CHAPTER 6

After that incident, Eve opened up to Lucy. She began to talk—never names, never places—only about the revolution, what it stood for, what it meant.

Lucy found herself baffled. Eve had insisted she’d never killed anyone.

"Then who was using your bow?" Lucy asked.

"I don't own a bow," Eve replied.

"Then who does?"

"I can't tell you."

After that, she clammed up completely.

Lucy believed her. Joshua didn’t.

"So now what?" he asked, arms crossed, tone sharp with doubt.

"Well, sir, I believe if she’s trying to protect someone... then maybe that someone is also trying to protect her."

Joshua stared at her. "What is that supposed to mean? You sound exactly like—" He paused, his voice dropping. "When’s the last time you saw Harry?"

"The day you sent him home."

He ran a hand down his face, frustrated. "Listen. We’ve got three days before our guest arrives. I don’t care how you and Harry go about it, but I want every one of these scoundrels apprehended. Get whatever you need—and get him back here."

"Yes, sir."

She left the room like a child sent on an errand. Only as she walked out into the daylight did it hit her—she had no idea where to begin. Harry never left an address. No hints. Nothing. Then she had a thought: with that kind of head injury, he had to be on meds. She made for the only pharmacy in the district.

The place sat opposite the hospital. Like the hospital, it had no name—just a plain sign that said pharmacy. The automatic doors opened as she approached. She was still dressed in her black suit and trousers, but her shoes were a brightly colored mismatch, almost comedic.

Inside, the building was cluttered with shelves stacked high with pills and supplies, the windows long blinded. A young man on a ladder was changing a lightbulb. Beyond him was the counter, and behind it, an old man who looked half-alive.

"Good morning," she said.

"Almost was... how may I help you?" he asked slowly, like every word was heavy.

"I'm looking for a man who may have come by here this past week. Scar on the back of his neck. Puffy hair."

The old man stared, fingers tapping the counter.

"Is he a criminal?"

"No," she said, quick and firm.

"I don’t—"

"Father, I’m done!" the man on the ladder shouted.

"Okay, return Mr. Jack his ladder."

"Sure, no problem."

"He must have said he was an agent," Lucy interjected, pushing her presence. "Wore a brown coat?"

"Ah," the young man said, stopping at the door. "So you’re friends with the guy with the noisy neighbors?"

"Noisy neighbors?"

"Yeah. Weird guy. Always on edge. Comes in now and then for sleeping pills and some other stuff."

"You know where he lives?"

"No. But I’d guess somewhere near Carpenter’s Valley."

"Thanks," Lucy said, checking her watch. 11:49 a.m.

"It’s going to be a long day," she muttered and headed for the valley.

Carpenter’s Valley was enormous—about a third of the district. It was also loud, every industrial site seemed to orbit it. She needed a plan. Fast.

---

Harry's Apartment

Harry had left that morning to map out parts of the district. Halfway through, he realized he’d forgotten his camera. He headed home.

When he reached his door, it was unlocked.

He drew a breath, reassured himself of the weapon tucked in his waist bag, then pushed the door open.

"Mr. Fisher, please—come in," said a man lounging on his couch. He wore all black—shirt, jeans, boots. A black glove on his left hand.

"Funny. I should be the one saying that," Harry said, stepping in and shutting the door.

"Long time no see."

"Not long enough," Harry shot back.

"So... what do you have for me?"

"Progress is slow. It’s not easy finding someone who doesn’t want to be found."

"Mr. Fisher, my boss won’t be pleased with excuses. After everything he’s done for you... don’t tell me you’ve lost your touch."

"All your boss did was pay my hospital bills. I agreed to find the bastard who almost killed me, and that’s what I’ve been doing."

"No, no, no..." the man shook his head. "He’s done much more than that. Why do you think you're not in custody right now, accused of harboring Amam’s identity? You think they believed your story? And who puts an unfit agent back in the field? That wasn’t a coincidence, Harry. The reason you’re standing here, breathing, eating, free... is because of us."

"And who exactly are you?" Harry asked. "You didn’t even give me names. Why does your boss think I’m his best shot at finding this guy?"

The man fell silent. Then he stood, walked past Harry, and opened the door.

"Nice place. Shame you live alone," he said before disappearing.

Harry watched until he vanished from view. He bolted into the room, grabbed his camera, and raced to the door—just as someone knocked.

He froze, drew his knife, and opened the door.

"So this is where you live," Lucy said.

"How did you—?"

"Trust me, you don’t want to know. Can I come in?"

"I’m kind of in a hurry—"

"To where?" she cut in.

Harry glanced down the street. Empty. That stretch of road ran straight for three blocks. Where had the man gone?

"Am I interrupting something?" Lucy asked, eyeing the knife.

Harry’s expression remained unreadable.

"What do you want?"

"Chief wants you back."

Harry chuckled, no smile behind the sound.

"What for?"

"He needs every hand available. We’re short."

"I heard there was another murder. How’s that going?"

"Will you let me in or not?"

He looked at her, then away. "No. Tell him I’ll be there tomorrow."

He closed the door in her face and sat on the couch. Lucy banged on the door. He waited, watching it, half expecting her to bust in. But she didn’t. Not yet.

Then the door budged open again.

Harry motioned her inside. She sat at the far end of the couch. He had his notepad and pen now. The knife was gone.

"Alright. You’re in. Now what?"

"If you keep hiding things from me, we’ll never crack this case."

"Oh, we will. But more people will die first."

"If they sent you here, it’s because you’re our best chance."

"Wrong. I’m here because the friend you brushed past on your way in has powerful friends."

"What friend?"

Harry sighed, stared at the ceiling, then at her again.

"If you want my help, stop acting like a rookie."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I read your file. You’re smarter than you act."

"What file?" she froze.

He didn’t answer.

"Tell me everything that happened since I left. No details left behind."

She spoke. Harry listened, taking notes. When she finished, he looked down for a beat.

"Does this precinct hang crossbows in its corridors?"

"Of course not."

"You realized the woman was an imposter because she answered a question you hadn’t asked. Why didn’t you apprehend her?"

"I thought she was armed. I wasn’t sure what threat she posed."

"Five floors in the precinct—do they each have distinct alarms?"

"No," she said, adjusting her glasses.

"The note you received—who do you think sent it?"

"I’m not permitted to speculate."

"But if you were?"

"Whoever she’s protecting."

Harry jotted it down. "Did you get a good look at the man who just left?"

Their eyes locked.

"No."

Harry brushed a hand through his hair, fingers grazing the scar on his neck.

"Alright. I guess we’re done here."

"No... not yet," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"You wanted my honesty. I want yours."

Harry chuckled, already knowing where this was headed.

"Alright. What do you want to know?"

"What kind of threat are we dealing with?"

"Not sure yet. Could be B-class."

"How did you access my file?"

"Being me has its perks."

She wasn’t satisfied, but she let it go. Silence hung between them like static.

"I guess I’ll see you tomorrow," she said, standing.

Harry nodded, watching as she left without another word.