Stell examined the helmet and found a folded piece of paper tucked beneath.

Inside, in elegant, curving letters, there was a single line.

Stay out of my way.

Stell pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where were the rest of the

agents?”

He’d assigned six to the mission. Six operatives for a single EO. It should have been enough. More than enough.

“We found one by the transport vehicle,” said Holtz. “Two more in an alley.” He didn’t need to say that they were dead. The ensuing silence said enough.

“Cause of death?” asked Stell quietly.

“None of them were melted, if that’s what you’re asking. One broken neck. Two blades, to the throat and gut. Is it possible,” ventured the young agent, “that Marcella wasn’t acting alone?”

“Anything’s possible,” said Stell. But it did make sense. So far Marcella Riggins seemed to favor her bare hands or a gun, but four of the soldiers he’d sent had been killed in other, more varied ways.

Stell looked around. “Tell me this building has security.”

“Closed circuit, in the public spaces,” offered one of the techs.

“Someone deleted the files, but they were clearly in a hurry. We should be able to pull footage from the lobby and hall.”

“Good,” said Stell. “Send it over as soon as you have it.”

“What now?” asked Holtz.

Stell ground his teeth, and walked out.

VIII

THREE WEEKS AGO

IX

EON

ELI turned through Marcella’s file. Across the cell, Victor leaned, hands in his pockets, against the wall.

For so long, he’d thought Victor was haunting him—now that Eli knew that the man was alive, he knew the phantom was nothing but a figment of his own imagination. A touch of madness. He did his best to ignore it.

Footsteps sounded beyond the wall. Eli knew by the tread that it was Stell. And he knew, too, that the director of EON was angry.

The wall went clear, but Eli kept his head bowed over his work.

“I take it,” he said dryly, “that the extraction was a resounding success.”

“You know it wasn’t.”

“How many died?”

There was a long, weighted silence. “All of them.”

“What a waste,” muttered Eli, shutting the file in front of him. “All in the name of policy.”

“No doubt you’re feeling smug.”

Eli rose from his chair. “Believe it or not, Director, I take no pleasure in the loss of innocent life.” He plucked the latest photos from the cubby where Stell had set them. “I only hope you’re ready to do the right thing.”

Eli turned through the shots from the Heights. “She’s not exactly

subtle, is she?”

Stell only grunted.

Eli studied the rest of the photos and notes, reconstructing the fight in his mind.

He noticed two things fairly quickly. One—Marcella had a flair for the dramatic.

Two—she wasn’t acting alone.