4. Scarlett

Lyssaand I walk quietly down a series of familiar back alleys and streets until I nod toward one particular waist-high chain-link fence surrounding a neat, rectangular lawn. It's weird seeing home again after being away for so long. A whole lifetime, really. I'm a different person, but the house looks just the same as the last time I was here, the good house on the not-so-great block. Gentrification is trying hard to crowd in; the house up the street that used to always have the police called on them has been gutted and rebuilt as a two-story brick terrace house that looks weirdly out of place. But my parents' place looks the same, and the twin windows at the back—my bedroom on the left, Adam's on the right—stare at me as though surprised to see me back after all this time.

And I'd give anything to go back to that mundane existence. To be the girl who never had to learn how to disassemble a Glock with her eyes closed or pick locks with a hairpin in under ten seconds. The one whose biggest worry was cramming for finals, not whether she'd survive her next clash with organized crime.

But I can't go back. That innocence was torn away from me long ago, the instant I let Grandmother show me that video of my brother's murder. After that...well, there's no un-ringing that bell, is there?

"You sure about this?" Lyssa murmurs.

I nod. She motions for me to wait where I am, and I watch her slip away to dismiss the Syndicate guards watching over my parents' house.

None of it feels quite real to me anymore.

Hell, I'm not even sure I feel entirely real half the time. Ever since the high-rise, since waking up alive in a barn in the middle of nowhere, it's like my grip on reality has become tenuous. Everything is muted, slowed to a sluggish crawl as I drift through each waking moment in a fog, except those moments where I'm training with Lyssa, and everything speeds up.

Is this what the beginning of a total psychotic break looks like? That slow spiraling descent into madness that all Grandmother's girls inevitably seem to succumb to once they've been steeped in the life for too long?

I shudder hard, gritting my teeth against the wave of panic clawing at my throat. I can't afford to lose my shit completely, not yet. Not until Ariadne and Grandmother finally get everything that's coming to them. Once that's done, once I've made them suffer…

Until then, I have to make my joys—and make my goodbyes—wherever I can find them.

I hear a few cars start up somewhere in the main street, and another in the nearby alley, and then Lyssa's back with me a few moments later. "I told them to all go get a coffee for an hour. Let's go."

One hour.

The only noise is a slight clinking of the chain-link fence as we hurdle it easily and then move silently through the yard, keeping low. Lyssa raps sharply on the back door. After a moment, it creaks open a few inches and my mother's familiar face appears, eyes widening in surprise as she looks past Lyssa to me.

"Scarlett?" she gasps, flinging the door open wider. "Is that really you?"

I drink in the sight of her. God, I've missed her so much. I didn't even dare acknowledge how much until right now. But all that comes out of me is a croak. "Hi, Mom."

She rushes forward and pulls me into an embrace, hugging me fiercely. I return the hug just as tightly, breathing in her comforting, memories crashing over me. When she finally releases me, her eyes are filled with tears.

"No one would tell us where you were!" she says. "And there are people watching us, all the time?—"

"They're the good guys," Lyssa says. "You don't need to worry about them."

Mom stares at Lyssa now. "I know you—you were there with Scarlett when…" She trails off, looking more upset than happy now.

"Mom, we don't have long," I say, pushing her back into the house. "Can we come in?"

We're already in, but Mom nods anyway, worry lines creasing her brow. Lyssa and I follow her into the warm, familiar kitchen. Nothing has changed, except for Adam's absence—and mine.

"Would you like some tea?" Mom asks, ever the polite hostess. "Or I can make something if you're hungry..."

"We're fine, thank you," Lyssa cuts her off politely.

Mom's gaze drifts back to me, drinking in my appearance as if reassuring herself I'm really here. "Your father is in the front room watching the game. Come on."

She turns and bustles off before I can suggest she call him in here instead. But I follow her, and then I have to suffer through my father's joy and hope as well as he sees me and shoots out of his armchair.

"Scarlett? What the?—"

He stops, overcome, and pulls me into a bone-crushing bear hug just like he used to when I was a kid. I can't stop the tears that sting my eyes, and I have to pat him on the back for a long time before he lets me go.

When he does, I turn to see Lyssa inspecting the framed family photos clustered on the walls and shelves.

All those photos are exactly why I didn't want to come in here to the living room.

Lyssa bends to look at a picture of me and Adam at my high school graduation, both of us grinning and looking so happy, so naive about what the future held.

Dad and Mom are watching her along with me, as though they can sense she's not quite an ally. Lyssa glances over her shoulder at us and reads the room, fast. "I'll give you all some privacy," she says, and backs out of the room into the hallway.

"What's going on?" Dad demands once she's gone, his expression a mixture of joy and anger. "Where the hell have you been—all these years, and then after that terrible experience—young lady, do you have any idea how worried we've been?"

