BRETT WAITED UNTIL nine a.m. on Friday before he made the call. “I’m such an idiot,” he told the Starbucks girl who answered. “I ordered a drink for my wife but left it on the counter. Her name’s Collette. Is it by any chance still there?”

“I’m sorry, but someone else picked it up,” the girl said. “It would be cold by now anyway. If you come back by, we’ll make you one on the house.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Brett hung up without saying good-bye, just in case Seneca was having the call traced. He smiled. All the cogs were moving smoothly in the machine. Now all he had to count on was his old friends doing exactly what he wanted, though he had a feeling that wouldn’t be too difficult.

He burst into Chelsea’s room. The girl shot up, her eyes wide, and she seemed to take in his close-cropped hair, his shaven face, his colored contacts, the makeup dusted across his cheeks and hands to give him a more olive complexion. For a moment, he could tell she thought he was someone new—a stranger. A rescuer. But then she noticed: It was the same old him, just changed a little. Tears filled her eyes.

“What gave me away?” Brett asked, annoyed. He’d worked hard on his transformation just now, shedding Gabriel in the same way a snake sheds its skin. “My eyes? My build?” It would be easy to bulk back up, though. In only a few weeks, his body would be dramatically different. No one from here would be able to pick him out of a lineup.

“We’re going to do a photo shoot,” Brett said. “What do you think?”

Chelsea just stared. “Y-you look very handsome with short hair,” she said in a frightened voice.

Brett eyed her coldly. He knew what she was doing, but it wasn’t going to work on him. He lifted the camera and moved close to her face. “Smile, please.”

Chelsea’s eyes flicked to the phone again. Brett let out an impatient snort. “No, no. You can’t see it. But don’t worry. Your family will know how you are soon enough.”

Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Brett pressed the camera app. “I just need you to smile right now, okay?”

“But wh-why?”

“Smile,” he said through his teeth. “The world will want to see how pretty you were before.”

Chelsea’s eyes glazed over. Brett could practically see her little brain struggling with what that word could mean. Before. Her lip started to tremble. She didn’t smile. Brett sighed and removed the knife from his pocket. It took only a second to push it to her throat. She made a small gurgling sound. “Smile like you mean it. Smile in the way you want to be remembered.”

Chelsea looked terrified, but she straightened. As Brett pulled the knife away, she relaxed into an astonishingly convincing smile. Her eyes gleamed. Her teeth shone. Her skin seemed to glow. She was a pro, after all.

“Nice,” he cooed, pressing the shutter. “Now, was that so hard?”

He pocketed the knife and phone and started for the door. Chelsea coughed, and he turned. “You’re not going to…” She trailed off, but the end of the question loomed heavily in the air, like a swarm of bugs.

“Kill you now?” Brett liked how she flinched at the word. “No. There’s something else I have to take care of first.” Then, after a moment’s thought, he tossed her the TV remote he’d carried in from Command Central. “Here. It’ll take your mind off things.”

Chelsea teared up again. “I don’t want to watch TV. I want to leave.”

Brett rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You know you want to see yourself on the news.”

Then he pivoted, walked through the door, and shut it. As he was making sure it was locked, he heard the fizzling snap of the television turning on.

Called it.