomed man’s soul for— Lina’s yell snapped him back into the moment. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  He got back into the apartment, just in time to see the blur that was Lina slash through the dog's neck with a pained cry. Misha grabbed a blanket off the ground and wrapped up the head, noticing the blood pouring down the handle of her machete.

  “You okay?”

  Lina gingerly examined her hand, her teeth showing. “I never get used to how much it burns.” She moved to fix her hijab and he averted his eyes.

  “At least we won’t have to drag the body far.”

  Sirens split the air just as they’d gotten the thing out onto the pavement.

  He swore. The man. Misha sprinted out into the alley. Empty. Of course. Why did no one ever fucking listen to him?

  Following the sound of shouts and panic, he found the man on the main road being tended to by paramedics. The ambulance's bright lights drew every eye on the street. Onlookers had gathered around in small groups to point and film the spectacle.

  Lina came to a stop next to him, smelling of smoke. His hair shifted in the wind kicked up by her gift as she did.

  “Three bites,” was all he said.

  “He’s alive?”

  “For now.” He glanced around. With the help of her gift, he was fast enough. He could sprint up, grab the guy, and take off with him. “Get ready to run.”

  Lina put a hand out and stepped in front of him. “Too many people. You’ll start a manhunt.”

  “So we had better be fast.” He moved to hand her the blanket-wrapped head and noticed her coloring. She was pale. There was blood pooling on the sidewalk beneath her. She was worse off than he thought. Shit.

  Stepping on the head, he held his hand out, waiting. She stared, then her eyes flicked up in equal parts understanding and annoyance. With her good hand, she fished out the spare hijab she carried and nodded her permission for him to bind up her hand with it.

  He finished in time to watch the EMTs load the gurney up into the ambulance bay. The man on it was screaming incessantly from a pain Misha couldn’t even begin to conceptualize. He prayed that they’d screw up and give the poor man enough morphine to kill him before the pain did. It was an ugly way to go.

  Misha glared at Lina. “Don’t fucking lie to me—can you get yourself back to the Sanctuary for Noah to stitch that up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I’m going to follow this ambulance,” he told her. “Find out where they’re bringing him.”

  She took the head from him. “Go.”

  He nodded and muttered, “This Vigil is going to be a real son-of-a-bitch.”

  ---

  St Petersburg, Russia.

  Once they were all awake, they had gathered in the sitting room to discuss their options, not that Gareth felt like they really had any. Reeve was the only one who had come up with any sort of solid idea that wasn’t Church-related, so that became the de facto plan.

  Gareth wasn't looking forward to the excruciatingly long drive or getting that close to Sol's Kyiv office again, but Reeve figured Sol would never expect them there.

  They were in the Saint Petersburg house for a total of three days. Mostly they laid low. On the second day, Reeve found some mark waiting in line at a bank and got him to empty a portion of his account into Reeve’s hands. On the third day, Gareth and Alex went out to use the cash to supply them with enough non-perishables and warm clothes to set them up for at least a week while Reeve went out to another bank to repeat the trick and Hannah held down the fort.

  Gareth felt like a paranoid nuclear war prepper: two Americans stocking up on flour and pasta and canned goods. Alex was being Alex, as ever, and playing the part to get a laugh.

  “That looks a lot like candy,” Gareth commented as he tossed a couple of bars of something into their cart.

  “When the war comes, we’ll be grateful for the morale boost.”

  “Mmhm. And the potato chips?”

  “When the war comes,” he repeated ominously, “you’ll be glad for these chips. They’re known to help protect against radiation poisoning.”

  Gareth held down a chuckle and pulled up to a stop. “How?”

  Alex had a twinkle in his eye. “You know, they stop the absorption. They’re high in sodium.”

  “You’re thinking iodine. The stuff they add to salt.”

  Alex slapped the cart. “Which these puppies are full of. So we’ll need them when the war comes.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Gareth struggled to hush him through a laugh. “More people speak English than you think.”

  They didn’t have an easy time not giggling as the cute young woman at the register rang them up, shooting them questioning glances, and all the while he was praying Alex would keep his mouth shut.

  That was probably part of why Gareth didn’t notice something was wrong until it was too late.

  It suddenly got very quiet around them and the cashier stopped what she was doing to look blankly at them.

  “There you are.”

  Gareth felt his chest go icy. He turned around to see Adler, alone and bundled a navy blue wool coat, standing behind them. Gareth stood, dumbstruck, unprepared, and mostly unarmed. Beside him, Alex had gone still as a statue, unblinking like the rest of the people in line.

  “Hannah and Reeve,” Gareth started, as feeling came back into his body with a shock. They were alone.

  “I’m not concerned with them at the moment.”

