“Hey.” He shook himself, as if from a dream.

“Is this her?” I said, flipping to a photo of a brunette. “She’s pretty.” I pulled the photo from its plastic cover. Karen, and his name was Mark. I saw it on his ID. I looked back up at him and smiled cruelly. “Too bad you’re right about her, Mark.”

“What are you talking about?” He didn’t quite manage the laugh this time.

“You know what I’m talking about,” I said sweetly, leaning into him. “The nights when she comes home later than you. When her lipstick’s too fresh, and her eyes too dark, and she smells like secrets and someone else’s soap.”

The other two men stopped laughing as well.

“Actually, come to think of it, mijo,” I said, pivoting partially to face the second man, “it smells a lot like your soap.”

Mark froze beside me, while the second man’s eyes grew wide.

“What?” I said, mimicking his expression. “You really thought he didn’t know?”

I folded the wallet and handed it back to Mark, but he didn’t see. He was staring blindly at his friend, who in turn was glaring at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, puta,” the man finally said, his eyes full of hatred. Someone should have told him the adage about protesting too much.

“Here.” I tapped Mark with his own wallet. He jolted, then took it, not looking at me.

It was then that I saw his hands were shaking.

A sudden wave of sorrow washed over me. Shock rolled into me like an earthquake, and it came from the man named Mark, who truly loved his wife Karen; and yes, who he knew, deep down, was having an affair with his good friend. What had I just done?

Looks can’t hide your true identity. It’s the eyes that give you away…the soul behind them. The intent. The Shadows.

Olivia would have never done this. I’d come over here intending to hurt these men, and I’d used this ability, whatever it was that Micah had said made me special and heroic, to injure an innocent. A mortal. A man.

My anger was gone. It was a small thing compared to the shame filling my lungs, strangling my breath. I had to get out of there, away from Mark’s injured gaze and the pain I had caused. As the two men began to argue, I turned, passing by the third.

“Bitch,” he shot from beneath his breath. And at that moment, who was I to argue? “You have issues!”

“You have no idea,” I muttered, and with that, walked right through the construction zone, my heels sinking into the newly poured pavement. I knew the sidewalk, my Louboutins, and the lives I left behind me would never be the same again.

I hurried the rest of the way to the day spa, imagining I could hear voices behind me rising in accusation and denial, anger and refute. I found myself wondering if those three men would ever work together again, if they’d ever be a team, or holler at girls in the street again. Doubtful, I thought now, but somehow took no pleasure in that.

Light and Shadow, Zane had said. So you’re the one.

“What have I done?” I asked aloud. Another question I couldn’t answer.

“Never mind you, darlin’.” Cher’s voice popped up seemingly from nowhere. “The question is what have I done?”

Halting, I glanced around the street. No Cher. Her Corvette was backed into an opposing slot, but there was only one vehicle in front of the day spa, a shiny red BMW. I walked to the other side of it to find her crouching furtively by the driver’s door.

“You hit a car,” I said, unnecessarily. “Again.”

Cher had to be infamous within her insurance company.

“It’s only a little bitty ding,” she retorted, digging in her purse. “Come on over here and keep watch. I’m going to fix this.”

She pulled out a bottle of red nail color and began dabbing at the door.

“Cher, this is an accident. You have to report it.”

“It’s not an accident until you’ve been caught.” She blew on the door and tilted her head. “Another coat, I think.”

The absurdity of the moment hit me, contrasting sharply with the moments just past, and laughter—somewhat hysterical, I admit—began to bubble up inside of me. There was no cruelty here, no nefarious activity or laws of an alternate universe at work. It was just Cher. Neither Shadow nor Light. Just my sister’s best friend in all her blinding shades of fuchsia. “You missed a spot.” I giggled.

“Thanks, Livvy-girl.”

I was smiling when he caught my attention. I sucked in a surprised gasp. The man stood between the building and sidewalk, too still. At least, I thought, my smile fading, I knew now why I’d felt followed.

“Hey, Cher,” I said quietly. “I’ll be right back.”

Her head popped up halfway. Barbie-Kilroy. “Who’s that?”

“A cop.”

Cher squealed and ducked.

It took both forever and not long enough to reach Ben’s side.

So much to say, yet no words would ever be enough. So I said the simplest, truest thing that came to mind. “God, Ben. You look like shit.”

His half laugh came out strangled, like he hadn’t used it in a very long time. “And you look beautiful. As usual.”

He’d always been rugged, even as a boy, but now there was more sadness than toughness lining his face, and his penchant for imagining and brooding lived too close to the surface of his eyes. I sucked in a breath of salty sorrow. “I know you’re undercover, but do they really let you go into work like that?”

He glanced down, shrugged. “I’m kinda taking some time off.”

“How much time?”

“Just a bit. Just until I get my head together. I don’t know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. “How have you been, Olivia?”

Olivia. Be Olivia. I took a deep breath. “Uh…not quite myself, actually.”

“I know what you mean.” He ran a palm over the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I wanted to say it’d been his loss too, but the words backed up in my throat. “How long have you been following me?”

“Just today. Well, yesterday too. I had some sort of misguided notion you needed protecting, but that’s probably just my own guilty conscience at work.” He laughed again, but it was too bitter to be funny. “I was going to help you with those guys back there, but you seemed to take care of them too. You must get that all the time.”

Yeah, I’d taken care of them, all right. I looked at my shoes, flecks of cement on the bright red bottoms, and felt my own guilty conscience spring to life. “Did you need something, Ben?”

“I did…do, actually.” He reached for his back pocket. “Can you tell me anything about this picture?”

I knew what he was going to show me even before he pulled out the photo. The mug shot must’ve been taken the night Ajax attacked me in Valhalla. I recognized the suit hanging slack on his body. I’d given him the injury that lay bandaged on his neck. Shit, I could practically smell the rot through the photo paper.

I swallowed hard and handed the mug shot back. “Terrible lighting. But at least he doesn’t have his chin resting on his fist. I hate that pose.”

“It’s a mug shot, Olivia,” Ben said through gritted teeth. “You’ve never seen this guy before? Sure you don’t know him?”

“Oh my God!” I said in mock alarm. Ben straightened expectantly. “Puh-lease don’t tell me this is one of those guys from that blind dating reality show. I knew I shouldn’t have given them my number.”

“Never mind,” he said, sighing, and I could practically see him deflate. After a long silence he said, “I know it probably doesn’t matter now, but what about that night? Do you remember anything at all about…anything at all?”

“I’m, uh, still working through all that.” I looked away like I didn’t want to talk about it—and I didn’t—but I wasn’t fast enough to miss the way his lips thinned in frustration. Ben had never looked at me that way before. Like he was disgusted. Like I was weak.