Page 76 of Uncontrolled

Her focus strays to where East is standing. It’s a split second, but it’s enough for me to realize aside from Nico, the others are all behind me in this room I’ve randomly been lured to on the second floor of this house. I’m not meant to escape.

I reach for the phone. “So if I hadn’t passed your test? What were you going to do, lock me in here?”

Nico grins like it’s all a big joke, and then her gaze goes steely as she kicks that blue plastic grocery bag at her feet. “Had the zip ties ready and everything.”

She’s not kidding. I know it instantly. Before I can take my phone from her, she tilts it. “I think maybe I should be the one to text Allie,” she says. “You don’t mind.” There’s a heavy pause. “Do you, Ploy?”

Allie

The sting of Talia shaming me for not protecting the Fissure’s Whipp resurrectionists is still fresh. After today though, I’ll be able to hold my head high.

I’m leery as I start down the street, in my hand the map and names written in Christopher’s careful print. My fingertips ran across the divots the letters made in the paper the entire walk here. It’s smooth again from me worrying the note. Not smeared, just…less him.

He’s gone, I think. By now, he’s got to be gone. LowLow will have given him my message and he’ll understand Talia’s gunning for him and he’ll take off until he’s somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from me.

My vision blurs. I can’t think about him.

With a forced breath, I go over my loose plan. Head in the rear entrance (because there’s bound to be a rear entrance) and take my time luring the hunters one by one. Quick deaths. No flash and flare.

I consult the list again. Five of them. Worst case, I can take on two at a time. Three tops. No, I think, scaling back. Don’t get overambitious.

I’ve got a knife at each ankle, another in the sheath at my waist, yet another tucked into the small of my back. My bracelet is made of six feet of paracord. Two metal sticks secure the bun in my hair, filed sharp.

I resist the urge to creep half into the bushes as I follow the sidewalk. Finally, I spot the rundown Victorian surrounded by a cheap chain-link fence missing one section. The gate is open. I keep walking, careful not to pay it too much attention. The hunters inside cost me everything, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m protecting the cluster. I roll my shoulders to mitigate the tightness.

I didn’t tell Talia what I was up to today. I didn’t tell anyone. I’m done being selfish. I’m doing this for the cluster, I tell myself yet again, though, like the other times, the words don’t quite settle into truth.

I wish Christopher was here.

The passing thought of him sends a flurry of emotions through me. I’ve burned through most of my anger. What’s left is sadness. Disappointment. I glance again at the page I’m holding with the hunter’s names and descriptions on it.

I remember those brown eyes the color of abandoned things, the fear in them when he realized I knew what he’d done. The way his voice cracked when he swore he was only trying to help, and how he’d never put me in danger. He asked me if I thought he could ever hurt me and the truth had burbled out of me like word vomit. Yes. Yes, he could hurt me, but I didn’t say it was because I care about him, because he means something to me. I should have told him I don’t know how to do any of this… Maybe he doesn’t either.

I hope he’s safe.

No sooner does the thought leave me than I correct it.

I hope he’s gone.

I’m not an idiot. I’m filling this hole inside me with vengeance and wrath, and I’m fine with it. Or I will be.

Hand digging into my pocket, I pivot and hurry back toward the hunters’ lair. When I get there, I shoot one property past to do recon on the neighbors’ house—no car, no blinds on the windows, and no art on the walls. From the state of it, probably abandoned. I go up the neighbor’s driveway as if I own the place. I’ve got my apartment keys out, a prop to anyone peeking through the windows of my target house next door.

I check things surreptitiously as I walk. There’s a dull gold beater car blocking in an antique SUV. Chances are, only a couple of the hunters are inside. I’ll have this cell wiped from Fissure’s Whipp before they’re aware of what’s happening.

I keep my attention on the cracked asphalt. Weeds spring through here and there. Tilting my head, I make a visual sweep of the small fenced-in backyard. No one’s on the back porch. If I’m going to do this, now’s the time.

A sudden flood of nerves catches me off guard. Not a bad feeling, just the rush of what’s coming. Blood. Sweat. At least one of them will put up a fight.

It won’t matter.

Now, I think to spur myself on, but my feet stay fixed to the driveway. Go!

I rocket forward, leaping over the row of boxwoods planted to divide the properties. My toes skirt the outside edges of the porch stairs to guard against creaks. The unlatched screen door opens easily.

I’m inside.

The place is dusty with disuse. A quick look to my right reveals a fraction of the kitchen. The hum of the refrigerator proves it’s at least casually occupied. I head left.

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