The alley was a narrow gap between a closed laundromat and a boarded-up convenience store. The overhang offered shelter from a sudden drizzle. Jessie leaned against the wall, her ribs a bonfire of pain, letting herself become part of the shadows. She'd been walking for hours, circling, making sure she wasn't followed. The disguise was blown. The safe house was compromised. She was out of options.
The sound came from behind the dumpster. A rustle, a whimper, something small and hurt.
Jessie looked. A cat, black, soaked, its back leg bent at an angle that made her stomach clench. It saw her and hissed, flattening itself against the brick.
She reached into her bag. The jerky was there, the cheap kind from the gas station. She broke off a piece, held it out, waited.
The cat sniffed. It limped forward, three-legged, desperate, and took the meat from her fingers.
Jessie smiled, a genuine, tired smile. She stroked the cat's wet fur, feeling it tremble. She broke off more, fed it piece by piece.
The headlights hit her without warning. Three vehicles, black, blocking the alley entrance, their high beams turning the rain to silver needles. Doors opened. Men emerged, silent, efficient, taking positions.
Jessie didn't move. She kept her hand on the cat, her head down. She was out of tricks. Out of energy.
She heard footsteps, heavy, deliberate, coming closer. She smelled cologne, expensive, cold, underneath the rain.
"It's over," Bryce said.
Jessie felt her heart rate spike, felt her skin start to warm, and forced it down. She was someone else. She was no one. She was invisible. It was a lie, but it was all she had left.
She turned.
Slowly. Scared. Her shoulders hunched, her eyes wide behind the glasses, her mouth slightly open. She gave him the performance of his life.
Bryce Hogan stood three meters away, rain dripping from his hair, his coat unbuttoned, his left arm still in the sling. He looked at her face, at the choppy hair, the fake freckles, the cheap glasses.
He frowned. He took a step closer. She smelled his cologne stronger now, and underneath it, something else. Blood. Fresh. The wound on his forearm had reopened.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous.
"J-Jessie," she stammered. "I go to school, I was just-my cat, I mean, not my cat, but-"
She let her voice trail off, let her eyes fill with tears she didn't feel. She watched his expression shift from suspicion to disgust. He didn't like tears. He didn't like weakness. He was looking for the predator he'd fought in the maze, not this pathetic girl.
"Have you seen anyone else?" he asked. "A woman. Dangerous. About your height."
Jessie shook her head. Fast. Too fast. She forced herself to slow down. "No, sir. Just me. Just the cat. I didn't see anyone."
He stared at her. His eyes were dissecting her, peeling back the layers. She felt naked under his gaze.
"Sir," a voice said softly. Julian. He stepped into the light, his own suit damp, his expression unreadable. "The thermal scan is active. There are no other signatures in the immediate area. It's just her."
"Wait." Bryce didn't look away from Jessie. He took another step closer, close enough that she could see the pulse in his throat. Close enough to touch.
He reached out. His hand moved toward her face, toward the glasses, toward the disguise she'd built so carefully.
Jessie held her breath.
