"Sloan wasn't-"

"Enough," she said, lifting the broken pendant from the table. "I just want to know, was it his idea, or yours?"

Harker considered her. And then his lips quirked. It was a grim smile, humorless and cold, almost apologetic. And in that gesture, she knew.

"Why?" she asked. "Why break the truce?"

"The truce was failing. Without a war, the Malchai were going to rebel."

"What about the ruined brands? The monsters who clawed off their marks?"

Harker shrugged. "That was Sloan's idea, to shift the blame away from me."

Kate started. It was the truth, it had to be-but it was wrong.

Soon the monsters will rise, and when they do, the city will be mine.

She let out a bitter laugh. "You're a fool," she told her father. "Sloan wasn't helping you. He started the rebellion, and you played right into his hands."

The smile slid from his face. "Well then," he said dryly, "thank God you disposed of him." He took a step toward her. "You've proven useful, Katherine. You might be a Harker after all."

Kate shook her head in disbelief. "Blood means nothing to you, does it?"

Harker's face hardened. "I never wanted a daughter, but Alice did, and I loved her, and she said I'd love you. And then you came into this world, and she was right. I did." Kate's chest tightened. "In my own way. They say fatherhood changes a man. It didn't change me. But Alice ... it ruined her. Suddenly you were all that mattered. All she could see. And in the end, it killed her."

"No," snarled Kate, gripping the gun. "Sloan killed her. I remember."

She'd meant to knock him off balance again, to watch the shock of the betrayal register. But it didn't. He knew. "She wasn't really mine anymore," he said coldly. "My wife wouldn't have tried to flee in the night. My wife was stronger than that."

She raised the gun and leveled it on her father. "Your daughter is."

His eyes narrowed. "You're not going to shoot me."

"You really don't know me, Dad," she said, pulling the trigger.

The sound was deafening, but this time, when the gun fired, it didn't take her by surprise.

Harker's body jerked backward, blood blossoming out from his shoulder.

And then, he grinned. It was a terrible, feral thing. "Not a true Harker after all," he chided. "My daughter would have shot to kill."

She squeezed the trigger again, aiming low; the bullet tore through Harker's left knee, forcing his leg to buckle beneath him. He gritted his teeth in pain, but kept talking.

"I thought it might work, you know. If you survived, if you never found out about Colton. It could have been the best of all worlds. Maybe we could have even been a family."

There had been a time when that was all Kate wanted. Now the thought made her sick.

"You're not a father. You're not even a man. You're a monster."

"It's a monster's world," said Harker. "And you don't have what it takes."

She trained the gun on her father's heart. "You're wrong," she said. Her voice was shaking but her hands were steady. But before she could pull the trigger, a shadow stepped in front of her, blocking her shot. "Kate. Stop."

Harker's eyes narrowed. "August Flynn."

"Get out of the way," warned Kate, but he stepped forward until the barrel of the gun came to rest against his ribs.

"No."

"I have to do this." The words came out strangled, and Kate realized she was crying. She hated herself for crying. Crying was weak. She wasn't weak. And she was going to prove it. "He deserves this."

"But you don't." August reached out and rested his hand over hers on the gun.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "My soul is already red."

"That was an accident. You were scared. You made a mistake. But this ... there's no coming back from something like this. You don't want-"

"I want justice," she snapped. "I want judgment."

August brought his other hand to rest on her shoulder. "Then let me give it."

She met his eyes. They were pale and wide, and in their surface she saw herself, the self she'd tried to be. Her father's daughter. The tremor finally reached Kate's fingers, and she uncurled them from the gun, letting August take the weight, and then- Movement over his shoulder, a flash of metal as Harker got to his feet and lunged.

He never made it. August turned and caught her father's wrist, wrenching the knife free and slamming him back against the wooden floor. August dug his fingers into Harker's wounded shoulder, and the man hissed in pain. August didn't seem to take any pleasure in the task, but he didn't release him, either.

"You should go, Kate."

"No," she said, but the truth was, watching Harker writhe beneath August turned her stomach. Her father had always looked like such a large man, but lying there, pinned beneath August's knee, pain making the red light surface on his skin like sweat, he looked weak.

"Please," said August. "Make sure no one interrupts us."

Kate took a step back, and then another. She met her father's eyes-dark eyes, her eyes-one last time, and said, "Good-bye, Harker."

And then she turned and left, shutting the soundproof doors behind her.

It took a long time for him to die.

August didn't draw it out, not on purpose, but the last of the man's life resisted, and by the time it was over, Callum Harker lay in the middle of the floor, his body twisted and his eyes burned black. Beyond the windows, the sun had started its descent.

Blood dripped from August's fingers as he straightened. He still hated the sight of it, and he did his best to wipe it off before stepping out into the penthouse.

Kate was sitting on the black leather couch, an unlit cigarette between her fingers.

