“I understand.”

“There are two cars. I’ll—”

“I’m going back, too.”

August frowned. “Is that a good idea?”

“Probably not,” she said, fingers closing around the silver pendant at her neck. “But I need to see my father,” she said. “Will you come with me?”

August tensed. They’d come this far together, and he trusted her, but the thought of facing Harker . . . “Why?”

Her knuckles went white against the metal. “I need to ask him something,” she said. “And I need to know he’s telling the truth.”

Kate Harker sat on the edge of her father’s desk, watching clouds drift past beyond the window, low white streaks over the city. Her heart was pounding, and her whole body ached, but she was here. Where she belonged.

Harker Hall was a fortress; there was no getting in or out without being seen by someone.

Which was fine with Kate. She wanted them to know she was here.

Wanted him to know.

She’d done her best to keep August a secret, though. Told him exactly where to stand to keep him off the cameras.

And here they were.

It had taken four hours to drive back to the capital, and now the sun was at its peak, the city’s monsters at their weakest. Music played from the penthouse’s dozen speakers, the volume low but the beat steady. August had wanted something classical, but Kate had chosen rock.

She hadn’t bothered to clean off the blood. Hadn’t bothered to change clothes. In one hand, she held the gun Harker kept inside his desk. In the other, the silver pendant he’d given her the morning of the attack.

Kate had never been able to figure out how they found her that afternoon, in the bones of a building two blocks from the nearest safe house. Or at the restaurant. Or the house. It wasn’t until she was prying the last screw from the metal plate that she understood. The pendant had cracked, the silver case splitting to reveal the chip inside.

Sloan had never lied.

But her father had.

The whole drive back, Kate had tried to figure out what to say. What to do. She knew she should have just run, but she couldn’t, not without knowing the truth. Not without hearing it.

August was tucked back against the wall beside the door, arms crossed, his fingers dancing absently against his sleeve. His gray eyes were miles away when she heard the penthouse doors open, and a set of strong steps cross the wooden floor. A single set.

Even after everything, he was still underestimating her.

“Katherine?” called her father, voice breathless, tinged with urgency, as if he’d just heard she was here, just heard she was safe.

“I’m in here,” she called back, and a moment later he appeared in the doorway. His dark blue eyes raked over the scene, taking in everything except August, and relief swept across his face. It was almost believable. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “You should be at the house.”

“I was,” she said. “But Sloan came to get me. He said you told him to.”

Harker’s eyes went to the weapon resting barrel-down on the desk. “Where is he now?”

“Dead.” Harker winced. She’d seen her father satisfied, and her father furious, seen him cold and calculating and in control. She’d never seen him caught off guard. “I told you I would do it,” she said. “When I found the monster responsible.”

“Sloan wasn’t—”

“Enough,” she said, lifting the broken pendant from the table. “I just want to know, was it his idea, or yours?”

Harker considered her. And then his lips quirked. It was a grim smile, humorless and cold, almost apologetic. And in that gesture, she knew.

“Why?” she asked. “Why break the truce?”

“The truce was failing. Without a war, the Malchai were going to rebel.”

“What about the ruined brands? The monsters who clawed off their marks?”

Harker shrugged. “That was Sloan’s idea, to shift the blame away from me.”

Kate started. It was the truth, it had to be—but it was wrong.

Soon the monsters will rise, and when they do, the city will be mine.

She let out a bitter laugh. “You’re a fool,” she told her father. “Sloan wasn’t helping you. He started the rebellion, and you played right into his hands.”

The smile slid from his face. “Well then,” he said dryly, “thank God you disposed of him.” He took a step toward her. “You’ve proven useful, Katherine. You might be a Harker after all.”

Kate shook her head in disbelief. “Blood means nothing to you, does it?”

Harker’s face hardened. “I never wanted a daughter, but Alice did, and I loved her, and she said I’d love you. And then you came into this world, and she was right. I did.” Kate’s chest tightened. “In my own way. They say fatherhood changes a man. It didn’t change me. But Alice . . . it ruined her. Suddenly you were all that mattered. All she could see. And in the end, it killed her.”

“No,” snarled Kate, gripping the gun. “Sloan killed her. I remember.”

She’d meant to knock him off balance again, to watch the shock of the betrayal register. But it didn’t. He knew. “She wasn’t really mine anymore,” he said coldly. “My wife wouldn’t have tried to flee in the night. My wife was stronger than that.”

She raised the gun and leveled it on her father. “Your daughter is.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

“You really don’t know me, Dad,” she said, pulling the trigger.

The sound was deafening, but this time, when the gun fired, it didn’t take her by surprise.

Harker’s body jerked backward, blood blossoming out from his shoulder.

And then, he grinned. It was a terrible, feral thing. “Not a true Harker after all,” he chided. “My daughter would have shot to kill.”

She squeezed the trigger again, aiming low; the bullet tore through Harker’s left knee, forcing his leg to buckle beneath him. He gritted his teeth in pain, but kept talking.

“I thought it might work, you know. If you survived, if you never found out about Colton. It could have been the best of all worlds. Maybe we could have even been a family.”