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"The cleanup crew is here," he says, tucking something hard and cold between my breasts. "It's time to go."

I pull it out, stifling a sob when I unfurl my fist and see it.

A knife.

My knife, with the pearl embossed tulips on the handle, my name etched into the titanium blade. The knife I snorted cocaine from with Luca, the one I killed Heidi's sister with, ruining all of our lives to save his.

The knife I used to carve my initial into Declan's chest after he told me that he loved me and he'd never leave me.

It takes every ounce of strength I have not to bury it in my own chest.

ELEVEN

Isit in the passenger seat beside Bone Saw, turning the blade over, examining it in my hands. It almost seems unreal—like a relic of a past life.

"Where did you get it?" I ask.

"I intercepted it from the police in Wyoming before they could send it to a lab," he says. "Just in case."

"It has my name on it," I say, tracing the letters etched into the blade with my fingertip. "You said I wouldn't be able to have a name."

"You won't. But when I see you, I'll know it's you. I could call you by your name if you wanted."

"Would we…be together?"

"No, you'd go wherever they needed you. We wouldn't be together."

"And you think I should do it? You think I'd be happy?"

"I think 'happy' is a deluded concept."

"Maybe you're right," I tell him. "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Join."

He laughs. "I didn't join. I was like Sonia in a way. My dad gave me to them when I was six years old."

"What? Why?"

"He was part of The Order, and he broke the rules. He'd been scared shitless for weeks that they were going to kill him—even though I wasn't old enough to understand why, I knew that much. One night, a man came to our house with two men dressed like me and walked right into the dining room. They told him they had made a decision and that he could live, but only if he gave up one of his sons to The Order…forever. And he had to choose which to keep and which he wanted to get rid of—that was his real punishment."

"Oh my god…"

"I loved my father, and I thought he loved me, too. But I guess he loved himself—and my brother—more because he told them to take me. He didn't even get out of his chair when they dragged me from the room. The man took me home, raised me in isolation, educated me, and taught me to be a killer. After that, I couldn't be anything else."

"What happened to your dad?"

"He's one of The Elders now. I've seen him a few times, but he isn't aware of me."

"That must be hard for you…"

"It's not," he says. "It's nothing. He could drop dead, I could slit his throat, or he could become king of the fucking galaxy, and I wouldn't care about any of those things equally. It'll be like that for you, too, someday. People won't be able to affect you like they do now; it'll stop hurting."

"What about your mom?"

"I was told she left when I was a baby, but I recently found out she's dead."