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AS SHE TENSED HER MUSCLES for the shove, Aubrey’s mind shouted a warning. Wrong. Don’t do it. Don’t draw attention. Don’t stand out. She stood, silent and unmoving, as the girl twisted hard on the key.
The grinding protest from the rusty lock was like a groan of pain. The young woman slammed her hip into the door, looking relieved when it finally swung open.
Aubrey allowed herself to be dragged inside. I could jump her after she shuts the door. I can’t draw attention if nobody can see us. Aubrey braced herself for action, hoping the girl would turn her back to re-lock the heavy portal.
“Don’t,” the woman said, eyes boring into Aubrey’s, her fierce grip clamped vise-like on Aubrey’s now-throbbing fingers. Without turning her head, she reached back with her foot and kicked the door shut.
Before Aubrey could say or do anything—or even come up with a new escape plan—she found herself spinning around in blinding pain. She hit the floor, hard, her back against the now-closed door.
Her unsought companion had twisted her arm around without warning—that explained how she’d thrown Aubrey down so easily. I’m not the tough one here. She wilted, feeling small and contrite.
The woman released her grip on Aubrey’s hand to re-lock the door and slam the deadbolts—three of them—into place. The pain in Aubrey’s hand cautioned against anything more daring than rubbing her aching fingers. She risked a quick look around.
The inside of the tenement was as sparse and dreary as the exterior. A kitchen was located down a short hall opposite the front door, with a flimsy table—leaning at a strange angle as if one leg was about to collapse—in the otherwise unfurnished room. The parlor to her left was just as empty, except for a small stack of faded and threadbare blankets folded in one corner.
With the locks now secured, the woman stepped away from the door. She stared down at Aubrey with an unreadable expression as she pulled her own hood back.
Even in the meager light, Aubrey saw the woman was younger than she’d first thought. She was probably within a few years of Aubrey’s age, but her hardened expression gave her an older air.
And her eyes . . . no, she wasn’t one of Them. The telltale marker around the left eye—it wasn’t there, and Aubrey relaxed. There was no way to tell what the woman knew, or thought she knew, but she wasn’t one of the Soul-less.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the quiet dripping of rainwater from their soaked jackets, the muffled grumble of traffic in the street outside, and the petulant weather. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, Aubrey managed to find her voice, trying as hard as she could to sound confident.
“I don’t know why you dragged me in here.” She hoped her words didn’t betray her sense of dread. My voice sounds so hoarse, I hardly recognize myself. “But I’ve got nothing you could possibly want. No money, no food.”
Her companion closed her eyes for a moment, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Who says I want anything? Even if I did, I wouldn’t risk bringing you inside to get it. You think I want anybody to know I’m trying to help you?”
Startled, Aubrey stared at her, the sound of her own heartbeat drowning out all else. “Help me with what?” She fought to avoid stammering. “What makes you think I need help?”
She drew back instinctively as—without warning—the woman swooped closer, crouching down so their eyes were level. Those eyes. They may not belong to the Soul-less, but there’s something very hard about those eyes.
The woman brushed her rain-soaked bangs away from her face. “Look, I don’t have time to play ‘Twenty Questions’ with you. Drop the innocent bystander routine, and talk to me without the coy little games. What did they tell you? What’re your instructions? Your destination?”
Aubrey froze, her thoughts racing. The woman was just centimeters away, and despite her size and youthful appearance, could obviously handle herself in a physical altercation. And she knew . . . what? What could she possibly know about Aubrey? If she did know, how?
“Aubrey,” she said at last, hoping to buy a moment to collect her thoughts. “My name is Aubrey.”
She thought her voice sounded stronger and more confident. She continued to massage her fingers with her other hand, grateful for the gradual return of circulation.
“Aubrey,” the woman repeated, neither her expression nor flat voice giving anything away. “Well, that’s better than ‘hey, you’, I guess. Except I didn’t ask for your name, did I? Look, we’ve wasted too much time already. What did they tell you? When they sent you off, what were your instructions?”
Aubrey noticed she didn’t bother to identify herself.
You’re just rude. Resentment boiled, clouding her thoughts. Maybe you’re not one of the Soul-less, but to me, you are now Nameless.
“They told me not to talk to strangers.” Aubrey was pleased her voice sounded stronger than before. “Or didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
The question came out with more disdain than she’d planned, but she didn’t care. Stand up for yourself, Aubs. Two can play this game.
The woman now known as Nameless didn’t blink, but lunged forward with the speed of a striking cobra. Aubrey recoiled, the back of her head striking the wooden door behind her. The muffled thud coincided with a spike of pain.
If her eyes had been expressionless earlier, Nameless now made no attempt to hide her fury at Aubrey’s stubborn insolence. “Look, I can’t guide you unless I know where you’re supposed to be heading. Do you think you’re the only Runner out there?”
She slapped her palm against the doorframe beside Aubrey’s head, her face taut with anger and . . . was that fear Aubrey saw?
Aubrey shuddered again, not knowing what to make of her words. “What do you mean—Runner? What are you talking about?” Her voice sounded thin and shaky in her own ears.
