Along the way, Killian sends my blade flying with a single bat of his arm. “You won’t be needin’ this.”

My shoulder vibrates with pain, and I whimper as I wrench away from him.

The noise makes him flinch. “I’m sorry,” he grumbles. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I offer no reply. I still have the scalpel, but I don’t use it as he turns, picks me up and cradles me against his chest, his arms strong, intractable bands around me. I even sag against him, surprisingly docile. I’m tapped out. Got nothing left. I’ll fight tomorrow.

He heads toward...my cave, I realize. He knows where I spent the night?

The fire is low but still crackling. He sets me down and stokes the flames with logs hidden in the shadows. When the flames are high enough, heat wafting through the air, he wrestles me out of the coat.

“What are you doing? Hey! Give that back! It’s mine. I stole it fair and square.”

“I’m going to tend to your wounds. You couldn’t pay me enough to wear the coat. I have standards.”

Then why was he trying not to bloody it during the fight? For me?

The idea throws me for a loop.

He adds, “I suggest you dig deep and find your own.” The derision in his tone...

As if we’re playing a game. Enough of his games! They keep me off balance and—

They keep me off balance. Well, no wonder he plays them.

I go still. If he is an ML, he won’t hurt me. He’ll do as he claimed and tend my wounds. Because I’m the one with power in our relationship. I’m the one with something he wants: the key to my future.

He settles in front of me and claims my wrist in a grip as intractable as his hold. Like Bow, like every time before, no heat radiates from him.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks, and there’s now an edge to his tone.

Does he actually care about the answer? “I was. Now I’m not exactly sure.”

“Do you think I’ll take advantage of you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know you. Not really. Wait. Scratch that. I know you’re a murderer.”

“Still harping on a few measly kills?” His expression is gentle as he meets my gaze. “I will never hurt you. Not again. All right?”

I nibble on my bottom lip. “Are you a Myriad Laborer?” I ask again.

“If I were, do you think the powers that be would allow me to admit it before you figured it out?”

Maybe. Maybe not. “If you are, you should know I can’t be charmed or frightened into making my choice. My allegiance has to be earned.”

“Are you certain you can’t be charmed?” He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, making me shiver. “Or is it my charm that frightens you?”

“No?” Ugh. Just ugh. A question? Really?

He’s smiling as he releases me and pulls a thin black cloth from his back pocket. When he unwinds the material, I see syringes, a spool of thread glowing as brightly as fetters, packaged cleaning wipes, thin tubes of ointment and bandages.

I remember the vodka in the backpack and though I would love to drink my way to oblivion, I decide not to indulge. Too vividly I remember my wine-buzzed attempt to caress this guy’s eyelashes.

Besides, the warmth of the fire is helping to clear my thoughts, and the answers I don’t want to face are beginning to crystallize, battering against what remains of the disbelief. I may not want to accept the truth, but I must.

Bow without eyes...without blood...the electrodes...the name Archer...my doubts shed one by one until I’m left with the only bare-naked truth.

She—he—is a TL. He came to Prynne to recruit me. He befriended me, spied on me and tried to manipulate me.

I was just too dumb to see it.

And then there was James, whose body was as cool as Bow’s and Killian’s. Was he—is he—an ML? Did he purposely mislead me?

The long con...

An arrow of uncertainty leaves me bleeding. I genuinely loved him, but that doesn’t mean he genuinely loved me.

The uncertainty expands, creating a fresh wound in my heart. He told me stories about his childhood, how he played hide-and-seek with his teddy bears, pretending they were brothers and sisters, and I’d related. I petted his chest while he admitted being a guard at Prynne was merely a stepping-stone to becoming a detective.

I sobbed for him after he was shot. I lay awake night after night, tossing and turning, blaming myself for what happened to him. I’d wanted so badly to escape, to start a life with him. A real life.

I still mourn him.

Killian cups my cheeks and forces me to face him. He’s frowning. “What’s caused this upset?”

I tell him the truth. Why not? “James.”

A muscle ticks under his eye, as if he’s angry. “The boyfriend.”

“Yes.” And oh, zero. My eyes are burning, my chest constricting and my temples throbbing. My entire world has been turned upside down and inside out, and my mind is about to break. I hurry to change the subject before I break down. “Were there any other kids out there?”

“A handful.” He offers no more as he lifts the tools he needs from the cloth.

“How many were alive?”

“Less than a handful. Others were captured by mountaineers.” He smooths a clear gel over my wound.

A sudden tide of nausea nearly doubles me over. I breathe past the pain, saying, “What will happen to them?”

“I don’t know. They aren’t my problem.”

“Well, I’m not your problem, either.” A plan takes shape. Save the inmates captured by the mountaineers, deal with my injuries later. Time is of the essence.

But isn’t it always?

When I try to stand, Killian holds me down.

“You’re not going anywhere. You are my problem.” His gaze meets mine and stays locked, the air between us thickening. “You know why. Say it.”

“I...do know why.” Finally I vocalize the admission. “You... You’re my ML.”

A cascade of relief accompanies the words. And the truth shall set you free.

“I am.” He reflects the relief back at me. “There are many different kinds of Laborers. My subdivision isn’t to confess our origins unless and until the human figures it out, enabling us to move in and out of lives at will, making our mission less complicated.”

My cheeks heat as I ask, “Do you really have sex with your humans?”

He gives me a half smile. “Shells feel. I’ve experienced every human sensation but bleeding. I’ve only ever hemorrhaged.”

“Hemorrhaging isn’t bleeding?”

“Not for spirits.” He brushes his thumb over the pulse in my wrist. A pulse that only beats faster. “Let me show you more of my realm. I’ll answer any other questions you have, and you’ll see how perfectly you fit. You’ll understand how important you are to our cause.”

“I can guess how important you think I am.” Do I sound as bitter to him as I sound to myself? “Troika considers me a Conduit, which means Myriad considers me an Abrogate.”

“I didn’t see it at first. Thought you were just another army drone. But you’re so much more, lass, and we need you. You’ll command a legion of Leaders and Laborers, plan strategic attacks and lead your personal army into battle.”