That night, we obscured ourselves in dirt and fallen leaves and lay down to sleep under the trees. Staring up at the stars, for the first time, it occurred to me that the species—the ones that had abducted us so many years ago—were actually out there somewhere. They had always seemed unfathomable to me, but they did exist, and we still had no idea what their motive was. The branches above began to look like spindly fingers clawing at the sky as I drifted into unconsciousness, a pervasive chill in my bones.

The next day, we remained hidden in the same group of trees, keeping as quiet as possible. Around midday, the lockdown was officially called off. As the sun sunk toward the horizon, I said my goodbyes to Jade and Jessie, aware that it was possibly another final parting. Then I set off alone, trekking toward the heart of the city.

As I advanced, the vast skyscrapers of downtown grew steadily larger before me, and the sidewalks became more crowded. I donned one of my father's baseball caps to obscure my face, walking at a brisk pace with the hope that no one would pay me a second glance. Fortunately, according to a large clock outside a bank, it was 5 PM. This meant the streets were bustling with tired workers heading home to the suburbs and exuberant clubbers flooding in. Everyone seemed too rushed to even register their surroundings.

However, I began to notice something odd: nearly all of the young people wore black leather, frayed dark jeans, and combat boots. In other words, they looked much like Kyle and I did when we made our first illegal foray into the city.

My mouth popped open unwillingly as I stopped dead, staring into a ritzy clothing store to my right. Its interior was filled with clothes strikingly reminiscent of our old wardrobe. A smile broke across my face as I recalled the fashion designer who had stopped Kyle and me a lifetime ago, on this very street, and asked if she could use our style as inspiration. I had to stifle my laughter as I gazed around at the partiers who looked so out of place in outfits like ours. We would have blended in perfectly.

When I reached my destination, I was early for our dusk meetup; the sun was still perched on the horizon, staining it with swirling hues of pink and orange. I crossed the street and sat on a bench facing the infamous Amour Nightclub, scanning for familiar faces in the crowd.

Masked, armor-clad guards floated in with the fall of darkness. Every time one appeared to glance in my direction, my heart leapt—though it was impossible to know where their gazes were aimed with their faces obscured. This created the illusion that they were watching at all times, evoking a constant sense of paranoia.

The citizens, meanwhile, were entirely at ease, laughing loudly as they poured into the various bars, restaurants, and clubs along the street. I stood and matched up the sidewalk, not wanting to attract unwanted attention by lingering in one spot. A cacophony of rowdy voices met my ears as I passed a seedy bar.

I would have walked by without a second glance, but a familiar flash of long blonde hair caught my eye through the entrance. Without thought, I altered my course, stepping into the packed building.

Discreetly, from under the visor of my cap, I examined the surrounding faces. Most of them were men who towered over me, sloshing and tipping back glasses of beer as they talked. I slipped through the crowd unnoticed, except for a couple of jeers in my direction.

Dashing my hopes, it became apparent that there was no one remotely fitting Rosalie's description in the place. I turned on my heel, doing one last sweep of the faces. Then my eyes met those of someone familiar—a mustached man with a taunting smile, staring directly at me.

Instantly, I knew it was the very man who had once assaulted me in the club across the street. Recognition flared in his eyes, and he jumped off his barstool.

I swallowed, hurrying outside and disappearing into the rushing stream of civilians. They swept me down the sidewalk until someone reached out and caught the sleeve of my shirt, tearing me from the crowd. With a gasp, I was thrown against the brick wall in a shadowed alleyway.

Looking up, I met the faces of Ana, Dorian, Kole—

and Jason.

We stared each other down. Jason's face flashed with a burning intensity, but he quickly plastered on a cold, impassive mask. In the same moment, droplets of freezing rain began to patter against the concrete. Icy pinpricks stabbed at my exposed skin and scalp, and wet beads streaked down Jason's face like tears.

Kole stepped forward, noticing our unspoken conflict. "He's been...good," he said tentatively. "He regrets what he did."

"What he did was unforgivable," I snapped. "And if he's really sorry, he can speak for himself."

"There are more pressing issues!" Ana's voice rang over the rain. "Let's get out of here before—"

Just then, a guard peered into the alleyway, brandishing a police baton at his waist.

Ana and Kole sped away, deeper into the alley. Dorian grabbed the guard's arm and forced him into the shadows before he could draw attention to our presence. The guard reared and swung his baton, missing my head by inches as Jason lurched forward and threw him to the ground.

Jason forced the baton from the guard's fingers and proceeded to use his weapon against him, bashing the heavy stick against his mask until it caved in. The guard went still.

I found myself paralyzed, backed up against the wall and wishing I could bring myself to look away, yet transfixed. Jason's shoulders heaved as he panted, still gripping the baton with strained white fingers. He straightened, stepping away from the crumpled body. There was a sinister glint in his eyes as his gaze caught mine. He stepped toward me and leaned in close so his lips were at my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "I'm on your side," he whispered.