Page 31 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

She stares at the texts.

GURLIEN (11:03 AM): Ida Grove.

At least he’s not so mad at her he won’t respond to that.

Then, another number.

XXXXXX(11:04 AM): This is Ambra. What happened to your phone, everyone’s panicking and they’re loud.

Chloe smiles down at the phone, idly standing outside the store, before glancing up at the snow.

CHLOE (11:05 AM): A lot, but I am safe. And making progress, I think.

AMBRA (11:07 AM): And your phone?

Chloe worries at her lip, as a car drives by the road, fully ignoring her.

CHLOE (11:09 AM): Stolen by another treasure hunter. But I’m okay.

AMBRA (11:10 AM): Gurlien is gonna do a remote wipe of it, so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. He’s also pissed off.

It’s fair, but Chloe just exits out of the text services, poking through a few more useful apps (including a coordinate reader), before unfolding the piece of paper.

A little closer now that they’ve driven away from the forest, but still at the same coordinates. Still just one set of coordinates.

She sets the compass on her leg next to the paper, and it twists to pointing the other direction.

Until…

As Chloe watches, the coordinates blur, the distance jumping to thousands of kilometers away, and her heart catches.

Still just one set of coordinates.

She punches it into her phone, and it’s in the same direction as the compass.

“Okay,” Chloe whispers, to the chilled air of the small town.

So he’s hunting, too.

Chloe usesher Midwest charm and underhanded tactics to bribe a small craft pilot to get them most of the way down south, and she just watches the paper in fascination as the kilometers trickle down.

The small craft is cold, relatively low flying, and they stop for fuel several times, but Chloe’s eyes don’t close the entire trip down.

She should sleep. She should get rest, let her mind settle down, give into the weight in her bones, but each time she takes a few deep breaths, every time she thinks she might be able to get a smidgen of sleep, the power in the demon’s eyes pop back to her, starting her heart pounding once more.

It’s probably stupid, to be knowingly going after a demon without matching backup, but somehow this is the most alive she’s felt in ages, sitting on cold vinyl seats in an airplane that holds five people, soaring illegally over dead cornfields. On her way to the next step in tracking down her friend, breaking into things, dealing with dangerous rivals and untrustworthy allies.

It’s what she is made to do.

Chloe smiles out at the cold window, out at the darkness below.

The small craftpilot refuses to shake her hand, but drops her off at an air strip in the middle of the desert as the sun starts to rise, and the distance says just thirty-five kilometers away.

Her compass points true, in the same direction.

And then, in the dusty airstrip, watching the man fly away, Chloe opens the paper back up.

Sparks tingle against her fingertips with each touch, and the coordinates flicker on the paper like a dying lightbulb.

---