Chapter 18 · Neon Hunting Ground

"Move. Now. Or I’ll let them take you back in chains," Evelyn hissed, her hand gripping Kane’s wrist so hard her knuckles were white.

Kane didn't budge. He leaned back against the damp brick of the alleyway, eyes locked on the black sedan idling at the end of the street. The rain was coming down in sheets, turning the neon signs of the District into blurred, bleeding streaks of pink and electric blue.

"You're shaking," Kane noted. His voice was flat, but his eyes scanned the perimeter.

"I'm not shaking, I'm freezing. And we're out of time," she snapped, pulling him closer. The scent of her expensive perfume—something like jasmine and ozone—clashed with the smell of wet trash and burnt oil. "My father's cleaners are three blocks away. If they find me with a Discard, they won't just drag me home. They'll scrub you from existence."

Kane looked down at her. She was a mess—smudged eyeliner, a ripped silk sleeve, and a look of desperation that almost made her look human.