Chapters (52)
- Copyright
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Acknowledgments
- Read More from the Market of Monsters Series
- More Books from HMH Teen
- About the Author
- Connect with HMH on Social Media
“No. Like I said, I don’t forgive.” Nita picked up a scalpel from her pocket. “And I don’t forget.”
She brought the blade down.
Twenty-Six
KOVIT STOPPED BY BRIEFLY, and she sent him away to find them dinner while she dealt with the body. She needed time, time to think, to contemplate her next steps. To internalize what she’d learned.
She also needed time to be alone, just her and her scalpel and the body, to appreciate the peace of dissection, the calm and the clear-headedness she could only truly achieve when she was elbow-deep in a chest cavity.
Before she dissected, she knew she needed to verify some of the things Andrej had said.
She turned to Google. The Wikipedia page for Nadezhda Novikova informed Nita that she was still alive, but hadn’t been seen in public for the past twenty years, which fit with the story.
The internet at large was full of conspiracy theories—she saw a number referencing how young she looked twenty years ago at age sixty, and how many people thought she was some sort of unnatural that had gone into hiding. There were also some that claimed she’d been murdered and INHUP covered it up, which Nita didn’t like. The closer people’s stories were to internet conspiracy theories, the less she trusted them.
She switched tactics, realizing she might actually know what Adair’s photo was from now. She searched for INHUP founders’ images and scrolled through blurry photos from sixty years ago, trying to find—there.
Nita pulled up the photo, the same one Adair had shown her. Except this time the other faces weren’t blurred out.
Andrej stood in the middle, grinning, an arm casually wrapped over Nadezhda Novikova’s shoulders. There were half a dozen people Nita didn’t recognize. And one she did.
At the top corner of the photo, Nita’s mother toasted the photographer with a glass of champagne. Her smile was wide and bright and perfectly happy. It transformed her face, made her look less like her mother and more like . . . more like Nita.
Nita shuddered. That was a terrible thought.
But here it was. Photographic evidence that both of them had at one time been part of INHUP. That her vicious, murderous mother might actually be at the head of the organization Nita was trying to destroy.
Nita had always known her mother had contacts in INHUP. She’d assumed they were bribed or threatened or whatever. But she’d never expected this.
She put her phone away, put her dissection gloves on, and did what she did when her mind couldn’t process things, when she was stressed and needed to work through her pain.
She dissected.