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JACE

T he city’s bones are rotting.

Concrete cracks like dry skin, and windows shatter with ease. Even the wind itself sounds diseased, dragging itself through the hollowed-out buildings in wheezes. It hasn’t even been a year since everything collapsed, but it feels like the world’s been dead forever.

The rooftop creaks and groans beneath me, so I keep my weight balanced and my footfalls light. The last thing we need is to draw rotters up here. I lift the binoculars when movement catches my eye in the wasteland below.

There she is. Nearly invisible among the rubble, except for that hair.

It’s purple, like some relic from the world below.

Who the fuck has the time and supplies to turn their hair purple, of all colors?

She moves in a faded tank top and boots worn to hell, and a stride that doesn’t belong this deep in a rot zone.

Too confident. Last time I spotted her, she was setting half a city block ablaze with explosives, and I still don’t know why, but I intend to find out.

She’s ventured closer to the city center since then. I watch her check abandoned vehicles and scan darkened doorways, ignoring supplies and weapons scattered around her. I’ve never seen a survivor ignore these things before. She’s hunting for something specific. Or maybe someone.

She moves like someone who’s been alone for a long time. Someone used to making decisions and hard calls without a second voice to argue. I recognize it. Hell, I wear it like armor.

Mars drops into a crouch beside me with his rifle’s scope trained on her. “That her?”

“Yeah. Autumn,” I say.

“The one Zoey and Emily mentioned?”

“Yup.”

“What’s the deal with the hair? Is she trying to put a target on her back?”

“Dunno,” I say. “Maybe she’s trying to advertise her location to every dreg and rotter in the city.”

“Fascinating. She’s got some balls. I respect that.”

“Guess we’ll find out when we drag her back to the compound,” I say, ready to end this surveillance and move into action.

After we eliminated the monster who’d been leading our compound toward slaughter, we barely had time to breathe and celebrate before the explosions rocked the earth.

That’s when I first saw her. She moved around the flames like the fire didn’t faze her.

That’s probably why I volunteered for this mission.

Someone so fearless around fire is too intriguing for me to ignore.

Especially when I can barely look at flames without feeling the skin on my arms start to burn all over again.

Zoey, who endured hell and helped save what’s left of our group in more ways than I’ll ever be able to repay in a lifetime, and her friend Emily, recognized the woman immediately.

They’d encountered her twice before. Said she was quiet and revealed nothing about herself, but showed kindness, which is a rare commodity in survivors these days.

If it weren’t for her fearlessness around fire, that alone would intrigue me enough to come out here.

Zoey asked for help tracking down Autumn, and I promised to take two reliable men and handle it.

Now, I’m not sure if this is enough. I expected something straightforward, but Autumn appears to be executing a mission of her own. I recognize that look of determination edged with desperation. What are you searching for, Autumn?

Caspian paces behind us with his arms wrapped around himself like he’s bracing for impact. He fought coming along, but I dragged him along anyway, hoping it would help him confront the nightmares that never seem to leave him alone. “She doesn’t look dangerous.”

Mars glances up from his scope. “Everyone’s dangerous.”

He’s right. She doesn’t appear threatening at first glance, but appearances mean nothing anymore. She looks like survival carved into flesh and bone. Still, it’s not about her appearance. It’s about what we don’t know, and I don’t like not knowing things. That gets people killed.

She was composed during chaos, moving through smoke like it was her element.

Now she’s out here alone, slipping between buildings with clear purpose.

I adjust my grip on my binoculars as I track her past a rusted-out sedan.

She hugs a wall and surveys the street ahead with military precision.

Not someone running scared. Someone hunting.

I don’t like it.

And I definitely don’t like the metallic glint that flashes from a rooftop two buildings over.

“Sniper, two o’clock,” I say, my voice dropping to something serious. “Rooftop. Black hoodie. Scoped rifle. He’s tracking her.”

“You sure?” Mars asks, adjusting his weapon.

I tighten my focus. “Yeah. Elbow’s braced on a vent. He’s been up there a while. ”

“Want me to take the shot?”

“Wait.”

Caspian shifts too close to the edge, and loose gravel cascades over the ledge. The sniper flinches.

“Shit,” Mars breathes out.

“Shit,” I echo.

The sniper’s rifle cracks. The bullet whips past Autumn’s shoulder and shatters a streetlamp behind her. She stumbles and spins around with wide eyes, but she doesn’t see the shooter.

Another shot. Another miss.

Mars fires a beat later, but the sniper ducks out of view. “Tell me that bastard missed her.”

“He missed, but barely. The bullet got close and spooked her. He’s a crap shot, though.

Amateur at best.” I shove the binoculars into my pack and rise to my feet, refusing to wait for a third attempt on her life.

Mars’s response is lost to me when I move toward the fire escape. “I’m going down. Keep eyes on her.”

“You think she’ll run?” Caspian asks.

“She already is.” I hit the fire escape hard. My boots clang against metal steps two at a time. The noise will draw rotters, but that’s a risk I’m going to take. There’s no time for stealth now. A rotter’s moan rises from the distance. Two more join the chorus. I draw my knife and keep moving.

I land in the alley right as the sniper bursts through a side door. He’s quick, but I’m quicker. I slam him against the brick wall. He yelps, and I tear off his mask.

He’s barely more than a kid, not much younger than me. Maybe twenty. Pale skin and hands that won’t stop shaking. Either strung out or starving. Probably both. His eyes jitter too much to focus.

“Who sent you?” I demand.

He laughs, a hollow, desperate sound. “No one sends anyone anymore. We’re all just rats chasing scraps. ”

Wrong answer. I slam him harder against the wall. “Try again.”

He spits blood onto the cracked pavement, narrowly missing my boots. “She’s not who you think. She’s worse than the rotters. I don’t know what she did, but she pissed off someone enough to set a pretty nice bounty for her head.”

I tighten my grip, ready to extract more answers, when groans echo from multiple directions. The alley mouth, above me, behind me. The crack of bones as something drags itself closer.

Rotters.

“Of course.” I shove him away. “You assholes always attract trouble.”

He stumbles backward and panic floods his features. “She’s with you?”

Three rotters stagger into view. One drags a mangled leg. Another’s head hangs sideways, barely attached and flopping around while sniffing the air.

The sniper turns to bolt. He trips over a garbage can and crashes to the ground screaming, but I don’t pause to help.

I’m not here to save him. He tried to put a bullet in Autumn.

Twice. I came for answers, and that means I need her alive.

The fate of scavengers who interfere is me making the world a little better with their absence.

The sniper’s screams cut off. I keep moving, scanning every street and shattered doorway, searching for that distinctive streak of purple hair.

Who the hell even has purple hair in a world like this?