The slender spike of sky between the two buildings forming her alley began to darken with night and thicken with clouds. Rain was coming. She had to find some kind of shelter. It was one thing to emulate a homeless person, quite another to become one.
That might be her ultimate fate, she realized, and then shoved the thought aside. TonyStark hadn’t meant to sacrifice his life for her, but he had, and she wasn’t going to let that life degenerate into a puddle of self-pity and meaninglessness. She was going to finish what she’d started with OHM, which meant following the only lead she had: @Shameless.
With a name like that, could she even trust such a person? Hell, even if he was named @MostTrustworthyGuyEVAH, could she afford to trust him?
It was getting late and she didn’t know where Venecia was. Her ancient phone couldn’t get on any kind of data network, so she couldn’t check maps or the website. She contemplated flagging a cab and just saying “Venecia” to the driver. But cabs had cameras, she remembered. No way.
She couldn’t get online, but text messages were sent using unused bandwidth on the voice line of phones. She had only one choice. She had to ask Sarah for help again.
Time passed. She remembered that this phone had no personal data and she’d purged the earlier text thread. So she added:
After a few moments, Sarah came back:
A few more moments passed and then the address came through, along with and a heart emoji.
Cassie texted and then quickly shut off the phone. The address was on the other side of town, and it would take a while to get there, since she was pretending to be blind.
*
With minutes to spare, she lurked at the corner of an alleyway with a line of sight to the entrance to Venecia. As she watched, masked revelers approached the door, gave a complicated knock, then spoke to the bouncer and entered. How in the world was she supposed to make this work? She had no mask and no password. Just by watching over and over, she thought she had the secret knock down — two short, one long, three short — but that wouldn’t get her very far.
Her fists clenched. Her body, exhausted, nevertheless vibrated with energy. She had to get in there.
Just then, a strong hand grabbed her from behind and dragged her back into the alley. Before she could scream, another hand was clapped over her mouth. She lashed back with an elbow but missed.
“It’s me,” a familiar voice hissed in her ear. “Stop fighting me.”
Bryce.
She stopped struggling and he let go. She stepped away from him and spun around. A part of her wanted to fling herself into his arms in joy and gratitude and relief. Another part wanted to kick him in the nuts.
“Did you do it?” she demanded. “Did you tip off the mob?”
It was such a weird coincidence, after all. Bryce got a message from @Shameless, then left OHM. Soon afterward, the raid.
The bullets.
The body, spinning in the air …
She shook herself all over, like a dog trying to get clean.
“Did I …?” He ran a hand through his hair, newly shorn, she noticed. It suited him so much better than the trustafarian look. “Did I tip them off? Are you crazy? Those were my friends, Cassie. I risked everything for them. No way did I narc on them. I don’t know who did. Someone BLINQed the location.”
“Then they tracked your text.”
“Uh-uh. Not a chance. We bounce signals all over God’s creation before they land anywhere in HQ.”
“Then who?” she asked. Her blood pumped so hot that she imagined it bubbled in her veins. “Who did it? And how?”
“I don’t know, Cassie,” he said with frustration. “Maybe it was just that our time was up. It was inevitable that we’d be found out someday. That’s why we had escape routes planned in the first place. Just bad luck, all right?” Bryce checked his ridiculously old-fashioned watch. “We don’t have time for this. We have to get inside.” He unslung a messenger bag from his shoulder. “I brought gear.” He unzipped the bag. “Cutting your hair was a good idea, ditto the shades, but this should work better. Here.”
She took the thing he handed her. It was a latex mask, but more detailed than any she’d ever seen. “It’s called a prosthetic mask,” he explained. “They’re way expensive, but there are benefits to being a trust-fund kid. Someone passing you on the street probably won’t realize you’re wearing a mask at all.”
She tugged the mask on. It was a little hot in there but otherwise fine.
“How’s it look?”
He shrugged. “When your lips don’t move, it loses some of its magic, but we’re going somewhere where you’re supposed to be masked, so it’s fine. Let’s go.”