  Gareth swallowed. It didn’t comfort him.

  “How did I find you?” Adler asked, addressing the question in his head. “Gareth, I always have a good sense of where you are.”

  “Bullshit.” They’d hidden from Entropy before, so that made no goddamn sense.

  Adler’s smile slid slightly to one side, a sign he’d been caught out and he didn't mind you knowing it. “Hello, Alex. I didn’t mean to freeze you up there.”

  Gareth sneered. “Bullshit.” Adler didn’t do anything by mistake.

  “My charming father-son duo.”

  Alex shook his head as he became unstuck. “He’s more of a father than you've ever been to your kid,” Alex spat in his harshest tone.

  Gareth winced and put an arm between Alex and Adler. He was grateful when Adler turned back to Gareth, though he quickly found nothing to be grateful for as he was fixed with that cold, analytical gaze.

  “I’m still not done with you. I made you a deal the last time I saw you to let Alex and Hannah live in exchange for you coming back with me. And you know I never make the same offer twice.”

  “Why do you want him there so bad?” Alex asked, despite Gareth’s best glare to dissuade him from talking.

  Adler regarded him too seriously, in a way that scared Gareth. “It’d be fun to stand here and banter with you all day about it but I’ll just tell you the truth. He can survive anything. That has become more interesting to me than it was before.”

  Gareth stood his ground and fought to keep his mind from running itself into the ground thinking of all the things that could mean and just how much they would hurt. “So what’s your new offer?”

  “I’m not going to bother with your head just yet. Come back with me and some people will die. Probably not this one here, at least not right now, because I do sort of enjoy the mouth he’s got on him. But if you don’t come back with me without a fuss, a lot of people will die.”

  A choking gurgle behind them made them turn. The cashier had taken a pen and stabbed it into the side of her throat. Her eyes were alert and awake again, now wide and terrified. No one else in the store seemed to notice.

  Alex swore and jumped the counter to try to help her. He and the girl disappeared behind it as she fell. She wouldn’t be getting back up.

  Gareth didn’t bother. It wasn’t that the shame and guilt didn’t feel like a sock in the gut hard enough to break bones; it did. He just knew that if Adler intended to kill her there was nothing he could do.

  “You were right,” Adler said. “She is pretty."

  Gareth felt himself shaking. "Don't do this."

  Adler studied him, face full of something akin to pity. "Some people would say that it’s a measure of your growth as a person that I have to hurt others to convince you to do what I want. It used to be that the threat of physical pain was enough for you.”

  “Some people,” he repeated, “but not you?”

  Adler ignored him and adjusted his sleeves. “You’ve got three days to leave them and head for Paris.”

  “What if we all go to Paris with him and kick your ass?”

  Gareth spun around at Alex’s voice. He was on his feet again behind the counter, bloody up to his elbows and chest. His face looked how Gareth felt.

  Adler smiled darkly. “Have fun in Ukraine. It’s a beautiful country.” He turned and left.

  There was a lag when Adler was gone and the rest of the store was either frozen or blind to anything wrong. Alex looked at him, his face was clamped down, but his chest was moving like a bellows. Gareth clicked back into reality.

  “Run.”

  Alex startled. “What?”

  Gareth reached his hand out to haul Alex back over the counter. “They’re about to wake up and call whatever the Russian word for ‘police’ is, and we don’t want to be here when they do.” Alex’s hand was slippery and cold, a too-familiar feeling. Gareth was already primed to flashback after seeing Adler and he bit his cheek to hold it off. Here and now. Here and now was the problem.

  Someone by the register came awake and shrieked behind them as they ran out the door. People in the parking lot stared at Alex, covered in blood, as they sprinted for the van. Alex was faster than Gareth by far, so he tossed him the keys.

  “Hey,” a voice to one side called, which Gareth pointedly ignored even when he began to hear a third set of footfalls.

  “Gareth,” the voice shouted behind him, but he wasn’t stopping for anything.

  A hand touched his back and that was it. He stopped and turned fast enough to make his knees twinge, swinging a haymaker.

  He missed as the figure ducked low, covering his head with his arms, bumping hard into Gareth’s legs from the sudden stop. He was yelling, “Jesus, it’s me!”

  It took until then to recognize Reeve’s voice. Gareth was shaking again. He could have broken Reeve’s jaw.

  The van roared to life and Alex brought it to a screeching halt beside them. He and Reeve jumped in the backseat and Alex sped off.

  Reeve panted, “Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

  “Not mine,” Alex replied dispassionately. “To the house?”

  “Yeah. Sorry to scare you. I felt you disappear from my map and that’s when I felt Adler, so I came as fast as I could.”

  “I could have caved your fucking skull in,” Gareth snapped.

