Meg looked to her right, where the Sanguinati sat on the steps or hovered as columns of black smoke.

Smoke, she thought as the skin above her ankle prickled. Grilled cheese sandwich. Merri Lee saying, “Don’t worry about it, Meg. It was your first try. So the crust burned a little. We’ll trim off the burned bits, and the sandwich will be fine.”

Meg looked at the oil lamps providing light, how the flames, even protected within the glass globes, flickered and danced.

Smoke... and fire.

The annoying discomfort she’d felt on and off during the concert suddenly turned into a buzzing under her skin that felt so painful it burned.

She cried out and clutched her ankle. In the silence that followed her cry, she thought she heard a distant siren, but she wasn’t sure if the sound was real.

“I have to cut,” she gasped. “I have to—”

No time to explain or argue. No time.

Meg rushed out of the Market Square. Had to reach the Liaison’s Office. Privacy. Bandages.

“Meg!” Simon howled as he ran after her.

She fell against the back door of the office, and almost fell again when she turned the knob and the door swung open.

Simon rushed in behind her, grabbing her to keep her from falling. She felt his claws pricking through her T-shirt.

“What can we do?” Charlie asked, piling into the back room with some of the Wolves.

“Let me through. Move.” Merri Lee shoved her way through the Wolves, who, surprised, lifted their lips in a silent snarl.

“Everyone, get out.”

Meg couldn’t see her, but Tess’s voice sounded oddly harsh.

The Wolves and Charlie took one look at Tess, coming in behind them, and bolted for the sorting room.

“I have to cut,” Meg gasped, pulling the silver folding razor out of her pocket. “I have to.” Too desperate now to walk the few steps to the bathroom, she sat on the floor and opened the razor with shaking hands.

“Okay, you have to cut, but we’re going to do this the right way,” Merri Lee said, her voice stern yet shaking. She grabbed the pen and pad of paper Meg kept on the table in the back room.

Yes. Had to do it right.

Smoke. Fire. Sirens.

Meg looked at Simon, who stared at her with amber eyes that held flickers of red—a sign of anger. Not fully human now. Too upset to hold the form.

“Can’t... wait,” she gasped.

“Focus on us,” Tess commanded, kneeling in front of her. “You know what you need to tell us. Speak, prophet, and we will listen.”

Command and promise. Meg’s hand steadied as she set the razor where the skin above her ankle burned—and made the cut.

•••