The bad feeling nipped like a shadow at Mitch’s heels. How long had it been following him? Days? Weeks? Months? Had it been there since the night at Falcon Price, when he set fire to Serena’s body? Or was it simply the fact that when it came to Mitch’s luck, it was only a matter of time before it ran out?

“How far?” asked Sydney in the backseat.

Mitch’s throat felt dry when he answered.

“We’re almost there.”

* * *

FUCK.

June had overslept, woken with the sun full up and in her eyes. This is why she preferred killing to stalking—you could do it on your own schedule.

She lurched out of bed, stumbled to the window, studied the apartments across the street. There was no sign of Syd on the balcony.

No glimpse of Victor or Mitch in the rooms beyond. For days, they’d passed like shadows through the apartment, lounged on furniture, taken the dog for walks.

Now, the curtains were pulled back, and the place looked barren.

June swore, and got dressed.

She crossed the road, caught the door just as someone was coming out. They didn’t even look twice—and why should they? She was just a

kid, thirteen, gangly, innocent. June loped up the stairs, shifting again before she reached the fifth-floor landing, ready to pass herself off as a college kid, canvassing for politicians.

She knocked on their door, but no one answered.

June pressed her ear to the wood, swore again at the wall of silence, then produced a few narrow picks and let herself in.

The door swung open.

The apartment was empty.

A horrible déjà vu—of another city, another abandoned place, a full year of useless searching—but June steadied herself. Sydney was no longer a stranger. They knew each other. Trusted each other. June returned to her hotel room and fetched her phone from the bedside table, sighing with relief.

Sydney had already texted.

Syd: You’ll never guess where we’re going.

June knew the answer before she even read Sydney’s next message.

Merit.

Five minutes later, June was on the road, driving a solid twenty over the speed limit as she barreled toward Merit in their wake. She called Marcella on the way.

“He’s on the move,” she said, catching herself before she said they.

“And headed to Merit.”

“Well,” said Marcella, “I wonder what gave him that idea.”

“It wasn’t you?”

“No,” she said, sounding a little put out. “But this is better. See that he gets here safely. We’ll welcome him with open arms.”

June frowned as she wove around a semi. “I thought you were trading him to EON.”