Page 17 of Shades of Silver City

Squeezing the phone so hard my knuckles ache, I hang up while Zeke is still rambling. I clench my jaw, rubbing the scruff on my chin and contemplating what this means. The file might be sealed for him, but Pixel—our resident hacker—can surely break through.

“Godric,” I call, snagging his attention. “You’ll never guess who our new friend is.”

My phone buzzes with an incoming message.

I glance down at the screen.

Zeke.

I open the message. Godric and I peer down at an image of Fantasia laughing behind a bar. My phone buzzes again with another message, and a slew of heart-eyed smiley faces pour in from Zeke.

Beside me, Godric’s body shakes with quiet laughter. I scoff, turning the screen off and stowing my phone away.

When I meet his eyes, he’s smirking. “I see why you wanted to know who she was now,” he says.

“I wanted to know how the hell she can see the Reaper.”

“The real question is: she single?”

“She’s Claude Foster’s daughter.”

The smile slips from his face as he presses his lips together. “Son of a bitch.” He crosses his arms. “I knew it. The fucking dust is back.”

“Still don’t know that for sure.” Striding away from Godric, I continue toward the city center.

“You’re telling me Claude fucking Foster’s daughter just randomly showed up and she’s immune to glamour?” He snorts. “I might not have your ability, but this smells like bullshit.”

“Not agreeing with you”—I pick up my pace—“but it’d be wise to keep her close for a bit. See what she knows. Especially with Mesmeric Labs under new ownership.”

“Hey, boss,” Godric says, halting beside me.

I pause and frown at him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Needed your attention.” He smirks, shrugging a broad shoulder, then points up. “UIS got your girl.”

I follow his line of sight to the closest Urban Information Screen.

The massive electronic screens are mounted on buildings every couple of blocks, continuously blasting critical news high above the city streets.

A picture of Fantasia floods the screen. I didn’t get a good enough look at her earlier to see the resemblance to the late faeologist—and the pale, bleached hair threw me off—but I see it clearly now. She has his complexion, the same almond-shaped pale blue eyes, and her dark brown brows—likely her natural hair color—match the shade of her father’s hair.

They have the same high cheekbones and plump lips.

Shock and sorrow lines her face as she stares down at the teenage girl we found earlier. Behind her, reaching out for her, is me.

My face isn’t visible from the angle the photo was taken, but the skull tattoo on the back of my hand is easily identifiable.

Wanted for murder, by order of the High Chancellor.

“What the hell—” I glance at Godric. “Tell Pixel to get this down.”

He shakes his phone at me. “She’s already on it.”

A moment later, the picture flickers out, replaced with an almost identical photo. Except, instead of Fantasia’s white-blonde bun and pale olive skin, it’s a girl with strawberry-blonde pigtails and tan skin. The Rising Star tee has been replaced with one that says Maverick’s Ales. Instead of horror, the girl’s face is lined with rage.

My hand is nowhere to be seen—successfully edited out.

Photo alteration courtesy of Pixel, tech genius.

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