Chapter 9
The body sprawled next to her.
An early gray of morning drenched the alley in merciless light. Audrey’s pulse quickened; she nearly blacked out again but forced herself to catalog what she’d done.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck.
Fuck.
There was no universe where he survived. No one would frame this as self-defense. She was already the girl who escaped three homicide charges. A prosecutor wouldn’t even have to try to lock her away again. Whatever Alex had lied about, she wasn’t putting him through another trial.
Erik looked just like the inmate she’d killed before, with his neck twisted oddly, his jaw limp, and no breath. But this time, it wasn’t simply self-defense; it was a frightening escalation, a failure to restrain herself when scared and angry.
Abject horror threatened to pull her under, but a dark thrill simmered, hard to ignore. Would horror win? Would Erik’s corpse haunt her enough to stop her forever? What would her twin think of this side of her?
The truth was staring her in the face. Her sister would be shocked, even horrified. But despite the risks of using her powers, Audrey felt no desire to quit. Shame flickered, but inevitability glowed stronger.
The longer she stared at the body, the less her thoughts spiraled the way they should have. Killing wasn’t new, and it probably wouldn’t be the last time—a realization that should have broken her.
Instead, she let the feeling settle.
In prison, panic consumed her after killing. Tapping into power she didn’t understand had terrified her. Here, in this alley, she sensed both the moment it took hold and the instant she could have stopped it.
But she didn’t.
Her stomach roiled from cold acceptance. She peered at Erik’s body again. He would have killed her, slowly and mercilessly. Audrey’s fingers tensed at her sides. If she let this become guilt or shock—the narrative others forced on her—she would lose the power she’d found.
I’m done waiting for someone else to tell me what’s real.
She was still staring at the body when she felt another aura. It wasn’t the invasive coil of the killer’s presence—this was something steadier.
Audrey lifted her head.
At the mouth of the alley, framed in the spill of a dying streetlamp, stood the man from the night of her release. The man with the blue eyes in the hooded sweatshirt. Calm as always, he looked like he’d been standing there the entire time. But she had to know for sure.
Her aura stretched for him, met a wall—a shield like before. Telepathic contact began with intention, but focus, aura, and distance made it easy for Audrey. Her family’s shields kept her out, but most people never noticed her at all. She’d never met anyone trained like her—except the killer.
The blue-eyed man had a crafted, disciplined shield. Each layer exerted a tiny push, a barrier. Unless someone’s guard slipped, deeper contact was unreachable for most telepaths.
But she wasn’t most telepaths.
She slipped in easily and found his memories of her killing Erik; he must’ve been replaying them, since they were clear. In his mind, she was cold and ruthless. While she sat on the pavement, reliving it, she felt nothing. Erik got what he deserved. She was alive.
Good.
“I’m here to help,” he said, interrupting her mind-reading. He was certain.
Audrey stayed put. Help always had a price. If her mother and the killer wanted something, why not this stranger?
She eyed him carefully.
If anyone understood what she was—what she could really do—there would be people keen to cut her open. See how she worked.
He might be one of them. And he’d seen everything.
He stepped over Erik’s body, hands up, palms out, and lowered himself next to her. She read no shock or disgust on his face.
Her breath faltered.
“You lasted longer than I expected against him,” he said. “We can’t stay here for long.”
“Why?”
“Because men like Erik attract attention, and attention attracts organizations that track people like us.”
“People like us? Telepaths?”
“Yes.”
He paused.
“Besides,” he added, “he would’ve killed you. When you walked in with that bag, I suspected tonight might end badly.”
Her eyes snapped to him. “You suspected I’d kill him?”
“I suspected he’d push you far enough to force the truth out of you.”
“You’ve been following me,” she said. “How long?”
“Long enough.”
Not reassuring, she thought.
He put out a hand and helped her up. The movement was controlled with no wasted time. A cold feeling slid along her back. “You’re like me,” she said.
“Yes.” No hesitation.
“And the man who burned my home? Is he like us?”
Disdain shone in his eyes. “We’re built on similar architecture,” he said. “That doesn’t make us aligned.”
An errant curl fell into her eyes. She swept it back, annoyed. “Aligned how?”
He glanced toward the alley entrance before answering.
“He believes breaking people makes them evolve. He and the Separatists don’t care who survives the process.
His group experiments with control and transformation, using people like weapons.
For them, survival of the strongest is the key, and weaker people’s lives are just fuel for the mission. ”
“And you?”
“I believe in discipline and refinement.” He cracked his knuckles. “Power means nothing if it destroys the mind using it.”
Audrey could only blink at him.
“But him?” he continued. “He pushes people too far, too fast. He’s dangerous.”
The difference was clear. “You think he’s wrong,” she said.
“I think he’s reckless,” he replied. “And a monster.” The hatred he felt for him was precise, almost surgical.
They moved toward the street. His presence didn’t erase her panic—it stabilized it, like cold water over fire.
“You're lucky I found you first tonight,” he said.
She stopped. “What do you mean?”
“The Separatists don’t abandon assets,” he said. “Just like the woman who trained them.”
“What woman?”
“Your mother.”
This time, the word gave direction rather than breaking her.
Her mother was a target now, not just a memory.
If Sophia built something for these Separatists—trained people like the one from the club—while Audrey sat in prison, there was only one place to start.
