Malachi’s hand finds mine, and we breakinto a run down the street. Even with debris raining down on us, it’s not worth the risk of going through the buildings where they could trap us. Better to endure the bombardment and keep moving toward our target.
Behind us, the voices grow louder, more aggressive, but we don’t look back.
“Everyone all right?” I hear Malachi’s voice through my comms, and I make a mental note of everyone who checks in, but I don’t hear Aurora. Panic starts to set in as I pause and turn back, doing a quick count.
“Aurora,” I call through the comms.
After a heart-stopping moment, she responds, “I’m here. I got hit in the head with something, but I’m okay. I had to activate one of my healing Avidians, but it worked. The bleeding stopped. Alex ducked into one of the buildings with me, and we ran to the other side to get away from the locals.”
I look over at Malachi. All I can see are his eyes beyond the glowing visor.
“I can read the map. We’ll meet you at the pizza place. Keep going,” Alex says through the static.
I should feel relieved that Aurora isn’t alone, but something about the separation sits wrong with me. The Viridian woman’s warning echoes in my head.Alex offering to navigate, taking Aurora away from the group… It could be protective, or it could be something else entirely.
But there’s no choice now. We’re split, and we have to trust that they’ll make it to the rendezvous point.
We move in a tighter formation now, the six of us—Malachi, Bash, Cade, Dante, Nasha and me. The absence of Aurora and Alex feels unsettling.
“Two blocks north, then east on Dolores,” Bash says quietly through the comms, consulting his tablet. “Should be a straight shot from there.”
The street we’re on now feels different from the destruction we escaped. Quieter, but not in a good way. It’s the kind of silence that means people are watching from the darkness, deciding whether we’re worth the trouble. I catch glimpses of movement behind boarded-up doorways, and it reminds me of the feeling I get when a spirit comes, like I’m being watched, only those watching us now are alive.
“Movement, ten o’clock,” Dante murmurs, and I see them too, three figures keeping pace with us from an alley mouth, far enough back to think they’re being subtle.
Malachi responds, “Keep walking. Don’t engage unless they force it.”
We turn as planned and pick up the pace.
“There,” Cade says, nodding ahead. “Dolores Street.”
The faded green–street sign hangs at an angle, barely legible through years of bad weather. When we turn east, I can finally see it in the distance, a narrow building wedged between two collapsed structures, its red brick facade crumbling but still standing. The neon sign that once advertised “Tommy’s Pizza” is cracked in half and hanging vertically over the broken, boarded-up windows.
“That’s got to be it,” I say through the comms.
“Aurora, Alex, you copy?” Malachi calls. “We have eyes on the target.”
Static answers him.
Fuck, why aren’t they answering? A noise has me moving away from the others. It sounds like a child crying. The others must hear it too, because suddenly everyone stops walking, our heads all on a swivel.
I walk toward the alleyway on our right and see a little kid crouched down in the distance. I take off jogging toward them.
“Kat, stop,” Bash says in my ear, but the kid’s alone and afraid. I need to get over there before something bad happens.
“Goddamnit,” Malachi echoes after that, but all I can focus on is the kid crying, this small figure crouched at the end of the alley against a concrete pillar.
I hear footsteps behind me and assume it’s one of my teammates, but I don’t look back. I slow when I reach the child and crouch down with my hands out.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” I say softly. The little boy has his knees pulled up against his chest, face buried in his lap, but his body shakes as crying whimpers echo from him. He can’t be older than eight, maybe ten—so small and thin.
I reach out slowly and touch his shoulder. “Hi,” I venture again.
His head pops up, brown eyes meeting mine, and I pull my hand back. He’s not crying anymore. He’s smiling—a scary, wicked kind of leer.
Fuck.
I stand up and take a step back, quickly scanning side to side. We’re at the beginning of a low-level parking garage that’s collapsed on one side. Concrete pillars spread out in sporadic aisles behind and on either side of the kid. He’s only wearing a T-shirt and pants and must be freezing.