"Those things will kill you," he said gently, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up. Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying, but they were dry now. "That's why I'm not smoking it," she said. "Plenty of other ways to die." Her gaze flicked past him to the office doors. "Especially now."

She'd showered and changed and packed a bag, the handgun resting on top. Her blond hair was free of blood and grime, scraped back into a ponytail, revealing the silver scar that traced from temple to jaw. She was wearing all black, her nails freshly painted.

"You could come with me," he said. "To South City. We can protect you-"

But she was already shaking her head. "No one can protect me, August. Not in this city. Not anymore. Harker didn't have friends. He had slaves and enemies. And now he's dead, you think they're going to let me go free?"

No, he didn't. Even with Sloan gone, the Malchai were rising up, Harker's system breaking down. It wasn't safe here. It wasn't safe anywhere.

They took the private elevator to the garage where she'd left Sloan's car. The sun was going down, and it wouldn't be long before someone went looking for Harker and found his body. She set the gun on the passenger seat, on top of the border papers and the cash she'd taken from the house.

"Where will you go?" asked August.

"I don't know," she said. It must have been the truth.

She hesitated in the open door, one foot in the car, one still on the ground. August produced a slip of paper he'd taken from Harker's desk, the corner tinged with blood. On it, he'd written the number for the FTF. The codes to access Henry's private line, since he didn't have his own. "If you ever need help," he said. She said nothing, but took the paper and tucked it in her pocket.

"Be careful, Kate. Stay"-he was going to say safe, but he changed his mind-"alive."

She raised an eyebrow. "Any advice on how to do that?"

August tried to smile. "The same way I stay human. One day at a time."

"You're not human," she said. But the words had no venom. She started to climb in, but he reached out and folded his fingers over hers on the car door. She didn't pull away. Neither did he. It was only a moment, but it mattered. He could tell, even through the haze.

August's hand fell away, and Kate pulled the door shut, rapping her nails on the open window. He took a step back, put his hands in his pockets. "Good luck, Kate Harker."

"Good-bye, August Flynn."

He watched the car pull away. And then he walked out of the garage and onto the street, toward the Seam, and South City, and home.

They saw him coming.

Word must have gone up from the moment he stepped into the compound, or maybe Paris had even called when he came through, because Henry and Emily Flynn were waiting when the elevator doors opened. Before he could say anything, they were there, pulling him into something more desperate than a hug. August sank against their grip and told them everything.

About Kate.

About Sloan.

About Leo.

He told them about Colton.

About running.

About leaving Ilsa.

About the Malchai.

And his brother's treason.

And his death.

He confessed, and when he was done, he sank to his knees, and Henry sank with him, and the two sat there on the hall floor, foreheads pressed together.

There'd been a fight, Henry told him, after August's call, and Leo had left, abandoned the Flynns and their mission for his own. They couldn't stop him.

August had.

"I thought I'd lost you," said his father.

You did, he wanted to say, but there was more of him left than there was lost, so he said, "I'm here. And I'm so sorry about Leo. About Ilsa."

"She'll be all right," said Emily, touching August's shoulder.

His head snapped up. "What?"

August felt himself choking on the hope of the words, and then the fear that he'd misheard. "But Sloan-"

Henry nodded. "It was a close thing, August. She got away, but ... well, she got away. That's what matters."

"Where?" But he was already on his feet and heading past them, toward her bedroom.

He pushed the door open, and there she was, standing at the window with her strawberry curls, watching the sun sink over the city, Allegro watching from the bed. She was wearing a thin-strapped shirt, and even from the doorway, he could see her skin was bare, the thousands of stars that had once turned her back into a sky now gone.

"Ilsa," he said, breathless with relief.

And then she turned toward him, and August tensed-a vicious red line sliced across her throat. Sloan had told the truth, if not the whole truth.

He didn't know how the Malchai had gotten away with his life, but he was glad Leo had put a pole through the monster's back.

Despite the injury, Ilsa's face lit up when she saw him. She didn't speak, only held out a hand and he crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. She still smelled like mint.

"I thought you were gone," he whispered. Still nothing. He pulled away to look her in the eyes. He didn't know how to tell her about Leo. Ilsa had been the first Sunai and Leo the second, and Leo might not have loved her-or anyone-but she loved him.

"Our brother-" he started, but she brought her fingers to his lips.

Somehow, she already knew.

"I'm scared," he whispered against her hand. "I lost myself." And it was more than that, of course. He'd taken in the soul of another Sunai. Even now, it burned through him like a star. "I don't think it all came back."

She shook her head sadly, as if to say it never does.

Her lips parted, as if she wanted to speak. Nothing came out, but her eyes, those bright blue eyes, were full of words, and he knew what she would say.

Nobody gets to stay the same.

She turned back to the window, and looked out toward the city, and the Seam. Her fingers drifted to the still-cracked glass, and against the dark she drew a star, and then another, and another. August wrapped his arms around his sister's shoulders and watched her fill the sky.