Page 24 of Fragile Facade

“Nada,” Glitch adds from the asylum with Axel.

“Kyd?”

Kyd makes the radio sound before answering. “I found a stripped deer carcass. Think it’s from my lion? Over.”

We all look in the direction of the cemetery, wondering if that crazy fuck is wandering around amongst the lion he freed from the zoo.

“His name is Fabrizio, remember? Over.” He makes another radio sound. “Not over. He gets his name because his mane is dark and wavy like a sexy Italian. Over.”

“Take that as a no,” Ransom says, moving on. “Ghost?”

“Comms have been cut off at Misfit Hall,” Director says through our ears. “I can’t access any of our audio or video.”

My instincts all tumble over one another, unsure if that means Ghost is in trouble or not. While Glitch and Facts talk about trying to fix our planted devices, I pull my phone from my pocket, taking a risk Director won’t like. I pull out my earpiece and press my phone to my ear while it rings.

“Who the fuck are you calling?” Ransom barks.

“Hey, Kill.”

“Lock,” I answer. “Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Can you get to Misfit Hall?”

“Uh, yeah. What’s up?” he asks, shuffling around in the background. “Soren alright?”

“I dunno. All our—I can’t get a hold of him, but you were there when—” Fuck. I’m just straight up giving myself away tonight, and I’ve never even come close to being this reckless with my Vile identity. “He said Yates warned of an ambush, and now I can’t get in touch with him.”

Lock is silent for a bit, probably choosing not to call me out on who I am or how I know these things, and then his front door slams loud enough for me to hear it. “Heading over there now. You coming?”

I can’t. My post is here until we get further instructions. As much as I want to go there, I won’t leave my wingman either. We’re a unit, and I need to be a reliable part of it for once. “Just call me when you find him. Let me know what’s going on over there. Something ain’t right.”

“K.” He hangs up on me, and I put my earpiece back in.

“Lockan Tate?” Ransom asks, and I nod. “Why?”

“He’s got access to Misfit Hall. Why not?”

“He know you’re Vile?”

Probably.“No.” I stand when I spot someone walking down the middle of Death Row. My hackles rise, staring at a person walking through our town like they belong here. They don’t.

“Menace?” Ransom asks through the comms because Menace is the closest, being at that end of the street.

“Woman,” Menace says. “Robes. Can’t tell if she’s armed. Not a local.”

She passes Menace’s location, and he creeps out to follow her until she stops right in front of Death Mark, the ink shop he works at. She just stands there, not doing anything or saying anything. She’s wearing a wide-brimmed hat, but I know she doesn’t belong here. I’ve studied the people of Moros as much as I’ve studied myself, and her posture isn’t one I recognize. She’s not a tourist because we put the town on lockdown and sent them home or to their hotel.

The cello and piano music from The Ambient Raven becomes louder now that we’ve all held our breath and focused our ears. A recording of Remi and his dad playing together sets the tone for the unknown, and my fingers loop into the holed handles of my throwing knives. I don’t care who she is, if she doesn’t make her intentions clear in the next minute, I will throw a dagger between her eyes and not stick around for her corpse to hit the street.

Her hands rise above her head like she’s going to cast a fucking spell or something, her billowing maroon robes flowing like flower petals as she does a spin.

“Menace,” Ransom warns as he stalks closer to her.

Monster is above her now, looking down from the roof of Death Mark, having Menace’s back as he approaches her from behind.

“Town’s on lockdown, lady,” Menace calls to her.