"Where do we go now?"

                   I woke up handcuffed to a Mafia boss. The devil offered me a deal. We outran a murderous Yakuza truck driver.

                   And now we're sitting in an Olive Garden.

                  "Any more breadsticks?" asks the waiter.

                  "Yes," I say politely, and he disappears into the bustling crowd, the round tables brimming with large, shouting families.

                  Veah raises an eyebrow. "I think you've had thirty breadsticks."

                  "Who's counting?"

                  "Probably the bill."

                  I laugh. "No kidding, you're not American. Breadsticks at Olive Garden are free."

                  Her eyes widen. "They're free?" 

                  "And delicious," I say. I'm not worried about gaining weight—running for your life burns a lot of calories. "Besides, I've learned not to take free things for granted."

                  "Why's that?" 

                  Her question surprises me. More than it should.

                  Casually, I flick my eyes back down to my plate. "I was homeless for a little while. Two years ago. It was just for the summer before university started."

                  Her smile fades and the storm glint in her eyes becomes knifelike.

                  "Why were you homeless?"

                  I swallow a sip of water. "My stepfather gave my mom an ultimatum. Him, or me. She chose him, and I got to go."

                  Even though it wasn't my choice, leaving Cassie was the hardest thing I had done in my life.

                  "And before you ask," I say. "It was just for the summer. Once university started, I had my full-ride scholarship. I got a job, I paid for my dorm last year, and now I live with Lindsay and we share the rent."

                   "And your mother?"

                   I shrug. "Still living with my stepfather."

                   And my sister, I think.

                   She is sixteen, and as long as she's there, she's not safe. But the most I can do is text her, and even that . . . it's risky. I know Gavin still checks her phone, still monitors her messages.

                  Veah's eyes become silver flame.

                  I see it as she hones something sharp, lethal inside of her, stilling that jagged edge—hiding that feral storm. And in that moment, she reminds me of lightning.

                  "Where does your stepfather live?" she asks casually.

                  "Gavin? He—" My eyes narrow. "You don't need to know that."

                  "Just out of curiosity."

                  "Does curiosity involve you slitting his throat?"

                  "It involves beating him halfway to death until he is begging for forgiveness." Veah leans forward, and the world narrows to her. To her full, parted lips. "But whether or not I slit his throat, Kaya . . . I'll let you have the honor."

                  For a moment, the thought is all too appealing.

                  After everything Gavin has done, and what he might be doing to Cassie even now . . . I have to swallow. Lean back. 

                 "That's murder," I protest.

                 "I've done worse," she whispers. "And I'd do worse still for you."

                 "Is that supposed to mean you care about me?" I scoff, even though my skin warms with a blush. "Because there are probably better ways you could say that than offering to torture my stepdad for me."

                  She doesn't look away. "Maybe there are. But this is my way. The offer stands, Kaya."

                  I can't help it—I let out a short, hysterical laugh. A Yakuza boss is offering to beating my stepfather halfway to death, until he is begging for forgiveness, and it . . . it is her way of telling me she cares about me.

                  A delicious shiver runs through me.

                  But my laughter quickly fades. Where do we go now? 

                  She still hasn't answered my question.

                  "You know," I continue. "We never finished playing that game."

                  "Is there actually an end to that game if neither of us passes a question?"

                  "I think you've forgotten that you, dear friend, can only pass one more question before you lose the game. The foreseeable end to this game is me winning."

                  "Then why would I want to keep playing?"

                  I lean in closer, my voice a whisper among the chatter and conversation of the restaurant. "Because you like the thrill of the unknown, don't you, Heaven?"

                  My challenge sinks in and she seems almost . . . uneasy. 

                  She pulls back slightly, like I've managed to unsettle her. To see more of her than what she wants me to.

                 "Where do we go now?" I breathe, still whisper-soft.

                 But the waiter has arrived again, setting down the breadsticks between us. "Anything else I can get you?"

                 I flatten my napkin on the table. "I'd like the Chicken Alfredo, thanks."

                "I'll have the Chicken Parmesan."

                "Veah, this is bullshit," I say suddenly, once the waiter is gone again. "Stop avoiding my question."

                Her face remains cool—she is still deadly calm. Her silver eyes betray nothing as she says, "Bullshit."

                "What?"

                "It just sounds funny coming from your mouth."

                "You are infuriating." 

                "You're insufferable."

                "And you're still avoiding the question."

                Veah puts one palm on the table. "You're not going to like it, Kaya."

                "I don't think like is a good word to cover just about anything we've done in the past two days!"

                "I have a friend," she says carefully. "She's a hacker, like you. She specializes in forging documents. I think we both know that the only way for you to escape Imai—and the Kais—is to start over. Make a new identity."

                It had occurred to me. But—

                "What about university? My condo lease?" 

                "You'll still be enrolled," Veah says. "Just . . . not as the same person."

                "And the Yakuza are just going to believe that? They try and recruit me, I disappear off the face of the earth, and they'll just . . . drop it?"

                Veah grimaces. "That's the part where we fake your death."

                I jump to my feet. My voice is loud. Too loud. "We're going to fake my death?" 

                The restaurant instantly quiets. But Veah doesn't seem embarrassed—only amused. With my cheeks burning, I sit back down and Olive Garden resumes its conversation.

                My heart is still pounding—too fast.

                "What about my family? What will they think?"

                "They'll have to believe it for a little bit," says Veah simply. "But once the Yakuza are off your trail, I promise you can tell them again."

                "This is crazy," I sputter. "This is fucking ridiculous. I can't just fake my fucking death! I can't let everyone—I can't let Cassie think I'm dead!"

                Veah's eyes shutter. Is that a faint trace of . . . guilt?

                But I instantly harden. Because all of this—this whole disaster—

                It's because of you, I can't help but think.

                And maybe she knows what I'm thinking. Maybe she can tell.

                "I'm sorry, Kaya," she says. "But this is the only way."

                I swallow. We'll see about that. "Fine," I snap. "But this friend . . . where is she? How soon can we get there?"

                And this is when I notice Veah tense.

                "That's the part you're not going to like."

                "Right, because I loved the part about faking my fucking death and lying to my family."

                Veah glances down as the waiter sets down both our plates. "My friend lives in Japan."

                "Which means—"

                She finishes it for me. "We're going to Tokyo."