I open and close my mouth, at a loss for how to even begin explaining the unbelievable situation, and worried I'm going to laugh at the strangeness of hearing him devolve into his gruff disciplinarian voice.

Young lady, do you have any idea?

Yeah. I have some.

Finally, I force out the words: "I'm so sorry. I got involved with some very dangerous people, and now I've been…I've been recruited to help take them down. I'm working with a—a special forces team who…who are looking for the people responsible for Adam's death."

It's close enough to the truth. And I don't want them to know everything.

Mom's face crumples while Dad's eyebrows shoot up. "Dangerous people? Special forces? Are you insane?" he growls. "You know what got your brother killed! And now you're telling me you're mixed up in that world? After everything we went through, everything we sacrificed to give you a chance at?—"

"I have to do something!" I argue, my own anger rising to the surface. "And I'm not the girl you used to know. Didn't you see me in that stairwell, Dad, back at the high-rise? Didn't you see me—" I break off, not wanting to know exactly how much my parents saw. I reach out my hands, pleading. "Don't you understand? This is the only way I can make it right, the only way to get justice for Adam?—"

"Justice?" Dad interrupts, his voice rising. "You think you'll get justice for Adam by throwing your own life away?"

"It's the only thing that will let me move on," I insist. "If you knew the things I've learned, the skills I've developed?—"

I break off. I can't very well reveal the ugly truth about the criminal underworld I've found myself trapped in. Mom's eyes well up with fresh tears as she takes my hands imploringly in hers.

"Please, Scarlett," she begs in a tremulous voice. "Please, just come home. We can't lose you, too. Not—not again."

The anguish in her voice very nearly breaks me. For a moment, I envision returning to my ordinary life: medical school, a normal job, a normal life. A wave of longing washes over me as I realize how much I've given up in my crusade for vengeance.

But then Adam's face fills my mind, and the yearning is chased away by a searing spike of rage and guilt. As long as his death remains unaddressed, I'll never be able to let go. Not really.

And none of this matters, anyway. Because there's also Lyssa to consider. As far as she's concerned, I have a debt to pay...with my life.

"I can't come back," I say in a low voice. "I have to see this through to the end."

Mom bursts into tears, burying her face in Dad's chest as he wraps his arms around her, his jaw twitching. He holds my gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"The people you're looking for—are they the same people who took us?" he asks carefully.

Shit. Of course they would be wondering about their own kidnapping. I feel a stab of pity for the pain I've put them through, all lies by omission.

"Look, it's all top secret, that's why you haven't heard anything through official channels. That's all I can really say..."

Dad's face darkens. An awkward silence falls over the kitchen.

"I should go," I mumble, not wanting to drag this out any longer than necessary. "We're in the middle of an operation and…well, we can't stay long."

I glance towards the hallway, debating whether I should go upstairs to retrieve Lyssa. But she appears in the entryway, hands shoved into her pockets in a deceptively casual stance. Mom and Dad immediately straighten, no doubt unnerved by her imposing presence.

"Everything okay?" Lyssa asks me, her tone all business.

I nod and step away from my parents. "Yeah, we should go."

Mom moves forward and grips my arm, her eyes searching my face.

"Just promise me you'll stay safe," she whispers, then adds even more softly, "And that you'll come back to us when it's all over, tell us you're safe."

My heart clenches at the naked hope and desperation in her tone. I want so badly to reassure her, but I can't make that promise. Not with what lies ahead of me. So instead, I just squeeze her hand gently and offer her a watery smile.

As Lyssa and I turn to leave, Dad calls out gruffly, "Are the authorities any closer to catching the bastards that took us?"

Lyssa actually barks out a short laugh at that. I tense, worried she'll say something to raise Dad's suspicions further. But after a beat, she sobers and shakes her head.

"I think...the, uh, government might be getting a bit closer," she allows vaguely. "But these things take time."

Dad grunts, seeming unsatisfied but unwilling to push further. We reach the back door, and I pause and glance over my shoulder to take one last look at my parents. Mom is clutching Dad's arm, her expression pinched with worry and sorrow.

I raise a quick hand in farewell and then follow Lyssa into the yard and the back street, heading into the shadows again. She goes to check that the Syndicate guards are back in place before we leave, and I'm thankful for the ten minutes or so to collect myself.

"That was awkward in there," Lyssa mutters on her return. "Your parents are, like, aggressively in denial."

A spark of anger flares in my gut at her words, but before I can snap a biting retort, we round the corner into an alley between two apartment blocks and I freeze. There, lounging against the wall and twirling wicked-looking blades, is a small cluster of rough-looking men.

One of them looks up at the sound of our approaching footsteps and grins. It's not a nice grin.

"Well, well," he drawls. "Hades tried to put out the word that you were dead, little girl. We didn't believe her. Knew you'd be back here sooner or later to visit the folks." They fan out, and I hear more feet behind us, too. Their leader points at me. "But now it's time to put you in the ground for real."