Finding Sophia, getting answers, and keeping Alex safe meant that Audrey now needed this stranger’s help.
She lifted her chin slightly. “You’ve been tracking me. Why?”
“I’ve been tracking her. Sophia Sarafian used to lead them.”
Audrey turned still. “How do you know she’s my mother?”
“Tonight is the night we’ve been waiting for,” was all he said.
She ignored the urge to scream at him. “Who are the Separatists?”
“A militant network built around powerful people like us. The government’s been hunting them for decades.” He lowered his voice. “Your mother turned on them. Now, she’s dismantling what she built.”
“And me?”
“She’d never let them get their hands on an asset like you.”
Asset. The word landed more heavily this time. “Why would I matter?” Audrey asked. “I’m nothing compared to her.”
“Sophia Sarafian leaves no variables uncontrolled.”
Variables. Such a cold way to describe her fraught relationship with her mother.
They started making their way out of the alley. Audrey had to scramble to keep up with his long strides, but she was almost giddy in anticipation.
This was a real lead.
“Why should I believe you? Where are we going?” she asked, knowing full well she had no better option right now.
Those blue eyes darted over to her—then, “I have it on good authority that she’ll be in Tolusa in the next twenty-four hours. I’m taking you to my place so we can regroup…and put some space between you and this dead body.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it was a direction. Audrey fought a smile, her breathing calm now. Because she wasn’t reacting anymore. She was moving.
A cab slowed, and he opened the door. She wavered only a few seconds—then got in. Inside, she went for her phone, but he intercepted it smoothly.
“You can’t contact anyone yet,” he said. “Your lawyer friend sees more than you realize.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
“I already did.”
He wrote a short message to Alex and showed it to her.
Close enough, she thought.
The man powered down her phone and slipped it into his pocket. A dense silence in the cab pressed in. Audrey studied her would-be savior and captor—another telepath. It was almost too miraculous to believe.
She reached again, carefully. His aura was controlled and dense, but before she could dig deeper, his head whipped to her.
“Did you—” He stopped himself.
But it was too late—she’d felt it. There was something in his language she couldn’t identify. It was older, structured, and not the language the killer spoke.
“Stay out of my head,” he said, each word heavily emphasized.
She shrugged.
“You’re sloppy,” he added. “That improves.”
Audrey sat back as a silent but ominous feeling took hold. She rubbed her sternum, trying to erase it.
“You feel the similarity because we share a framework,” he said. “That doesn’t mean the same outcome.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but she couldn’t deny she enjoyed being around another person like her. Was she really that lonely?
Apparently, she was.
The cab stopped. A building rose above them, its glass and steel shining in the dawn.
He led her through the gleaming front doors.
Upstairs, the apartment was bare—white and stripped of any sign of life.
“Doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” Audrey said, slipping off her coat. She wanted a cigarette.
“I don’t have a cigarette,” he said, pushing a glass of liquor towards her. “But this is stronger.”
“Stop reading my mind.”
“Stop shouting in it.”
He reached into his jeans pocket and produced a small bag containing a white rock. He raised his brows in a wordless question.
Audrey froze. Reason tried to take over. She recognized that she shouldn’t get high with this stranger right now. It was a massively bad idea. And yet, her body leaned closer anyway.
Gritting her teeth, she stopped herself and put her finger to the bridge of her nose.
Addiction had never made her life easier, but she couldn’t quit chasing that quiet numbness. Everything from the past twenty hours crashed into her. She was exhausted and hanging by a thread. Would a brief break from it all really derail her plans to confront her mother?
Yes, I want some, she thought.
He must have heard her, because he began chopping it all up methodically into a fine powder.
After arranging it neatly on the counter, he handed her a rolled-up one-hundred-dollar bill, and she took it.
Audrey let herself think it over one more time.
..but eventually, she bent her head over the counter and inhaled.
The burn hit first, then the high. It was nearly immediate. Before she could stop herself, she did another line, not caring that this could be a distraction at best or a trap at worst. Her heart rate hammered in a ragged, irregular beat that was soothing and familiar.
“Thanks,” she said lightly. “It’s good.”
It was more than that. The quiet made everything sound possible.
The guilt retreated, along with any sense of vulnerability.
Yet as the numb confidence rose, Audrey felt how easily it could tip into something more ominous and how quickly control could become surrender.
He took some, too, quelling her fears that this was a trap set just for her.
“You already know me,” she said when he finished. “What’s your name?”
“Emerson.” His mind moved fast, adjusting and carefully evening his tone. Audrey felt the emotion he tried to mask, though. The unmistakable feeling of attraction.
Audrey moved to stand in front of him, caressing his shirt. Their auras reached toward each other and stopped just short of touching. “How do I fit into all this?” she said.
“You fit in because I need you,” Emerson replied.
“And what do you want from me?”
Emerson cocked his head to the side, a smile pulling at his mouth. “A brief partnership where we both get what we want.”
Audrey could always tell when people were lying; Emerson wasn’t. That made her trust him less, though.
“You’re more dangerous than he is,” she said after another minute.
“No,” he said. “I’m more patient.”
Her mouth thinned. Patience was a long-term quality. It meant he was willing to dig his heels in and get his hands dirty.
Outside, the city brightened. Inside, Audrey stood between two paths: the one with her mother would consume her, and the other with Emerson would control her.
But under both, another path had begun to take shape.
One that was solely her own.