“You didn’t burn the body!” roared Eli. “I put him down, and you let him get back up. Victor Vale’s continued existence, and the deaths he’s since accrued—those are your failures, not mine. Yes, I kept my suspicions from you, because I hoped I was wrong, hoped that you hadn’t been so foolish, hadn’t failed so catastrophically. And if you had, well, then I knew my warnings would fall on deaf ears. You want Victor? Fine. I’ll help you take him again.”

He went to the low shelf, drew the hunter’s folder from the row of

case files.

“Unless you’d rather let Marcella lead you through her hoops instead.”

He dropped the folder in the open tray.

“I’m sure once she figures out Victor’s value, she’ll make you pay every cent.”

Stell said nothing, his face a poor imitation of a stone wall as he slowly reached for the file. But Eli, of course, could still see every crack.

“My advisement,” he said, “is on the last page.”

Stell skimmed the instructions in silence, and then looked up. “You think this will work?”

“It’s how I’d catch him,” said Eli, truthfully.

Stell turned to go, but Eli called him back.

“Look me in the eye,” said Eli, “and tell me that when you find Victor, you will kill him once and for all.”

Stell met his gaze. “I’ll do as I see fit.”

Eli flashed a feral grin. “Of course you will,” he said.

And so will I.

XXIV

TWO DAYS AGO

XXV

DOWNTOWN WHITTON

SYDNEY was back on the ice.

It stretched in every direction. She couldn’t see the banks, couldn’t see anything but the frozen stretch of lake ahead, behind, the plume of her own breath.

“Hello?” she called.

Her voice echoed across the lake.

The ice crackled just behind her and she spun around, expecting to see Eli.

But there was no one there.

And then, from somewhere in the distance, a sound.

Not the cracking of the lake. A short, sharp tone.

Sydney sat up.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she was curled on the sofa, Dol at her feet and thin morning light seeping in the windows.

The sharp tone sounded again, and Syd looked around for her phone before she realized that the sound was coming from Mitch’s computer.

The laptop sat open on the table a few feet away, pinging like a beacon.

Sydney tapped the computer awake.

Mitch’s black lock screen came up, and she typed in the password

— benedición. The screen gave way to a matrix of code, way beyond the basics he’d been teaching her. But Syd’s attention went to the corner of the screen, where a small icon bounced up and down.

Results (1).

Sydney clicked the icon, and a new window popped up.