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I barely make it to the bathroom in time, retching violently into the toilet. I heave until there’s nothing left but stomach acid, cold sweat drenching my clammy skin. And then I flush the mess away just like the vestiges of my former life, the sweet, hopeful persona I used to inhabit.

What’s happening to me?

These all-consuming violent impulses, this desperate thirst for destruction and cruelty…these must be what Lyssa feels all the time.

I never used to be this way. Grandmother’s merciless indoctrination has reworked my soul into something I don’t recognize. I’m becoming a beast governed by hate and the primitive urge to tear, to kill, to destroy.

Just like the Wolf.

And that’s what you wanted, I remind myself. That’s the point of all this.

I cut myself off from the rest of humanity so that I could focus on nothing but justice. I don’t see my parents anymore. A few years ago, I gave up visiting them when they said my rage scared them, tried to push me to therapy.

Therapy isn’t going to get justice for Adam.

Dragging myself to the chipped sink, I splash icy handfuls of water into my face. The wild-eyed woman staring back seems more unhinged stranger than familiar friend these days. I’m changing from the inside out in permanent, fundamental ways. The flimsy veneer of civilian life is fraying at the seams as Grandmother’s ruthless influence seeps into my existence.

I swallow hard against the sick resurgence of doubt and indecision. I can’t afford this weakness. Not after I already messed up last night with Lyssa. And not while the thirst for justice still burns in me.

Styx Syndicate blood is the only thing that can put out the fire.

Adam’s lifeless form flashes white-hot behind my eyes. It’s the only way I remember him these days. All the happy times are gone, lost to those final moments.

No.

Even if it costs me everything, I will bring justice to the woman they call the Wolf.

And it’s time to stop clinging on to any notions of normalcy. I took this job because I thought it might give me an advantage over my enemies, or at least give me a good reason to be hanging around the Empire Grand. But it’s become a security blanket, a place I can pretend to be normal. A place I can pretend to be the me I used to be.

It’s time to put such childish dreams aside. I return to the counter and give my immediate notice, ignoring the shocked looks of my co-workers as I pull off the apron around my waist.

On my way out of the cafe, I pause long enough to slap the jerk who insulted me across the face, and then smile when he threatens to sue.

“You don’t want to fuck with me,” I tell him, using the same intense tone Lyssa used when she walked into the bar last night and made a group of drunk lechers scatter away from me. He cringes away from me in a very satisfying way, and the fear in his face warms my heart.

I head out of the cafe and walk back to the dummy apartment I took Lyssa to last night, where I stack away all the textbooks I was using as props. Like the cafe job, holding onto my old studies, pretending I was still a medical student, was only holding me back.

No more. My only focus now is justice.

I pull out my latest burner phone, and a few taps later, a tracking app reveals a solitary arrowhead sitting pretty at the Empire Grand hotel.

There she is.

All I have to do now is wait and watch…

And follow.

CHAPTER 5

Lyssa

I’ve slept most of the next day away, as is customary for Syndicate members. Aurora might have gotten Hadria to face a few extra daylight hours these days, but I already saw dawn—and anyway, most of my work happens at night. So late in the afternoon, after breakfast, I make my way through the hallways of the Empire Grand, the Bianchi Family hotel the Syndicate has been using as a temporary headquarters while Elysium undergoes renovations. Hadria’s suite is down the hall from mine, and she wants an update on this business of the assassin. Usually we avoid talking business in this hotel—none of us are foolish enough to think every word we say isn’t getting back to the Bianchi Boss’s ears—but the fact that someone is picking off Syndicate members isn’t exactly news.

Juno Bianchi might be a little gun-shy about the situation in Chicago, but she can hardly expect us to overlook an assassin targeting our people.

When Aurora lets me into the suite, I greet her with an up-nod and a “Hi, Suzy,” mostly to annoy Hadria with the nickname I gave her fiancée. Hadria scowls at me from where she’s standing near the large table in the middle of the room. It’s covered in papers, photos, and lists of names. My pulse picks up. Finally, some action.

But as I get closer, my excitement deflates. These aren’t Syndicate plans.