The difference is, they want to burn the system down.
Me? I’m not here to fix anything.
I just want Mark to suffer.
I move fast, slipping behind the nearest tree on the patchy lawn of one of Laura Collins’ neighbors. The light in the side window flickers. Probably a TV. No one visible downstairs. Maybe they’re watching from the second floor, soaking in the drama to gossip about later over the fence.
Here, I focus.
This time, going invisible isn’t instant. It’s not like flipping a switch like it was at the crash site. It’s slower, like water freezing, or the way a dream fades at the edges before it slips away. My limbs blur first, then my outline, then the weight of me. I can still feel the grass beneath my boots, the bark pressing into my spine, but the world forgets I’m here.
It takes effort. More than it used to. But I push through. I will myself unseen.
Then I breathe.
I glance down and run my leg through a blade of grass. It doesn’t move, just slides right through me.
Good.
Just to be sure, I glance back at Cassian in the car. I flash a quick thumbs-up, then give the signal to go in. A clean, flat-hand slice, military-style.
He nods, closing one eye to check whether I’m visible to mortals. Then he gives me a thumbs-up in return.
Alright. It worked.
I move faster now.
One second I’m behind the tree, the next I’m a shadow slipping between people. The officers don’t glance my way. I could wear a tortoise costume and shake my ass right in front of them, and they wouldn’t bat an eye.
But the dog…
The dog, leashed and pacing near the porch, stiffens. Ears up. Nose twitching.
It’s a golden retriever, which feels like some kind of cosmic joke. Something that cute shouldn’t be able to sniff out death incarnate. And yet… it can.
Its head jerks toward me as I glide past the sidewalk. Invisible, yes. Scentless? Apparently not.
Its body goes rigid. A low, uncertain whine slips from its throat.
The officer holding the leash frowns, gives the dog a soft pat, and mutters, “False alarm, girl?”
I quicken my pace. The Candy Maker’s porch looms ahead: old boards warped by weather, yellow tape slashed in an X over the door. I don’t bother with it. I’m not using the door.
Instead, I veer sideways, slipping through the neatly trimmed hedges toward the side entrance. I’m out of the dog’s range before it starts barking. I hear one short, confused woof behind me, but the cop gently tugs the leash and guides the retriever into a sit.
Crisis averted.
The side of the house is quieter. One officer out front is on his phone, pretending to survey the perimeter while clearly scrolling through dating apps or fantasy football scores. Another leans against the corner, sipping coffee.
“She handed out lollipops at the fall fair,” Phone Guy mutters. “Wore a pink apron. Had this sweet little laugh.”
Coffee Guy doesn’t respond right away. Just stares out at nothing.
“She was baking while thosethingswere still down there,” Phone Guy adds, quieter this time. “God.”
“Yeah.” Coffee Guy exhales slowly. “This one’s gonna stay with me.”
A pause.