Nameless glared at her. “You’re not the first one I was told to intercept. I’m like a clue in a mystery game, okay? You ever play those games? You go to one place, and you get the clue to the next place, and so on?”
Aubrey nodded, fascinated and terrified to feel like a pawn in somebody else’s game. A lethal game, with Aubrey in the crosshairs.
“Look, it’s not like there’s only one Hub I could take you to.” Her acidic companion’s voice was low but still biting. “I need to know which destination they gave you.”
Aubrey stared at her for a long moment, unsure of herself. Can she be trusted? What if this is a trap? Nameless continued to stare at her, and Aubrey made her decision.
“The Mission,” she said, breaking eye contact with her abrasive new ally. Trusting her might turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life. A very short life, if I’ve guessed wrong. “They told me to look for the downtown Mission.”
“The Mission.” Her counterpart repeated Aubrey’s words, her expression as hard and unreadable as before. She inhaled deeply, shaking her head. “Not anymore, you’re not. Plans have changed.”
Aubrey stared at her, dumbfounded. “What do you mean, ‘changed’? I finally tell you the destination you were asking for, and you say I can’t go there. Just like that?”
Nameless glared back, a new look of mockery in her eyes. “The Mission’s been compromised. Do you have any idea what that means? You wouldn’t have liked the reception committee waiting for you. The Hoarders don’t take prisoners.”
In the instant following her cryptic reply, before Aubrey could protest whatever change of plans Nameless had in mind, they both heard it.
As one, their heads swiveled to look at the door behind Aubrey. The doorknob—locked though it was—shifted ever so slightly. There was a brief pause, and then the furtive action was repeated.
Somebody was testing the door. Someone who didn’t want to advertise their presence or their intent.
What ‘intent’ could that be, Aubs? Her mouth went dry in sudden fear. You think they might be friendly?
Nameless pivoted, drops of rainwater spraying from her hair onto Aubrey’s face. With a firm finger held before her lips, she pulled Aubrey up from the floor.
Unable to disguise her obvious anxiety, Nameless tip-toed down the hall to the kitchen. Aubrey understood, mimicking her painstaking steps, as swift and silent as possible.
As they crossed the kitchen threshold, Nameless lunged to her left, easing open another heavy wooden door, to expose a staircase descending into the lower level.
She waved Aubrey forward, gesturing for her to enter ahead of her. Aubrey saw at least three heavy deadbolts on the door, just like the front entrance. On the inside of the door.
She could barely make out the staircase beyond, leading to the darkened basement. Who designs a basement with a door that locks from below?
Aubrey joined Nameless by the basement door, pausing for a moment to look toward the front foyer. Maybe the mysterious door-tester has moved on?
Then she saw it. For a moment, it felt like her heart stopped dead, until it began thudding in her chest as if she’d just run a marathon.
The windows on either side of the door were dirty, smeared, and almost opaque, but she saw it. A shadowy silhouette, barely discernible, shifting across the windowpanes, as if someone was trying to peer inside the tenement through the uncooperative glass.
Which, of course, was exactly what they were doing.
Aubrey stiffened, transfixed, as her breath caught in her throat. The shadowy figure peered through one window, and then shifted to the opposite side of the door to repeat its action, undaunted by the grimy glass.
They can’t see me. If I can’t see out through the window, they can’t see in, either. They can’t see me . . .
A thin, blood-red circle of light blazed into life, shining through the opaque windowpane. Aubrey’s stomach lurched. She knew what the diffused glow was—she’d seen it before. Worse, she knew what it meant. Death crouched outside the door, preparing to strike them down.
It was the left eye of the Soul-less.
Nameless also saw the terrifying circle of light. She shoved Aubrey down the weathered steps, turning back to slam the door shut. Her fingers fumbled with the deadbolts, thwarting her efforts to slide them into place.
There was no point in trying to be stealthy now. The doors—at the front entrance and the cellar—wouldn’t hold long against the maniacal strength of the Soul-less.
They raced down the stairs, their footsteps thudding on the wood. Nameless led the way to a large metal contraption, ducking behind it.
Aubrey’s elbow knocked against the bulky furnace as she followed. The accidental contact created a reverberating clang, echoing through the grimy ductwork.
Nameless glared over her shoulder, her disapproval obvious despite the meager light. Beyond her, in the narrow, claustrophobic space behind the furnace, Aubrey saw a ragged gap in the building’s foundation.
Her guide deftly navigated the opening, and Aubrey followed, squeezing with little difficulty into a tunnel beyond.
Dreary lights hung at sporadic intervals from the ceiling along the tunnel’s length. It continued further than Aubrey could make out in the murky twilight. Despite the poor lighting, this was clearly a well-used and not coincidental passage from the house.
Aubrey had a lot of questions for Nameless—all this talk of Runners, routes, safe houses. What had she gotten sucked into? Why me?
How did the Soul-less know where to find her? That they were death-on-two-legs, she already knew. She’d already seen.
But as adrenaline and fear energized her pounding flight down the tunnel, Nameless matching her stride for stride, a strange yet comforting thought came to Aubrey’s mind.
I’m not alone. There’s more of us.
Whoever “us” might turn out to be . . .