"Breaking news out of Redlian this morning. Last night the kingdom watched in horror as the First Palace went up in flames, killing almost a dozen people trapped inside. Among them were the members of the Royal family—"

—Recording, Channel 13 News, STRS Network

I'm imagining things. Again.

Iris glanced once more over her shoulder, then let out a breath. That man hadn't been watching her funny. He'd just focused on the boutique display behind her.

She ducked her head further under her hood and took the back way towards her apartment. Regardless of whether she was imagining things, one thing was true. Those people last night had intended to kidnap her.

Or worse.

Although the sun was bright and warm, even for a fall day, the wind had a bite to it. One that seemed to sink through her still damp clothes and into her skin.

She shivered and hugged herself around the waist, just as her stomach rumbled. Her apartment was only two blocks away. Where she could take a warm shower and grab some food. From there, she'd figure out what she needed to do.

Glancing again behind her shoulder, she couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong. That she was exposed. Or being watched. She didn't know who those people were. Did they know everything about her? Or was she simply a target of opportunity?

Regardless, she wouldn't risk it. She'd stop home, grab what she could, then stay in a hotel for a few days.

She also needed to warn the Daniels. Mom and Dad would want her to come home immediately. Or call the police.

Maybe she would do that. After she stayed in a hotel for a few days. She knew the police—enough to know that they might not do more than file a report. There was no evidence other than her fear. And what weight did fear have in court?

They couldn't do anything for her now. She would be on her own. And she would make sure she was safe before dragging anything back to the Daniels.

At her apartment building, Iris made her way down the back alley, glancing every which way. Few were out this early, other than the birds and those that had to be for work. She glanced at the cars parked on the street in front of the building, looking for any that might be idling or have someone lying in wait.

She lingered a minute, then two. When no one appeared or ran at her, she took a breath and strolled to her building. As if it were just another day of the week.

Don't look out of place.

Don't look out of place.

Everything's normal.

At the entry to her apartment, her hands shook as she unlocked her apartment door.

Her gaze swept over the tiny studio. Nothing appeared out of place. Her pajamas were still crumpled in a ball on the bed. Her wardrobe door was left open, with her variety of hoodies piled on top of each other. Her pillows were still stacked together on one side of the couch, ready for her to lie down again.

Her shoulders dropped.

Thank the Stars.

Only as she was in the shower, letting the scalding water warm her up, did her adrenaline finally settle. Hysteria crept up her throat. She swallowed it down. She could cry when she was safe in a hotel somewhere, after she'd checked in on her family to make sure they were okay.

The hot water was terrible for her dyed hair, but right now she didn't care. Next week she would worry about it.

Okay, Iris. Steps:

1. Pack a light bag.

2. Call Mom & Dad

3. Check into a hotel

She thought about it for a moment, then added Get money for hotel to her list. Was she missing anything else?

Hair wrapped in a towel; she called her mom as she packed a light bag. Mary Daniels picked up on the second ring. "Iris? It's seven in the morning. What are you doing up?"

"Hey Mom," Iris was careful to keep her voice calm. If everything was good on mom and dad's end, she would not alarm them. Yet. "Just checking in. What are you and dad up to today?"

"Oh, nothing unusual," Mary Daniel's voice was soft. She'd had that same voice since Iris was a little lost five year old and, like every other time, that voice immediately blanketed calm over her. That voice was more than her mother. It was home. "Your father is working on the cabinets again."

"Already?" Iris said, stuffing a pair of light pants into her go-bag. "It's early."

"You know your father," her mom said in reply.

"You'll keep an eye on him, won't you?" Her parents were older than other parents with children her age. When they'd adopted her, Mary had already been older. At the time, she was in her early forties, with her husband, Greg, only a year behind. Now, they were in their late fifties. Iris rubbed at the spot between her eyes. "Can't we just buy new ones? Is it the money? I can—"

"It's not the money," Mary said. "It keeps him busy. To be honest, it keeps him out of my hair, so I'm all about letting him do it."

Iris grabbed her toothbrush out of the bathroom, along with her hairbrush that'd seen better days. "I'm sorry, Mom, I need to go. Be careful, okay?"

"Always, Iris." Mary's voice was warm. "Love you."

"Love you too." Iris said, choking on the last word. She hung up before Mary could analyze the sound. She had a way of knowing every time there was something wrong with Iris. Mary Daniels had a mother's intuition when it came to her adopted daughter.

Go-bag packed, Iris grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, zipped up a new hoodie, and threw on a pair of fingerless gloves. As much as her stomach rumbled, she didn't want to risk the extra time it would take to eat. She would grab funds, then get something once she was on the road.

A yawn escaped her. Maybe she'd find a quiet, safe place to nap for a spell. Now that the adrenaline was gone, the exhaustion yanked at her muscles.

