1. Prologue

Prologue

" D o you believe me?"

As we stood toe-to-toe in the shabby living room—surrounded by trash bags filled with whatever things my mother had grabbed from my room—an icy feeling made its way from the crown of my head down to the base of my spine.

Because she did , in fact, believe me. She was just kicking me out anyway.

"You brought shame to us, Meera. I don't know what you were thinking. I thought you were smart? I thought you were responsible? You've probably ruined your sister's life too, you know. If your father could see you now…" She trailed off, clicking her tongue as she shook her head.

The words were a gut punch, but I lifted my chin, training my gaze stubbornly on the water stain on the ceiling, and refusing to let her see that she'd hit her mark.

I was my mother's daughter, after all. I could wear an armor made of ice and spite just as well as she could.

To think I'd ever felt sorry for her. I knew that she was the way she was because she had to be, because we were on the bottom rung of Hunter society and dependent on the goodwill of our betters to survive. But I still thought that I'd meant more to her than all of that. That when it came down to it, she'd at least have compassion for me .

Apparently not.

"Fine. You want me to go? I'll go." My sister made a sound of distress from the doorway where she'd been hovering, despite having been told to go to our room at least four times, but I hardened my heart to it as best I could. How many times had I wished to not be responsible for Latika? To not have to get her up and dressed and ready for school each morning, and help her with her homework and make her dinner and get her to bed each night while Mom was working?

It appeared I'd gotten my wish.

With one last look at my mother, I closed the distance between Latika and me. I'd been in the room when she was born. I'd seen her very first moments on this earth. Last summer, she'd had to tip her head back to look at me, but now we were almost eye level.

You'd been looking after her and yourself for six years when you were this age , I told myself firmly. She'll be fine. She doesn't need to be babied by her big sister.

That it might be the last time I ever saw Latika was too painful to acknowledge. I memorized her features as best I could—so similar to my own, and yet far more like the father she couldn't remember.

Would he have kicked me out if he'd still been alive? A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed past it painfully. I wouldn't have gotten myself into this mess if he'd been alive. I'd have had someone in my corner.

That would have been nice.

"I love you, Latika," I said firmly, forcing myself to say the words that came so unnaturally to me. To everyone in this household. "I will always love you. Focus on your studies. Be kind. Be smart. And stay away from Randal Jackman."

EIGHT YEARS LATER

"Meera Jaiswal?"

I clutched the cloth I'd been using to wipe down the bar top a little tighter, scanning over the woman who was speaking to see if I recognized her. Between my doula work and my casual bar work, I did meet a lot of people. None of them ever addressed me by my full name though. Most of them didn't remember me at all.

"Can I help you?" I asked, glancing around to see where the other staff were. They're close. You're not alone. Everything is okay . Not that I was super close with them or anything, and I doubted they'd come running to my aid, but at least there were witnesses if I got abducted.

"My name is Adela Cooke, I'm a Criminal Investigation Special Agent with the IRS. You're not in trouble, Meera. I was just wondering if we could talk for a moment."

A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. A Special Agent? The IRS? That was a human organization. Since I'd been kicked out of the Hunters, I'd lived as normally as I could as a member of the human realm, and I certainly didn't do anything that should bring me to the attention of the authorities.

If there was one thing I was going to do right for the rest of my life, it was pay my taxes.

I'd definitely done stupid and possibly illegal things during my time with the Hunters, confident in the belief that I was doing it for the greater good, but they should have no way of knowing about that.

"You haven't done anything wrong. I just want to talk," Adela repeated placatingly, watching me like I was about to bolt. I was strongly considering it.

"No thank you," I mumbled, not knowing what else to say. Why was I so easily overwhelmed? It was so frustrating .

After a long moment, Adela Cooke set a business card down on the bar top and took a step back. "I've been doing this long enough to know that we're not going to get anywhere if I push, so I'll just leave this with you for now. I don't need to tell you what this is about—you already know. And I understand that talking about it isn't a small ask."

It had to be what I'd done way back when I was a naive seventeen-year-old. I'd lived like a saint since then. All I wanted was a quiet life. Happiness was too much to ask for, but surely quiet wasn't.

The crimes I'd unknowingly committed then did cross over to the human sphere of influence, but it had never occurred to me that anyone would investigate them…

"It sounds like you've got it all figured out. What do you need me for?"

"Evidence. A witness. Something concrete, Meera. What we've got isn't enough. The missing piece is you."

My heart was pounding in my ears. "How did you even find out about me?"

"As is always the case, you weren't the only one, and of course, there was a paper trail. There always is. That's how I know about you, and how I know that what you know is valuable. You were there at the beginning."

Ah. So there had been other impressionable young Hunters who'd followed in my wake. Weird that it made me feel less special to know I hadn't been the only one, even though I actively despised him.

Perhaps my self-esteem hadn't recovered as much as I'd thought.

"I don't have anything of value to tell you. It's been years."

That wasn't entirely true. I had literal receipts, though I wasn't sure what my chances were of actually accessing them. There was a lot that I remembered that I could point them to if I was brave enough to open my mouth. If I could just shake off the shame that clung to my skin like oil no matter how hard I scrubbed at it…

I shivered despite the sticky heat inside the bar. No. I couldn't do it. I'd brought this on myself, I'd probably send myself to prison if I spoke up. And I couldn't help but think of my mom and sister—despite the fact that it had been eight years since I'd seen them. Hadn't I caused them enough embarrassment? It had probably taken them this long for their reputations to even somewhat recover. To rehash all of that now would be selfish of me.

Then again, they're still in Denver, and you're in Albuquerque , a quiet voice in the back of my head said. The voice that had always struggled with the unfairness of it all. Who'd wanted vengeance, even knowing it would never be possible.

"Just take the card," Adela said firmly. "You don't have to do anything with it, but don't throw it away. Maybe one day, you'll be ready."

She was clearly frustrated, and I understood why. I'd be frustrated with me too.

But even with eight years of pretending to be human under my belt, there was still a not-insignificant part of me that felt some kind of loyalty to the Hunters. Or at the very least, a strong mistrust of humans instilled in me by the Hunters.

Even though the Hunters had betrayed me, just the idea of speaking to Adela felt like a betrayal to them.

"I'll hold onto it," I rasped, picking up the card and sliding it into my back pocket, fully intending to put it in my box of important documents that sat on the top shelf of my closet and never look at it again. You've caused enough trouble. Your father would already be ashamed of you. Keep your head down, and don't bother anyone.

It was a lonely strategy but also a successful one. Or at least it had been up until now, when Adela Cooke had walked through the doors of this sticky, dreary bar and ruined the illusion of solitude I'd carefully constructed for myself. The illusion of being a regular overworked, underpaid, drowning-in-debt, twenty-five-year-old woman. A human woman.

Boring. Forgettable. Invisible.

Now, the panic that I was always barely keeping at bay was back in full force, and I had no idea what to do with it. Last time this had happened, I'd channeled it all into running away and building a whole new life for myself.

Suddenly, that didn't seem like the worst idea.

Maybe running away would be the answer to all of my questions.