Chapter 7 · Wrong Kind of Rescue

"Drop the knife, Cain. Right now."

He stopped with one hand around the squad leader's throat.

The soldier's boots scraped against the concrete. His helmet hung crooked. A thin line of blood ran from his mouth to his chin, but Cain did not look at it. He looked at Lila's gun.

Not her face. The gun.

"You heard me," Lila said. "Let him go."

Cain's grip tightened.

The soldier made a small, ugly sound.

"Cain."

His head turned toward her. His pupils had gone pale around the edges, almost silver. The red pulse under his skin flashed once near his neck, then again.

Lila kept the pistol aimed at his forehead. Her hands were steady because she had run out of room to panic.

"You said the pact controls you," she said. "You said my code could stop you. So stop."

His jaw flexed. "He was going to kill you."

"And now you're going to kill him?"

"Yes."

"That's not what I asked."

The squad leader clawed at Cain's wrist. His rifle lay two feet away, close enough for Lila to see the stamped black insignia on its side. Hive security. The kind that did not arrest people.