Her feet halted at the front door. She turned around to look at her studio apartment, her chest squeezing. Her oil paints were still out on the table next to her easel. A paint-stained rag rested on her stool, as if waiting for her to come pick it up again.

This was her. This small space had been her comfort zone for so long. Her safe space, her creative space. The thought of leaving it now—

With a tight jaw, Iris fled the apartment, barely stopping to lock it behind her.

Eyes burning, she pulled her hood up and hit the street. All the while wishing away the scalding hollowness in her chest.

~

"I should've picked the post office," Thad said through the earpiece in Wylan's ear.

Wylan, parked outside the dark East City Post Office, bit into a cheese stick he'd gotten from the gas station down the way. "Why is that?"

"Because the post office in East City is across the street from that banquet center. I bet there's an event going on, which is significantly more exciting. There're women in pretty dresses, aren't there? And men in dapper suits?"

Against his better judgement, the corner of Wylan's mouth curled. He glanced across the street at a group of Aces his age, laughing and chatting as they entered the carefully lit interior. "Nope. The place is as dark as the gallery."

Thad had worked with Wylan for a long time. "I appreciate you lying to make me feel better, but at least commit to the lie you're giving next time, yeah?"

"Am I to believe that watching people enter a banquet hall is exciting?"

"Compared to what we've done lately? Yes."

Wylan rolled his eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be focusing? If the Crown found out you're wasting money and slacking off—" A shift in the shadows caught Wylan's attention.

"I'm not slacking off," Thad said.

Wylan grunted, frowning at the bushes near the corner of the building.

Down the street, a car started. The lights shined bright through the windshield. Wylan lifted a hand against the light and squinted just as a figure turned the corner and approached the post office.

It was a woman.

Wylan caught a flash of lighter hair beneath her hood. He blinked, slinking down further into the dark of the car. As the woman approached the lobby doors, the lights came on.

The post office lobby was open twenty-four hours a day to allow Aces access to their P.O. boxes whenever they needed to. But that didn't leave the place defenseless. Cameras dotted the entire property.

As the woman stepped through the doorway, she kept her head down, as if hiding from the cameras.

Wylan watched through the window as the woman approached the artist's P.O. box and used a small key to open it.

Every sense he had zapped to life. "She's here."

"She is?" Thad's sigh was audible across the line. "Thank the Stars."

The woman glanced outside once before she stuck her hand into the thin metal enclosure. Wylan took in her slight frame, trying to find any miniscule shred of recognition in this woman. Just as he'd tried to do with all the women who had come before her.

Nothing. This purple haired woman was a stranger, just as the others had been.

And yet...

Wylan rubbed at the wing Acemark on his back. Maybe she wasn't a stranger.

Two minutes later, the woman came out, tucking her prize—cash, as Kent had told them—into the small backpack behind her shoulder.

As the door closed behind her, Wylan jumped into motion.

Just as that car down the street revved.

His instincts flared. Liquid ice shot through his veins.

"Movement down the street," Wylan told Thad.

The cold wind whipped him in the face as he sped towards the woman.

A screech of rubber against the pavement. The car jerked into the lot.

Wylan darted to the girl, who glanced up in surprise, and secured an arm around her waist. He yanked her down.

They tumbled into the bushes outside the post office front door—

Just as gunfire rained over them.

"Wylan?" Thad's voice was a distant hum in his ear.

Wylan curled himself around the woman's slim frame as bullets impacted the glass lobby doors. Shit. The woman whimpered underneath him. Glass rained down, clinking delicately as it fell like razor blades around them. He put a protective hand around the top of her head.

"It's okay," he promised, though it was drowned out by the surrounding chaos. Something ripped into his shoulder. He grunted as a familiar fire raced along his skin and buried itself down to his bone.

Across the street, screams pierced the night air. The quick rat-tat-tat-tat of semi-automatic fire traced the air above them. Wylan pushed the woman further to the ground and reached back for his own weapon.

"Cover your ears."

Shoulder in the dirt, he flipped the safety off, and, gun pointed skyward, pulled the trigger, once, twice. Not to hit the tires. Not to get anyone in the car. If he hit the car, he risked the bullets ricocheting.

He fired into the open night again. And again.

The car screeched as it fled the lot.

Silence wrapped heavily around his skin.

"Wylan!" Thad barked.

"Alive," he grunted.

"You better be. Asshole," Thad breathed.

Wylan rolled away from her. "Are you alright?"

The whites of her eyes were a stark contrast against the darkness. Shaking, she nodded.

She was a tough one then. Good. Wylan motioned for her to stay down, did a quick scout, and, when he determined it was clear, sat up.

