Stell turned and stormed away, his hand lifting in an almost dismissive motion. The wall went solid, white, and several terrible lurching seconds later, the current finally died. Eli collapsed to his side on the slick floor as the sprinklers slowed, and stopped.

He rolled onto his back, chest heaving.

And then, slowly, Eli got up, and crossed to the desk, sinking into the chair before the computer. Since the system was twinned with Stell’s,

the director would be able to pull up everything, be able to read the lines, if not the space between them.

Eli began to query other deaths, other causes, other leads. He couldn’t bury the search that led him to Adam Porter, that missing link, but he could keep Stell from following the clean pattern of Eli’s own thoughts. With every subsequent search, Eli frayed the thread, ventured down a course he’d earlier abandoned. Hopefully it would read as frustration with his own failure, a furious need to find the truth.

But as his fingers flew over the keyboard, creating a tangled web of false leads and dead ends, his own thoughts coalesced into a single, smooth train.

Eli would save Victor for himself.

XXIV

FOUR WEEKS AGO

XXV

EON

ELI had spent the better part of an hour listening to Stell talk about his new target. Marcella Renee Riggins, mob wife turned murderess. He flipped through the pages in the file as the director spoke, setting aside the newspaper clipping and the EON-issued backstory, focusing instead on the crime scene stills from the hospital—the bed with its rusted bar, its ruined sheets, and the much more striking hole in the hospital room wall.

“. . . nearly died in a fire, seems to be burning everything—and everyone—she can get her hands on—”

“She’s not burning them,” said Eli, skimming the photos.

“The piles of ash beg to differ.”

Eli traced a finger along the hole in the wall, then flipped to the crime scene close-up of the debris on the kitchen floor.

He rose and pressed the photo against the fiberglass. “Do you see that? The edges of the diamond?”

Stell squinted. “It looks dirty. Which would make sense, considering it’s sitting in a pile of human remains.”

“It’s not dirty,” said Eli. “It’s graphite.”

“I don’t follow.”

Obviously. “Marcella isn’t burning things. She’s eroding them. If she’d been using heat, you might have been able to combat it with extreme cold. But with a corrosive ability like this, you’re better off killing her.”

Stell crossed his arms. “Is that the only advice you have to offer?”

“In this case, it’s certainly the best,” said Eli. He had seen power like Marcella’s before. Raw, destructive, boundless. There was no place for power like that in this world. She would carve a swathe of chaos, until she was put down. “Do you know the half-life of carbon?”