Chapter 7 · Mom's Last Tape

I'm running before Mara finishes saying my mother's name.

Cain's already moving. His hand clamps around my wrist and he drags me into the alley behind the station. The crowd's screaming but I can't look back. My lungs are burning. His shoulder's bleeding through his jacket—silver does that, keeps the wound open—but he's faster than me even half-dead.

"How does she know?" I gasp.

"Shut up and run."

We hit the end of the alley and he shoves me left. My boots skid on gravel. There's a chain-link fence ahead and he lifts me over it like I weigh nothing. I land hard on the other side. He vaults after me. His eyes are still gold. His claws are still out.

"Cain, your shoulder—"

"I said shut up."

We're in some kind of railyard now. Rusted freight containers stacked three high. Weeds growing through the tracks. He pulls me between two containers and stops. Listens. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I can hear his breath coming rough and uneven.

I can hear boots hitting pavement two blocks back.

"She's not alone," Cain says quietly.

"How many?"

"Three. Maybe four." He looks down at me.