  “Given the circumstances, I figured you might have done the same thing if I used my telepathy to tell you it was me.”

  Gareth held his breath. That was probably true.

  “Are we fucked?” Reeve asked.

  “Take it out of my head,” Alex called, swerving.

  Reeve nodded, sat for a moment, and then looked at Gareth. “We’re fucked.”

  ---

  SolCorp LAHQ. Uranus Dept.

  Marek bobbed his shoulders to the music in his headphones as he walked. He didn't often walk to his office in the morning, opting to teleport, but the new album Emmett had recommended was really hitting the spot that morning and he hadn't wanted to get behind his desk just yet. He found Becca standing, leaning just beside his shut door. Her head dropped listlessly to the side at the sight of his dancing step.

  “Morning,” he smiled. Her face did not bode well for it continuing to be a good morning. “I’m just gonna take a wild guess that you need me for something.”

  “You're late,” she commented as he unlocked the door.

  He glanced at the clock on his wall as he got inside. “It's 7:45.”

  “You're typically here by 7:30.”

  He leaned over the long glass enclosure. Baguette was hidden somewhere in her burrow of pastel bedding. He'd get to feeding in a bit. Let her sleep. “And yet my hours start at eight. What's up?”

  “We're going to start holding Reformers' meetings for information and recruitment.”

  Marek suppressed a sigh. “Kay.”

  “The system requires your approval for changes to the LAHQ room reservation schedule.”

  He hesitated. “You could use your quarters.”

  She made a face. “We won't all fit in my quarters,” she replied as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Are those numbers fact or hopeful estimates?” The Reformation movement had gained some traction over the past few years, mainly overseas, though most people knew of its existence—Marek better than some, since he was surrounded by some of its biggest supporters: Becca and Penn.

  “Fact,” was all she said.

  “So reserve a corner of the Atrium. More foot traffic.”

  “And more sound pollution. And children. And it’ll make us look like teenage activists trying to get people to sign our petition. This sort of thing requires a conference room.”

  “Conference rooms are for work meetings.”

  “Simon runs AA meetings out of conference rooms all the time.”

  Marek cocked his head. “Those require a level of privacy and, anyway, it’s official Pluto work. I don't think even you could justify comparing the Reformation to Addicts Anon.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. “You've got me there. Still. I don't see what the problem is.”

  “The problem is that I don't want it to look like these are Uranus-promoted meetings or otherwise supported by the department.”

  ”Mercury himself supports the movement,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes.

  “Sounds like an argument to have the meetings in Mercury. They've got conference rooms up the wazoo.” She didn't bother addressing that, as it was a non-starter. You needed special clearance to get onto the top floor. The officers had it, but anyone else who wanted to attend couldn't have gotten there.

  “I don't see the harm in having it in Uranus,” she hammered on. “It wouldn't be during business hours—”

  “You're aware Uranus operates 24/7, right?”

  She ignored him. “And it's not like we're trying to start a union or something.”

  Marek frowned. “I'm pro-union.”

  Becca stood dumbfounded. “You're head of HR.”

  “My fourth is head of HR,“ he corrected. “I'm just his boss. And yours.”

  “You'd be okay with Sol agents unionizing?” she deadpanned.

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Then what the hell problem do you have with the Reformers?” Her volume briefly increased then dropped back down to her steady tone of voice. “It's basically the same thing.”

  “No.” He drew out the word, but kept his voice light. “A union would be fighting for better benefits and higher pay. You're essentially angling for agents receiving less pay with fewer benefits and more work.”

  “You don't see freedom as a benefit?”

  That made Marek pause, he had to admit, and temper himself. “Well, freedom is considered an innate human right.”

  “Yes,” she sighed, as though the conversation had exhausted her.

  “Are we considered human, though? What are innate knacked rights?”

  “Access to a conference room,” she said through gritted teeth.

  How could it be so early and yet feel like he'd been working for hours? He walked to get behind his desk, getting a little space. Keeping his eyes on his desk while he mindlessly tidied the items cluttering its surface, Marek dropped his voice a shade lower and stripped away its normal levity.

  “Book a conference room in Jupiter and I'll approve it. You're not having it in Uranus.”

  She replied, “Thank you,” devoid of gratitude. “It's only a matter of time, you know.”

  Marek met her eyes. “We'll see.” There was an anger just barely veiled behind her eyes that frightened him. He forced his face to break into a smile. “Unless I start a union and get there first.”

  “Sure,” she called blandly as she left.

  Marek raised his fist. “United we bargain, divided we beg!” Becca was gone. He lowered his arm and turned his gaze to the enclosure. “Right, Baguette?” He nodded at her silence. “Right.”

  ***