But what am I supposed to do? I can’t stop an army of witches!
Dad’s words echo in my head:Alexanders don’t give up.
My brain whirrs frantically, my feet clumsy as I let Natalie guide me with her hand on my lower back.Think, Katie!
What could possibly take the Shadows away from this mission? Is anything more important than the chance to trap a hundred chimeras at once?
I can think of one thing. An extremely high-priority target.
I pull out my phone, hating myself for doing this to Hazel.
Katie
SOS. Need intel on the Madsens. Whatever you’ve got.
We pile into the van, and I end up wedged between Natalie and Hayley on the floor. I stare at my phone as we wind through Vancouver’s dark streets toward the park, waiting for Hazel’s reply, desperately trying to come up with another argument.
At last, my phone buzzes in my hand, and my breath hitches.
Hazel
Sophia’s place.
With it comes a pin on a map.
Holy shit. She did it.
This is how I derail the mission.
As I’m staring at the pin, another text arrives.
Can we talk before you share it with the witches? I feel like a terrible person for doing this. Call me in the morning?
But we don’t have time to talk first. She doesn’t realize how urgent this is and what’s at stake tonight.
I’m sorry, Hazel, but this is life-or-death.
I jump to my feet, hitting my head on the roof. “Ow—stop!”
Sky keeps driving, but everyone else turns to stare at me, their faces ghostly and unreadable in the street lights flashing by beyond the windows.
My hands shake as I hold up my phone—my last, desperate hope. “I know where Sophia Madsen is.”
From the Journal of Hazel Okada
Back at Oaklyn’s, we got ready for bed, though my mind raced with what Katie might do with Sophia’s location. She’ll wait until morning, right? Should I be concerned about her lack of reply?
Oaklyn stripped down and rummaged for the tank top she wears as pajamas. “Who do you text so much?”
“My parents,” I said too quickly. Shit, she must have noticed me texting Katie on the drive back.
“Hm.” She plucked a strand of dog hair from her shirt. Watching her stand there with no pants and her nipples visible through the thin fabric, my brain went fuzzy—until she said, “Have you made friends in Vancouver yet?”
Something in her voice made my skin prickle. Like she was forcing a casual tone.
“If coworkers count,” I said, forcing a casual tone right back. I sat cross-legged on the bed and shook my hair loose from its braid, not meeting her eye.
Oaklyn picked up her dagger where we left it on the bedside table and touched the tip with her index finger. “I can’t figure you out. What your game is.”
