And at the center of both, an EO with the skill to hunt, the ability to manipulate his victim’s bodies. Someone already in the system—because they were supposed to be dead.

“I killed you,” muttered Eli.

Victor appeared again, as if summoned. Cold blue eyes and a cunning smirk. “You did.”

“Then how?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

Eli clenched his teeth.

Sydney Clarke.

Serena had insisted on dispatching her little sister herself. Obviously her resolve had wavered. Sydney was still alive.

The girl who had a nasty habit of bringing people back. And of bringing EOs back wrong, too. Eli had seen it for himself when Sydney resurrected one of his prior kills, sent him back like a toy on the fritz, a note from Victor in hand.

I made a friend.

Now Eli got to his feet and looked up into the nearest camera.

“Stell?” he asked, first quietly, and then louder.

A cool voice responded via the intercom. “The director is unavailable.”

“When will he be back?” he demanded, but the voice didn’t answer.

Eli bristled. He needed to see Stell, needed to look him in the eyes, ask him how he could be so stupid, ask him why he didn’t burn the body.

He looked around for something to use, some way to get the director’s attention.

But everything was bolted down. Except, of course, for him. He slammed his fist into the fiberglass wall.

There was a low tone as the walls began to charge.

“Inmate,” ordered the disembodied voice. “Stand down.”

Eli did not. He hit the fiberglass a second time. An alarm went off, and an instant later, a burst of electricity shot up Eli’s arm and sent him staggering backward, his pulse losing rhythm for a single measure before it settled. He started toward the wall a third time, but before his fist connected, the lights cut out, and Eli was plunged into absolute black.

The sensory deprivation was so sudden, the darkness was so absolute, Eli felt like he was falling. He reached out to brace himself and stumbled, searched several seconds for the metal chair before sinking into it to wait.

Why didn’t you burn the body?

Why didn’t you . . .

But as Eli sat in the dark, playing the question over and over in his mind, he felt that invisible hand, the one that had been a guide for so long, now pulling him back. If Eli gave Victor over to Stell, over to EON, they would take him alive. Put him in a cell. No. Eli would not— could not—allow those half measures. Victor was too dangerous, he had to be put down, and Stell had already failed once.

Eli wouldn’t entrust the task to him a second time.

The lights came up, the far wall went clear, and the director stormed into sight, dressed in a tailored black suit, his tie loose at the throat.