Seeing him, I tug Jiro’s hand and lead him after Row, slowly weaving our way through the party in a way that looks casual and flirty. I can feel the wetness between my legs beginning to drop, but I try not to think about it. On the tv screens, a photo of my face flashes and draws my attention for a moment. I realize they’re running footage of my best moments, of me running, of me stabbing, as if this is a football montage. I quickly look down for fear someone will recognize me with my face so large on the screens, but no one yells. No one points at me and gasps. They’re all too drunk to even realize I’m right here.

Fans who root for my death. Fuck them all.

Jiro walks beside me, knowing who we’re going toward, trusting me to lead the way, but as we draw closer to Row where he’s moving through the crowd, I realize there seems to be more people here, more filling the dance floor. Row stops so suddenly, I wonder if everything is okay. He’s only ten feet from me in the crowd, his eyes focused harshly on someone in front of him, that mask dropping over his expression. I lean to the side and see an older man standing before him.

He has Row’s eyes.

“Fuck,” I hiss, immediately turning my back and grabbing Jiro. He takes my lead immediately and we being to sway with the music, drawing closer to Row and his father so that we don’t look too obvious. We’re close enough that I can hear what’s happening despite the sounds of laughter and enjoyment around us.

“Father,” Row says, his voice so much harsher than I’ve ever heard him use.

That mask over his face is solid, the Row I know disappearing before my eyes, and it pains me to see it. But not as much as the danger we’re in. If he realizes. . .

“Don’t look at them,” Jiro commands. “Just dance.”

So we do. We move as if we’re dancing without a care in the world.

Even if our very lives are on the line.

FORTY-NINE

ROW

“Row,” my father says, blinking in surprise when he sees me. There’s a glaze to his eyes that tells me he’s at least three deep into his double whisky glass but he’s still clearly coherent. There’s no doubt in my mind that my father would never allow himself to be completely sloshed at a party like this.

Too many predators get off on taking down other predators.

“Shouldn’t you still be out there?” he asks, frowning. “I haven’t heard the horn sound yet. Has it sounded?”

I could lie and say it has but he would know immediately that I’m playing games, so I figure I need to do what I must.