“I can help you get to him,” said Marcella. She leaned in, close enough for him to smell her perfume. “I’ve heard a little about your talent, but I’d love to know more.” She reached out and brought her fingers to rest against his arm. It was such a simple gesture, almost kind, right up until her palm flared red. The shine flashed along his skin, and she pulled back, considering her hand. “Hm,” she said, as if she hadn’t just tried to ruin him. “How do you do it?”

“I don’t do anything,” said Jonathan bitterly. “It just happens.

Someone tries to hurt me—hell, I try to hurt myself—and it’s there.

Shielding me.”

“Well, bully for you,” said June, leaning back on the counter.

Marcella made a small, displeased hum. “I don’t see how that helps me.”

Jonathan stared into his glass. “I can share it.”

Marcella’s blue eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Jonathan shook his head. This was how the shine mocked him. How he knew it wasn’t a gift at all, but a curse, a shallow cut, not deep enough to kill, but more than enough to hurt. He’d just wanted to protect Claire, and he’d failed. Now, when he finally could, it was too late. She was already gone.

“Jonathan,” pressed Marcella.

“I can shield someone else,” he admitted, “so long as I can see them.”

Marcella smiled. It was a dazzling smile, the kind that made you want to smile back, even when there was nothing to smile about.

“Well, in that case,” she said, “let’s talk about revenge.”

XII

THREE WEEKS AGO

XIII

SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF BRENTHAVEN

VICTOR’S steps rustled in underbrush.

It was almost dusk, the sky sinking into violent shades around him as he picked his way through the woods. Now and then the silence was punctuated by distant gunfire as, across the reserve, hunters picked off their prey before the last of the light failed.

Victor was hunting too. He trailed a broad man in an orange vest, the shock of color picking him out from the surrounding mottle of green and gray. The trees were sparse, surrounded by fields to every side. A few miles south, a small cabin, the full extent of the man’s footprint.

Despite his current attire, Ian Campbell had been a hard man to find.

He’d gone off the grid after his accident, a disappearance almost as complete as death.

Almost.

But in this day and age, it was impossible not to leave a mark.