Say what you want about me, but I won't play the fool twice.

Before Derek can even blink, I lunge towards him. Everything about the martial arts I learned over ten years kicks back into place: my hand on his throat. My knee between his legs. A final strike at his temple.

He slumps to the floor of the elevator, and before I can change my mind, I hop over him and press all the buttons. The door closes―and I hope with all my might that nobody just saw me trample the Alpha's second-in-command.

Panic. Pure panic.

I have no choice. I'm going to have to hide him somewhere. He'll be unconscious for hours, and this . . . is definitely a minor inconvenience.

Okay. Think. Jude, think.

As soon as the elevator opens onto a random floor, I scan the hallway. Empty. Perfect.

Then I lift Derek up by the arms and begin to drag him on the smooth marble floor. If his shoulders dislocate, so be it―I have no sympathy to spare for this sneering, sniveling prick. The moment we reach the women's bathroom, I open it and call out, "Hello?"

No answer.

I pull Derek into a stall and prop him up against the toilet seat. With a strip of my own shirt, I stuff a gag into his mouth. Hopefully it'll keep him quiet―although, probably not for long.

Then I lock the stall from the inside and roll underneath.

You'd think, considering it's a bathroom in gang territory, it would be filthy.

But honestly? With the sleek, reflective floors and the polished marble and the shiny sinks, I feel like I should be apologizing for rolling around.

Christ. A gang who cares about public hygiene.

As soon as every single stall is locked from the inside, I rush back out. If I had a paper and a pen, I'd write Out of Order.

Unfortunately, I have to make do with snapping off the door handle.

Good luck, Derek.

Twenty minutes later, I find myself lost in the middle of a market. Lush, dark green planets are everywhere, wrapping around the stalls of vendors.

I'm finding it hard to believe this place could be called the Underground. For a moment, I can't help but think it feels like paradise.

It feels like I'm wandering the halls of a palace, across granite floors and Roman trellises. What is this place―and how is it possible that it exists?

I don't get it. How is this possible?

Wake up. I pinch myself―just to make sure I'm not dreaming.

I still need to get out of here.

Fuck it. I have to ask someone. Has Anise noticed I'm gone? Has Hunter?

The first woman I see is young, pretty. Her hair is sleek and straight, tied back with a red bandana. Her lips are painted the same shade of red, and she smiles at me.

She opens her arms towards a display of necklaces. "Would you like to buy―"

I heard, once, that in order to make people more favourable to you, you should ask for their name. "I'm Jude," I say. "What's your name?"

"I'm Gianina!" she says brightly.

"Gianina, I need to get out of here," I say. Quickly. "Please. If there's any way―"

Her brows pull together. Confused. "Just take the elevator up to the first floor," she says. As though this should be obvious. "All you need is your key. You have one, don't you?"

"My . . . key," I say slowly. Key . . . key . . . what key? "What if I . . . don't?"

Her laugh is a soft, sweet chime. "Of course you do. Or you'd be dead."

I swallow. "Right. My key."

I'm going to have to be a little smarter than this.

"So . . ." I continue. "I think I forgot what my key looked like." You can do better. Make it believable. My mom's voice. "I mean, as soon as they gave it to me, I lost it. Ridiculous, right? You'd think, considering it's so important, I wouldn't lose it." I laugh a little. Is this convincing? "So . . . could I see yours?"

Gianina pauses. I can see the wheels turning in her head as she considers what I said, but I don't know if she's falling for it―the bimbo act. Maybe I'm not such a good actor. Maybe I can't pull this off. Maybe―

From out of her pocket, she produces a metallic black card. There's nothing on it―no name. No words. No signature.

"Oh, you know what?" I say. "I think I might know where mine is after all!"

Gianina gives me a dazzling grin, and I almost want to buy one of her necklaces. "That's good. I'm glad I could help, Jude."

A tear slips down my cheek. "It's just that . . ."

Her mouth instantly drops. I knew it―she is gullible.

"What's wrong?" she demands. Her face is flushed, and there's genuine concern on her face, real shock that twinges at my own guilty conscience.

I open my mouth, and the words bubble out, as though I can't handle them anymore. "Ever since my b-boyfriend broke up with me . . . it's just . . . I can't . . . I feel so scattered."

I've never had a boyfriend.

But I have had a girlfriend. And it's Aimee's face that I channel now, thinking of the heartbreak that ruined me.

The best lies are the ones with a little bit of truth, right?

"Oh, honey," Gianina says, and she pulls me out of the walkway of the market. Towards her―into a hug. "He's not worth it, okay? Men are awful, and he didn't deserve you."

I summon more tears, burying my face in her shoulder. "Thank you s-so much." Her arms are warm around me. "You're too kind."

And she is. Because, five minutes later, I'm on the elevator with her key card tight in my hand.

The entire way up, I distract myself.

