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“He’s not here,” Roma said. His eyes were latched on something over her shoulder. “But someone else is.”

Juliette looked to where Roma pointed and saw the slumped figure in the corner of the living room. She and Roma had sat there once while Qi Ren served them tea. Now the chairs were overturned and the radio was smashed in pieces atop the rug, where another young man was collapsed. His legs were splayed in an awkward

V-shape under the water while his back leaned against the wall. His neck lolled forward so severely that all that was visible was the top of his head—blood-matted, dark-blond hair.

Juliette’s eyes widened. “My God. That’s Paul Dexter.”

“Paul Dexter?” Roma echoed. “What’s he doing here?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Juliette muttered. She rushed forward, sinking her knees into the shallow water before she shook Paul’s shoulder vigorously. There was a deep scratch on his forehead and what looked like four claw marks on his neck, marring his pale skin with red gouges.

Juliette shook him harder. “Paul. Paul, wake up.”

Slowly, Paul’s eyelids fluttered. The third time Juliette called his name, Paul’s eyes finally opened fully and focused on her. He frowned.

“Miss Cai?” Paul rasped. “What are you doing here?”

“You answer first,” Juliette replied wryly.

Paul coughed. It came out as a wheeze, one that sounded like there was no liquid left in his throat.

“The Larkspur sent me,” he said slowly. He looked around, patting his hands about the space beside him, and seemed to relax when he found his briefcase, which had been floating in the water.

“What are you doing on the floor?” Roma asked.

Paul suddenly stiffened, as if his memory was returning piece by piece, triggered by the question. Wincing beneath his breath, he worked to adjust his position and pull himself higher along the wall, until he was sitting well enough to place his briefcase back onto his lap.

“The monster…” Paul exhaled. “It attacked me.”

“It attacked you here?” Juliette demanded. She stood and spun in a circle, sloshing water as she surveyed the living room. “Where is it now?”

“I—I don’t know,” Paul answered. His eyes lowered while he opened his briefcase and checked on the contents. He placed something into his pocket. “Heck, it could still be here. Could you help me up, Miss Cai?”

With a glance over her shoulder, eyeing the rising water levels and still finding something off about that fact, Juliette extended a hand, biting back a haughty retort at Paul Dexter’s uselessness.

It was her fault for underestimating him. As his hand clasped on to hers and he pulled himself to his feet, he was also pulling the tip off a syringe in his other hand. Juliette’s arm straightened in her effort to haul him up… and then Paul was plunging a needle into the exposed veins at the crook of her elbow.

Juliette gasped; the needle glinted. Before she could pull her arm away, Paul was pushing down on the syringe, and the vial of blue emptied into her bloodstream.

Too late, Juliette hurled herself backward, clutching her elbow. Roma managed to catch her before she tumbled into the water in her shock.

“Did he hurt you?” Roma demanded.

“No,” Juliette replied. She slowly removed her hand from her inner elbow, finding a pinprick of red. “He vaccinated me.”

Paul straightened to his full height then, dropping the used syringe and all his pretense into the water.

“I’m only trying to help you, Juliette,” he said. “I don’t want you to die. I love you.”

Juliette let out a single laugh.

“No, you really don’t,” she croaked. “That is not what love is.”

Paul’s face thundered. He jabbed a finger toward Roma, who still had his arms around Juliette. “And that is? Love, tainted with the blood of all your dead kinsmen?”

Juliette’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t at Paul’s insult—she had barely heard his words. It was at the low growl of his voice and the sudden realization where else she had heard it before.

“You want to talk about my dead kinsmen?” Juliette seethed. “Let’s talk, Larkspur.”