Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The explosion has triggered temporary checkpoints across the district. The road ahead is blocked; blue lights pulse through the freezing air while police officers inspect each vehicle, wave some through and pull others aside.
Snow drifts through the flashing lights, too fine to settle properly now.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel.
Bloody hell.
I had hoped this route would be clear. Usually, my bounty-hunter licence is a get-out-of-inspection card.
Usually.
“Can you pull over here, madam?” A constable points towards the kerb.
I obey, masking every flicker of emotion. This time, however, my fear is not for myself.
It is for the child in the boot.
The constable taps the window. “Can you step out of the vehicle, madam?”
Showtime.
Meltwater soaks into the leather of my boots as I climb out. I shut the door firmly behind me but leave the window cracked so Mina can breathe the icy air. Her dark eyes follow my every move.
The constable points a government reader at my number plate, then at the seal burnt into my collar. My photograph, licence number and active status appear on his screen.
Bounty closed: Bruce Boneweather—confirmed deceased.
With my hands in plain sight, I declare, “Bounty hunter seven-six-five-three-seven-five.”
“So it says.” He folds his arms and peers down his nose at me.
I add nothing.
“What is happening here, officer?” The voice is exquisitely posh, with an accent I have not heard in years. A man in a pristine navy coat and a bright red scarf steps forward, and the constables make space for him at once.
I do not recognise him, but that means little.
Names, faces and political alliances have never kept anyone in the Districts alive; keeping out of the way does.
He is an Overseer, though—a central government emissary with a handful of districts under his hand.
Nothing else parts a crowd of constables like that.
They rarely descend this far.
Must be my lucky day.
“Just a bounty hunter, sir,” the constable replies.
“A bounty hunter.” The Overseer’s gaze drifts over my face, down my body and towards the car. “How interesting. Where have you been this afternoon, hunter?”
I adopt my best District accent. There is no need to advertise that I was born and raised in the Immortal Zone.
“The Bone District, Overseer. I captured and eliminated a bounty, and now I’m returning.”
“A bounty? Let us view the body.” He leans to peer through the window.
My heart has not pounded this hard in years.
Further back, a colossal man in a security uniform watches me with unblinking eyes. An unfamiliar gold crown badge gleams on his collar. The Overseer’s bodyguard, then.
The Overseer turns towards the boot.
If he opens it, Bruce dies.
I force myself to lounge against the wing, one foot braced on the tyre. I need to strike exactly the right tone: bored, obliging, mildly entertained.
“It’s under seal, Overseer.”
He stops.
It is a small thing, that pause, but I watch it travel outwards. The constable’s chin lifts. The officer at the barrier turns his head. All around us settles the particular stillness of men who have just remembered what a sealed bag means.
“Collection to destruction,” I say pleasantly.
“So I’d have to break it here, in the open, with your officers standing downwind of a disembowelled twelve-year-old.
Which is your right, naturally.” I rest a hand on the boot as though I mean to oblige him.
“You’ll want to step well back before I unzip it. ”
Nobody steps forward.
“I may have a ‘nose-blind’ potion in the car,” I add. “Only the one, mind.”
The Overseer narrows his eyes and advances on me. “A child?”
“Yes, sir. A child. He was the bounty.”
He studies me, fascinated, as though child-killing is an unexpected novelty.
“You kill children in this district? In this city?” he asks the constable.
The surprise is performed beautifully: brows lifted, voice sharpened with precisely enough horror.
He knows exactly what happens to unregistered children.
This is a test, though I cannot tell whether he is testing the constable or me.
“Of course, sir.”
“And what was this child’s crime?”
I draw breath, but the constable silences me with a glare.
“He was a criminal, sir. They all are. If you will come this way, we shall let the bounty hunter proceed.”
He does not look at the boot. None of them do.
The Overseer flicks one final glance at me, then allows himself to be led away.
I reach for the door handle.
“Did you just lie to the Overseer?” The rasping voice raises every hair on the back of my neck as the bodyguard closes the distance without making a sound. He stops an arm’s length away, close enough that I feel the heat of him, yet not so close that he crowds me.
His hair is shaved to the scalp. Dark brows. Olive skin. A clean-shaven face and square jaw. Full lips and deep navy, almond-shaped eyes that miss nothing.
“Shouldn’t you be guarding your body?” I ask, nodding towards the retreating constable and Overseer.
“There are more police at this intersection than in the entire city. I believe he’ll be fine for a few minutes.”
What he does with his job is none of my concern.
“Elenora,” he says.
My mouth falls open. How does he know my name? The shock cracks my blank expression before I can stop it.
“I watched your Games and remember you.” He lowers his voice and inclines his head. The distance between us narrows, but he still leaves space.
I fight the urge to retreat.
There is room behind me and on either side. He has not trapped me.
I stay anyway.
“I never thought I would see the day you became a child-killer.” He pauses to study my face. “I do not believe it.”
I shrug and remain silent.
“I shall be seeing you, Elmo.” His gaze is surgical, and his power crackles across my skin like distant lightning. Then he steps back.
It feels less like a withdrawal and more like a declaration.
Inside the car, my hands tremble against the wheel. I do not know whether it is because I almost got caught or because of him.
No one has pierced my facade in more than thirty-two years.
He saw me.
That unnerves me more than the Overseer ever could.
Nobody knows me. Nobody, except Mina, and she can’t talk. I exhale a sharp laugh, sweep the loose hair from my face and restart the engine.
I hope I never see him again.
A little boy still needs saving.
Mina sits quietly beside me, her breath clouding the glass in anxious puffs. I squeeze her flank, then pull back onto the road.
Deep breath.
Control.
Today has been a good day.
I need to deliver this child to safety before that changes.