“We should go talk to Michelle Benoit,” he said, setting down the scalpel.

Cinder blew a strand of hair out of her face. The ghost of her child self lingered in the air here, a victim struggling to stay alive. How many people had helped rescue and protect her, had kept her secrets? How many had risked their lives because they believed hers was worth more? Because they believed she could grow into someone powerful enough to stop Levana.

Nerves scratching at her stomach, she followed Thorne back up into the hanger, making sure to close the hidden door behind them.

As they walked back into the daylight, the house still towered eerily still and silent above a small garden. The Rampion stood enormous and out of place in the fields.

Thorne checked his portscreen, and his voice was tight when he spoke. “She hasn’t moved since we got here.”

He didn’t try to hide his stomping footsteps across the gravel. He pounded on the front door, every strike bouncing around the courtyard. They waited for the telltale footsteps within, but only the sound of chickens scratching in the yard greeted them.

Thorne checked the knob and the door swung open, unlocked.

Stepping into the foyer, Thorne peered up the wood-paneled stairway. To their right was a living room, filled with rugged furniture. To their left a kitchen with a couple dirty plates left at the table. All the lights were off.

“Hello?” Thorne called. “Miss Benoit?”

Cinder called up a netlink and traced the signal to Michelle Benoit’s ID chip. “The signal is coming from upstairs,” she whispered. The stairs groaned beneath the weight of her metal leg. Small screens lined the wall, alternating pictures of a middle-aged woman in a pilot uniform and a girl with flaming red hair. Though chubby and covered in freckles as a child, later pictures showed her quite stunning, and Thorne gave a low “Hello, Scarlet” as they passed.

“Miss Benoit?” Cinder called again. Either the woman was a very deep sleeper, or they were about to stumble across something that Cinder was sure she didn’t want to see. Her hand shook as she pushed open the first door off the stairs, preparing herself not to scream if she spotted a decaying body sprawled across the bed.

But there was no body.

The room was in upheaval just as the hangar had been. Clothes and shoes, trinkets and blankets, but no human being. No corpse.

“Hello?”

Glancing around the room, Cinder spotted the vanity beside the window and her heart fell. She paced to it and picked up the small chip and held it up for Thorne to see.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Michelle Benoit,” she said. Sighing, she dismissed the netlink.

“You mean … she’s not here?”

“Try to keep up,” Cinder grumbled, and pushed past him into the hallway. She planted her fists on her hips and scanned the other closed door, no doubt another bedroom.

The house was abandoned. Michelle Benoit wasn’t here, and neither was her granddaughter. No one with any answers.

“How do we track a person who doesn’t have an ID chip?” Thorne said.

“We don’t,” she said. “That’s the whole point of removing it.”

“We should talk to the neighbors. They might know something.”

Cinder groaned. “We’re not talking to anyone. We’re still fugitives, in case you’ve forgotten.” She stared at the rotating pictures. Michelle Benoit and a young Scarlet kneeling proudly beside a freshly planted vegetable bed.

“Come on,” she said, dusting her hands as if she was the one who had been digging in the dirt. “Let’s get out of here before the Rampion attracts any attention.” The floorboards clapped hollowly beneath her as she tromped down the stairs and rounded the first landing.

The front door swung open.

Cinder froze.

A pretty girl with honey-blonde curls froze in front of her.

Her eyes widened, first with surprise, then recognition. They fell to Cinder’s cyborg hand and the color drained from her cheeks.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” said Thorne.

The girl glanced up at him. Then her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed onto the tile floor.

Thirty-Three

Cinder cursed and glanced back at Thorne, but he only shrugged. She turned back to the fainted girl. Her head was bent at an awkward angle against an entry table, her feet splayed across the doorway.

“Is it her granddaughter?” Cinder asked, even as her scanner was connecting the measurements of the girl’s face to the database in her brain and coming up with nothing. Scarlet Benoit it would have recognized. “Never mind,” she said, and inched toward the girl’s prone body. She nudged the table out of the way and the girl’s head thumped onto the tiles.

Creeping over her, Cinder peered out the front door. A beat-up hover sat in the courtyard.

“What are you doing?” said Thorne.

“Looking.” Cinder turned around to see Thorne stepping into the foyer, eyeing the girl with mild curiosity. “She seems to be alone.”

A wicked grin spread across his face. “We should take her with us.”

Cinder glared. “Are you crazy?”

“Crazy in love. She’s gorgeous.”

“You’re an idiot. Help me carry her into the living room.”

He made no argument, and a moment later the girl was swooped up in his arms without Cinder’s help.

“Here, on the couch.” Cinder bustled ahead of him and rearranged a few faded pillows.

“I’m good like this.” Thorne shifted his arms so the girl’s head fell against his chest, her blonde curls clinging to the zipper of his leather jacket.

“Thorne. Put her down. Now.”

Muttering something to himself, he laid the girl down and meticulously arranged her shirt to cover her bared stomach and then moved down to more comfortably position her legs when Cinder grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s get out of here. She definitely recognized us. The moment she wakes up she’ll have a comm to the police.”

Thorne pulled a portscreen out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Cinder.

“What’s that?”

“Her port. I took it off her while you were busy panicking.”

Cinder snatched the portscreen away and shoved it into the side pocket of her military cargos. “Still, it won’t be long before she tells someone. And they’ll come to investigate and realize we were looking for Michelle Benoit and then they’ll be looking for Michelle Benoit and—maybe I should disable her hover before we go.”

“I think we should stay and talk to her. Maybe she’ll know where to find Michelle.”

“Stay and talk to her? And give her even more leads about how to track us? That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“Hey, I liked my idea of bringing her along, but you already vetoed that idea, so now I’m resorting to Plan B, which is to interrogate her. And I am really looking forward to it. I used to play a game called interrogation with one of my old girlfriends where we—”

“That’s enough.” Cinder raised her hand, silencing him. “This is a bad idea. I’m leaving now. You can stay here with your girlfriend if you like.” She marched past him.

Thorne stayed on her heels. “Now that was definitely jealousy I just heard.”

A whimper stopped them both halfway to the front door and they turned to see the girl’s eyelashes fluttering open.

Cinder cursed again and tugged Thorne toward the entryway, but he didn’t budge. After a moment, he peeled himself out of her grip and meandered back into the living room. Terror flashed over her face and she sat up, pushing herself against the arm of the sofa.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Thorne. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“You’re those people from the netscreens. The fugitives,” she said in an endearing European accent. She gaped at Cinder. “You’re the … the…”

“Escaped Lunar cyborg fugitive?” Thorne offered.

The last bit of color drained from the girl’s face. Cinder prayed for patience.