“What do you really look like?” she asked, blowing on the steam.

June winked. “Sorry, kiddo, a girl’s gotta have some secrets.”

Syd looked down at the cocoa and shook her head. “What am I going to do now?”

“We,” said June, “are going to think of something. We’ll get through this, you and me. We just have to lie low until it’s over, and then—”

“Until what is over?” demanded Syd. “I can’t just stay here when Victor and Mitch are in trouble.”

June leaned forward, resting a hand on Syd’s boot. “They’re not the only ones who can protect you.”

“It’s not about protection,” said Syd, pulling away. “They’re my family.”

June stiffened, but Sydney was already on her feet, abandoning the half-empty mug beside the bed.

June could have grabbed her, but she didn’t. She simply watched her go.

Sydney was almost to the door, reaching for the handle, when it seemed to drift out of reach. The floor had tilted, too. And suddenly, it was all Syd could do to keep from falling over.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made things worse.

When Sydney opened them again, June was there, reaching out to steady her. “It’s okay,” she said, her accent soft, melodic. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Syd tried to ask what was going on, but her tongue felt leaden, and when she tried to pull away, she stumbled, head spinning.

“You’ll understand,” June was saying. “When this is all over, you will . . .”

Sydney’s vision blurred, and June’s arms closed around her as she fell.

* * *

THE road jostled under Eli’s feet as the transport made its way toward

Merit.

Five minutes into the drive, the hood had come off, trading the dark, woven interior of the fabric for the dark, windowless interior of the van itself. Not a vast improvement, but certainly a step.

The brown-eyed soldier sat on the bench to Eli’s right. The other two sat across from him. They rode in silence, Eli attempting to track the distance with one part of his mind, while the rest traced over the details of the plan he’d been given, pondered the problem of Marcella and her chosen compatriots.

He felt Brown Eyes staring at him.

“Something on your mind?” asked Eli.

“I’m trying to figure out how a guy like you kills thirty-nine people.”

Eli raised a brow. “You can’t kill what’s already dead. You can only dispose of it.”

“Does that apply to you, too?”

Eli considered. For so long, Eli had thought himself the exception, not the rule. Now he knew better. And yet Eli had been given this specific power. A memory flashed through his mind—kneeling on the floor, slicing open his wrists over and over and over to see how many times it would take before God let him die.