“Would this Sloan start a war?”

Kate shot him a look. “Death and violence, isn’t that what all monsters want?” August didn’t rise to the bait. “Look, I don’t know,” she said, pacing, “but I’m pretty sure he wants me gone, and if he could frame Flynn in the process—I don’t know anyone else who’d think that many steps ahead. Most of the Malchai are single-minded killers. Sloan’s . . . different.”

“Do they listen to him, the other Malchai?”

“I’ve been home for nine days, August. I haven’t really noticed. So far his favorite hobby seems to be tormenting me.”

“If he’s involved, then you can’t go home. You . . .”

He trailed off as he heard the sound of cars coming to a stop, an engine cutting off. The sounds were low, muted, and Kate hadn’t heard them yet. She was still pacing.

“Kate.”

Car doors opened and closed.

“Kate.”

Footsteps.

“Kate.”

She turned toward him. “What?”

“You have to untie me,” he said, trying to get his hands free. The zip ties were too tight, and even though the metal didn’t hurt, it made the bonds hard to break.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because someone’s coming.”

A door slid open somewhere below, the sound loud enough, finally, for her to hear.

“They must have tracked you here.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I took the GPS out of the phone.”

In the corner, the cab driver stirred. A cell jutted out of his pocket.

“Shit.”

Footsteps echoed on stairs. Kate hurried to the window, shouldering her backpack. She drew a lighter from her pocket, a small silver knife snicking open from one end, and sliced through the plastic sheeting with the small but vicious blade, revealing a bruised sky beyond. For a second he thought she was going to leave him there, pinned to the wall for Harker’s men to find, but then she came back.

“I was going to turn you in to my father,” she said. “When you got in the car this morning.” She slid the knife between the zip tie and his skin. “It would have been so easy.”

“So why didn’t you?”

She looked up. Swallowed. “You didn’t look like a monster.”

August held her gaze. He wanted to say I’m not, but the words got stuck. “And now?”

Kate only shook her head and gave the knife a swift pull.

But the zip tie didn’t break.

She frowned and tried again. Nothing.

August paled. “Please tell me you have a way of getting these off.”

“I didn’t plan on getting them off,” she snapped. August began to fidget with panic, but Kate simply raised her shoe and slammed it into one of the metal bars. The noise was loud—too loud—but the bar buckled and gave, and August managed to weave his zip-tied wrists free. Kate kicked the second bar, but it was stronger, or the angle was wrong. It bent but didn’t break. The footsteps were getting louder. August wrapped his hands around the bar and so did Kate, and together they pulled with all their weight until it finally came free, and the two went crashing to the concrete floor.

Kate landed on her injured side and gasped in pain, but when August went to help her up, she pulled back as if his touch were poison, and managed on her own. August caught up the violin case as she was reaching the torn plastic on the window, and he climbed through after her, expecting a fire escape of some sort and finding only a six-inch lip before a three-story fall.

The air caught in his throat.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights,” she said, shimmying along the edge.

“Not heights,” he murmured. “Just falling.”

He looked around, trying to figure out how they were supposed to get down, when Kate took a breath and jumped.

Kate launched herself forward, off the wall and across a six-foot gap between the construction project and the roof of a low building. She landed, stumbled a few steps, and took off, not even looking back. The message was clear: keep up or get lost. August took a breath, gripped the violin case, and leaped. He cleared the roof’s edge and slid, scrambling upright as Kate disappeared behind a rooftop structure. August followed, and when he rounded the corner, she caught his shoulder, pressing him back against the wall beside her, out of the line of sight.

“You do this often?” he whispered. “Jumping between buildings, running over rooftops?”

Kate raised a blond brow. “You don’t?” She almost smiled, though it could have been a grimace; when she leaned forward, he could see the jagged line the Malchai’s teeth had cut into her shoulder.

August scanned the buildings. “Where are we?”

“Outer edge of the red.”

“I have an access point near the Seam. If we can get to South City—”

“We?” She pushed open the rooftop door and started down the stairs. “You saved me. I saved you. The way I see it, we’re even.”

August frowned. “I’m not leaving you.”

“And I’m not going to Flynn.”

“We could protect you.”

She let out a sound like a laugh but colder. “Oh, I’m sure.”

He followed her down the stairs. “Fine, don’t believe me, but it isn’t safe here.”

“It isn’t safe anywhere,” she snapped, the truth welling up. “I can’t go home. Harker Hall is in the center of the red, and whether or not my father’s there, Sloan will be, and—”

August caught the scent of blood and pressed his hand over her mouth, tilting his head toward the street. Kate started to protest, but must have seen the answer in his eyes, because she went silent. He strained, trying to make out the voices.

“. . . not in the building . . .”

“. . . call it in . . .”

“. . . check the cameras . . .”

“. . . signal . . .”

August and Kate stood in the stairwell, perfectly still, until the voices trailed away, blending with the hum of engines and the other city sounds. When he lowered his hand, Kate wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. “What did they say?” she asked.

“Give me your phone.”

She dragged the cell from her pocket and handed it over. August set it on the stairs and crushed it underfoot. Kate scowled. “Necessary?” she whispered.