"Did they get you?" He did a once over, though it was hard to determine anything with her dark hoodie and jeans. Had she intended to blend in with the night?

She shook her head.

Sirens sounded, high pitched, in the distance.

Time to go.

"We need to go. Now." He put a hand under her elbow and helped her up. The glass from the broken lobby window sparkled as it fell from their clothes. They'd be finding small cuts and scrapes later. But that was an issue that could wait. "They might come back."

And they very well could. The two of them had gotten extremely lucky they hadn't gotten a bullet to the head.

Thank the Stars.

He steered her carefully to his car just around the bend in the parking lot.

A yard away from the car, the woman finally dug her heels into the ground. She stopped. "I'm not going with you."

Fucking shit— Wylan blew out a breath. "What's your name?"

She didn't answer.

Humanize yourself. He did not have time now to have a discussion, an argument, or anything in between. "My name is Wylan Garrick. I work for the Crown. I believe your life is in danger and I need to get you somewhere safer."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "The Crown? You work for the government?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I need to see your badge."

He fished out his ID and gave it to her. At any other time, he'd have been proud she'd thought to ask for the badge. "Look at it while we drive. Miss, please get in the car."

The sirens were getting louder. They were running out of time.

He saw her next thought, about the police that were on their way, before she even had time to vocalize it. "We can't trust the local police. I can explain more along the way, but the people who just shot up the post office will come back. And they may have the local police on their payroll."

"Good call," Thad commented in comms. "Little sketchy, but it's a start."

"Ma'am." He gestured to the car, two seconds from snatching her up and bundling her into the car himself.

She glanced back at the sirens down the street, then to the broken glass of the front lobby. "Don't make me regret this," she told him.

His car was already open and still running. Hopping into the driver's seat, he flipped it into drive just as the woman closed the door.

"Hang on," he directed as he hit the gas. She gripped the handle of the door as he swung the car out of the lot. Across the way, cars honked and skid from the banquet hall as people evacuated. Wylan purposefully got in between two cars as they hit the main street, weaseling his way into the escaping crowd.

Hiding among the chaos.

"How long were you watching me?" She asked him.

Wylan frowned, swerving the car around another that switched lanes at the last moment. "What?"

She didn't repeat the question. Only waited. She also didn't put on her seatbelt and kept one hand on the door handle. As if ready to open the door at any moment. As if hitting the pavement at this speed was actually a viable option.

He needed to put her at ease. Fast.

"I wasn't watching you. I was watching the post office."

A flicker of a glance at her as he turned onto the street that led to the highway. She stared at him, hard, as if daring him to lie to her.

"I was waiting for the Ace who would use the P.O. Box," he explained further, hoping the information up front would put her more at ease. "And it happened to be you."

He hit the ramp to get onto the highway and accelerated. The hotel room they'd rented was ten minutes the other way, however he'd spend at least twenty minutes making sure no one was following them before he'd even risk bringing her to the hotel.

"I'll meet you at the hotel room," Thad said in his ear.

"Make sure you're not being followed first," Wylan told him.

"What?" The girl frowned.

Wylan pointed to his ear. "My partner," he said in explanation.

She nodded, her shoulders tense. How long until she realized he wasn't there to hurt her?

"I know you have a lot of questions," he told her, rather cliché. Nice Wylan, that'll help put her at ease. "And I'm happy to answer them, but I need you to answer a few questions of mine first."

She pulled back her hood, letting her light purple hair fall to her shoulders. "Is that fair? Considering you're the one that was watching the P.O. Box. You probably know enough about me already."

Jaw tight, Wylan tapped a finger against the smooth leather of the steering wheel and flicked a glance in the rearview mirror. No cars following them yet. He switched lanes. "The only thing I know is that you paint pictures and deliver them to the East City Gallery late at night."

The gentle hum of the engine swallowed the silence in the car. "What's your name?" he repeated his earlier question.

Her hand curled tighter on the door handle. "If you work for the Crown, you should already know that."

"The Crown doesn't know everything about everyone, despite what some Aces believe," he told her through his teeth.

There was a car behind them. A sleek black SUV that barreled down the highway. He switched lanes again and cursed when it followed. Despite the high speeds, this time of night meant the roads were relatively empty. That gave him less time to shake a tail and also fewer vehicles to help hide them.

"Thad, get Kit on the line."

"You got it," Thad said.

He switched lanes again. The next exit wasn't for another mile and a half, which was way too much time for them to do something.

"Put your seatbelt on," he ordered purple hair in his passenger seat.

She turned slightly to peer through the back window at the car on their ass, then clicked her seatbelt on.

Smart woman.

His phone, connected to the car's Bluetooth system, rang. He clicked the answer button on the wheel. "Kit—"

"Hang on,"