Gripping my katana, I climbed the final few steps to the top landing, wrenched open the door, and stepped through.
A long hallway greeted me, lined with windows on one side, most of them blown out or shattered. Far below, Old Chicago huddled in the shadows and dark water, and beyond it, the moon glimmered off the surface of the enormous Lake Michigan, stretching over the horizon.
I began walking toward the door at the very end of the hall, feeling as if I’d been here before. As I passed another corridor, I glanced down and saw a darkened elevator shaft along the walls, and everything jolted into place. I had been here, on this very floor, when I’d tried to rescue Jeb. I’d come up through the elevator instead of the stairwell. And I knew where I had to go. Through the door at the end of the hall was the laboratory, where Jebbadiah Crosse had died. Where I’d met Jackal for the first time.
Where Sarren waited for me now.
The door loomed dead ahead, and I didn’t stop. I didn’t pause to reconsider my plan. Whether I was walking into a trap or straight to my death. Katana at my side, I strode up to the door and kicked it below the knob. It flew open with a crash, nearly ripped off its hinges, and I stepped into the room.
The lab was dark, silent, and I paused in the frame, listening. When I’d been here last, it had been brightly lit, with no shadows or dark corners to hide in. I stepped through the door, sword out, searching for my enemy.
“Sarren,” I called, easing forward, wary of traps and explosions, or a sudden horde of raiders pouring out to shoot at me.
But the room remained silent. Still wary, I stepped through the doorway, a sense of familiarity stealing over me as I gazed around. I remembered this place. There was the desk and the ancient computer in the corner, mostly undisturbed, though the screen was dark and shattered now. There was the counter, covered in broken beakers and chips of glass, where Jackal had held me down and rammed a stake through my gut. And beyond it, the wall of cracked and shattered windows, through which my brother had fallen to his supposed death, glinted in the darkness, the remaining shards of glass sharp and lethal.
I paused. A chair sat against the back wall, silhouetted against the glass of an unbroken window and the night sky.
The floor around it was streaked with old blood, and the scent reached me a moment later, stirring the Hunger. Wondering if this was Sarren’s latest handiwork, I eased forward a bit, then froze.
A body sat in the chair, slumped forward with its head bowed, arms tied behind the chair back. The body was still, far too still to be alive. A raider, perhaps? I edged closer, study-ing the corpse. Moonlight filtered through the glass and cast a dark shadow over the floor, outlining the lean, ragged body, glimmering off its pale hair.
Oh, God…
My katana dropped from nerveless fingers, striking the ground with a clink. I couldn’t move. My mind had snapped; I was seeing things that weren’t there. Because I knew this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. He was dead; I’d listened to him die.
Dazed, I took one step forward, then stopped, clenching my fists. No, I told myself furiously. Don’t believe it, Allison.
That’s what Sarren wants. This was a trick. A ploy to make me fall apart. Like the heart in the stairwell. Sarren was playing me, and if I went up to that body, it would explode, or trigger a trap, or leap up and try to kill me. It wasn’t him. Or maybe it was, and I’d walk up only to see a half-rotted corpse with a gaping hole in his chest where his heart had been.
“It’s not him.” My voice was resolute. Squeezing my eyes shut, I bowed my head, cutting off my emotions. Willing myself to believe my own words. This would not work. I would not give Sarren the satisfaction of breaking me. Zeke was dead. It still killed me, ripped me to pieces inside, but I knew he was gone. “It’s not him,” I said again, a cold numbness settling around my heart. Reaching down, I picked up my sword, rose with icy resolve, and deliberately turned from the body. “Stop hiding,” I told the darkness and shadows. “I am not falling for it. Come out and face me, you f**king psychopath. I’m done playing games.”
“Allison?”
My stomach dropped, and for the second time that night, the world froze. Sarren might be able to disguise a body. He might even be able to alter a corpse, make it look like someone I knew, someone I longed to see again. He could not disguise a voice. Especially one so familiar, one that had been on my mind for weeks, in my thoughts every single day. A voice I’d thought I would never hear again.
Slowly, I turned. The body in the chair hadn’t moved, still slumped forward with its head bowed. But as I watched, it stirred, raising its head…and I felt the earth shatter as his familiar, piercing blue eyes met mine across the floor.
“Hey, vampire girl,” Zeke whispered, his voice slightly choked. “I knew…you’d come for me.”
This…can’t be real.
I stared at the body across from me, unable to process what was happening, not daring to believe. This was wrong; it had to be a trap. Sarren was still playing his sick games, and in a moment this would all fall apart. I couldn’t start believing, didn’t dare to hope. My heart was just beginning to heal from being so brutally shattered; if I started to hope, only to have that hope crushed again, I didn’t know if I would recover.
“Allie?” The human’s voice drifted to me, weak with pain and exhaustion. A trickle of dried blood ran from one corner of his mouth, and dark circles crouched beneath his eyes. He looked beaten, bloody and in pain, but alive. He coughed, shoulders heaving, and gazed at me, imploring. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, trying to ignore my heart, the way it seemed to leap in my chest, like it was alive again. Around us, the world had stopped; time had frozen into this brittle, dreamlike moment where nothing was real. “It’s not you,” I told the body in the chair, knowing I sounded insane. “You can’t be here. I listened to you die.”
“I know,” he whispered, holding my gaze. I didn’t move, wary and disbelieving, pleading for him to prove me wrong.
The human sighed. “I know…how it looks,” he went on.
“But it’s all right. This isn’t a trap, or a trick. I don’t…have a bomb strapped to me, I swear.” He gave a faint, rueful smile, so familiar I felt my throat close up. “I’m still here. It’s…really me, Allison.”
My knees were suddenly shaky, and I couldn’t take it anymore. In a trance, I crossed the room to kneel in front of the chair. The wood was hard, chips of glass poking me through my clothes, but I barely felt it. I needed to touch him, to make certain this was real, that it wasn’t an illusion. My trembling hand rose to his face, brushing his cheek, as he gazed down at me, blue eyes never leaving mine. A shiver went through me the moment I touched his skin. He was pale and cold, dried blood covered his face, and his clothes were in tatters.