He was slumped, motionless, against the alley wall. His head lolled against his chest.

He’s sick, Sydney had said. I made him sick.

But the body on the ground wasn’t just sick. It was dead. No pulse, no color, no signs of life.

Amazing—after all the time June had spent persuading herself not to kill him, he’d gone and died anyway.

At least, she thought he was dead. He certainly looked dead.

Cautiously, June moved toward the body.

She crouched, and touched his shoulder, and as she did, something leapt through her fingers, flickered through her mind. Memories. Not all of them, not even a handful, only one. A lab. A redhead. A current.

A scream. It moved through her like static shock, a single glimpse, brief, and impossible, bright, and then gone.

June recoiled, shaking out her hand, and then she drew her gun and brought the barrel to rest against the man’s forehead. Whether or not he was really dead, she could make it stick. He’d made it so easy. Maybe fate was shining on June after all.

She thumbed off the safety, let her finger come to rest against the trigger.

And then stopped.

June could think of a dozen reasons to make sure Victor was dead, and only one to stay her hand.

Sydney.

This was the one thing Sydney would never forgive, if she found out.

Besides, June didn’t want to steal the girl this way. Wanted to win her,

fair and square. She’d told Sydney once that people should choose their family, and she’d meant it.

June wanted Sydney to choose her.

So she lowered the gun. Was just sliding the weapon back into her coat when suddenly, impossibly, Victor moved.

June nearly jumped out of her skin.

Few things caught her by surprise these days, but the sight of Victor Vale, shuddering back to life, was enough to give her a fright. His fingers twitched, a small current running visibly over his skin, and then his chest inflated as he drew a deep breath, and opened his eyes, and looked up.

“Oh, Christ,” said June, one hand to her racing heart. “I thought you were dead!”

For a moment, Victor stared at her with the blank gaze of the very drunk, or the hopelessly lost. And then, quick as a spark, the light went on behind his eyes.

If he was surprised to find himself sitting on the ground, it didn’t show.

He started to say something, and then stopped, and drew a small black object from between his teeth. A mouth guard. June realized that whatever had happened just now, it wasn’t the first time.

Victor was looking at June now, his gaze cold and clear.

“Do I know you?” he asked, and there was no thickness in his voice, no disorientation, only study.