All it takes is thinking of the logistics of the Underground. How is it possible to have fifty floors of palace-like rooming beneath the surface of the earth? How is this kept a secret from New Orleans? And how did the Wolves claim it?

As the elevator glides upward, I focus on myself in the mirror.

My face is pale. My hands are shaking, and I can see the edges of the metallic black card between my fingers. My own green eyes are bright beneath the white light overhead, and I close them for a second―savouring the blackness before I hear the ring.

The elevator doors open, and my face slips into the mask.

But it's not the receptionist that I saw before. It's not even the same entrance place.

For a moment, my heart stops. Did Gianina trick me? Is this the right place?

But then I notice the metal detectors and the two guards, playing a game of cards. I start forward, hoping they won't notice me.

"Hey, you," one of them says. He sounds relaxed, easygoing. But I still freeze, the blood shattering like ice in my veins.

"Where's your key card?" one says. This one is younger―much younger, which startles me. He looks like a teenage boy.

No, he is a teenage boy.

He is tall and lanky, with limbs that he's still getting used to and a mop of curly hair that flops over his eyes. Blue eyes.

Christ. The shade of blue is so familiar I take a step back.

I need to get ahold of myself. I must be imagining things.

Just because his eyes are blue doesn't mean I know him from somewhere. It doesn't matter that they're two different shades of storm and sea, and I don't care that they're the same eyes that burn bright in my nightmares.

"Right here," I say confidently. Can they see how pale I am? Can they see the slight tremble of my fingers as I pass the card to the boy?

"Scan it, Tommy," the other guard says. He must be middle-aged, with tattoos that crawl up his wrists and neck. He sounds bored.

"Got it!" Tommy looks a little too excited to be scanning a guard. It almost makes me smile.

He scans the card in a machine that looks much too sophisticated to be owned by the Mafia. How do they afford this? By stealing from the people in the city?

It occurs to me, then, that if Tommy is here, he must be a part of the gang. And so young, too. It's not right. He can't be older than even seventeen.

"Um, Lonnie?" Tommy says nervously to the other guard. "It's . . ."

Lonnie looks up, irritated, until he sees what Tommy sees. Something I can't see.

"That's not Gianina Jones," Lonnie says.

Oh, shit. I should have figured the metallic card wouldn't be something that could just be traded or exchanged or even stolen.

In that moment, Lonnie must see something in my face, because he yanks out his gun and aims at me.

The fighting instinct in my body kicks in―

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

It's Tommy.

"Wait, it could have just been a mistake!" Tommy says.

"Shut up," Lonnie growls.

I have one, two seconds to gain the element of surprise. If I duck down now, I can sweep towards Lonnie's feet. But the unpredictability of that is a little too high―he could easily fire, which would leave me injured. It has to be a risk I'm willing to make.

I prepare myself to lunge―

"Really," Tommy continues, "those cards all look the exact same. Like, seriously, what if I just mix mine up with someone else? That's totally plausible. You know, the other day, I accidentally took my sister's credit card and you would not believe what was on her history. Who buys cinder blocks? What on earth is the point of that? I mean sure, she sculpts and all, but cinder blocks? Man, she is gonna break her hand. I actually have this bet running―"

"Shut up, Tommy!"

"I just feel like this is an overreaction!" Tommy protests. "I mean, what if this happened to me? Would you point a gun at me, Lonnie?"

"Of course not," Lonnie grumbles. "I know who your sisters are. They'd cut off my balls, especially H―"

While he's distracted, I roll forward and knock him out by his feet. In two seconds flat, he is on the ground, his gun in my hand.

"Just tell me how to get out of here," I say breathlessly. "That's all I want."

Tommy looks too impressed to be scared. "Dude, did you just see that two-step disassembling? Wicked! I've been going to karate for two years and they never―"

"Not now!" Lonnie groans. "She has a gun pointed at me. What protocol is this?"

"Um . . . it's not code yellow, that's for when Saints attack, so maybe it's―"

"Code black!" roars Lonnie.

"Right!" Tommy says, leaping towards an array of buttons. "That's when someone tries to escape."

"Don't move," I say. Quickly, before anyone can see, I empty the gun of bullets and then point at Tommy. I have limits, and shooting a kid is one of them. "I just need to know how to get out of here. Please."

Tommy hesitates, doubtful―

"Now, Tommy!" Lonnie roars, and it startles Tommy backwards―straight into the panel of buttons.

One of them flashes. The yellow one.

Code yellow―that's for when Saints attack . . .

If they think there are Saints attacking . . . how long until the entire Mafia shows up here?

Not long.

They must take code yellow serious, because in thirty seconds, the elevator doors open. And the Wolves come through.

There aren't enough swear words in the English language for this one.

>>>

You know what? I actually have no idea how many swear words there are in the English language.

I'm gonna admit, I like this swindling side of Jude.

From the moon and back,
Sarai