she snarled.

“Oh shit,” said the man in the kerchief, but the other one sneered at her, blood spilling from his mouth.

“That’s an awfully big gun for such a little girl.”

“Let go.”

“You even know how to use it?”

“Yes.” Sydney squeezed the trigger as she said it, bracing for the recoil, the bang.

But nothing happened.

The man laughed, a short barking sound, and knocked the gun from her hands. It went skidding away.

“Little bitch,” he said, raising his boot as if she were a bug, something to crush. He brought it down hard. Or at least, he started to, but his leg seemed to lock up halfway, and then he toppled, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. An instant later, the second guy fell, limbs seizing, as Victor walked toward them, his collar up against the cold.

Relief washed over her, tangled with shock. “What are you doing here?”

The men on the ground writhed in muted agony, blood leaking from their noses and vessels breaking in their eyes.

Victor knelt to retrieve the discarded gun. “A little gratitude would be nice.”

She rose on shaky legs, the anger catching up. “You followed me.”

“Don’t try for the moral high ground, Sydney. You snuck out.”

“I chose to go. I’m not a captive.”

“You’re a child, and I promised to protect—”

“A promise you can’t keep is just another lie,” she snapped. She was sick of everyone lying.

Mitch had lied when he told her Victor was fine. Eli had lied when he said he wouldn’t hurt her. Serena had lied when she said she’d never leave. And Victor had been lying every day since his return.

“I don’t want you to save me,” said Sydney. “I want to save myself.”

Victor weighed the weapon in his hand. “All right,” he said, offering her the gun. “The first step is to turn the safety off.”

Sydney took the weapon, marveled at the weight in her hands. It was heavier than she expected. Lighter than she expected. Her thumb slid over the catch on the side.

“If you want,” said Victor, turning back toward the mouth of the alley, “I’ll teach you how to shoot.”

Sydney wasn’t ready for him to walk away.

“Victor,” she called, gripping the gun. “Did you do it?”

Victor slowed to a stop. Turned. “Did I do what?”

Sydney held his gaze. “Did you kill Serena?”

Victor only sighed. The question didn’t seem to take him by surprise, but he didn’t answer it either. Sydney raised the gun, training it on his chest. “Did you do it?”

“What do you think?”

Sydney’s grip tightened. “I need you to say it.”

Victor moved toward her slowly, steadily. “I warned you when we met, I wasn’t a good person.”

“Say it,” demanded Syd.

Victor came to a stop an arm’s length away, halted only by the gun against his ribs. He looked down at her. “Yes. I killed Serena.”

The words hurt, but the pain was dull. Not a knife wound, or a plunge into ice water, but the deep ache of a fear realized, a suspicion turned to truth.