THE ONLY PEOPLE IN Waffle House were a teenager in stage makeup and a slick bun, her tired-looking grandparents, and a single worker—a twenty-something white girl with short, fluffy brown hair; light olive skin; and a curved, aquiline nose. With her doe brown eyes, square jaw, and red lipstick, she looked enough like Audrey Hepburn to make Malachi take a double-take. (He'd always known he'd run into the ghost of Audrey Hepburn in a Waffle House.)

Malachi rushed to the counter, Reza at his heels. He hadn't felt this close to Mila since the last time he'd seen her. He didn't want to let her slip through his fingers.

"You can sit wherever," the Audrey Hepburn lookalike assured them. Her name tag read "Louise."

Malachi shoved the photo of Mila in her face. It had a tear in its edge by now. "Have you seen this girl?"

Louise's eyes widened. Her cheeks reddened. "Yeah, that's Sofía. Sofía something. Bit of an odd duck, isn't she?" She chuckled. "Why? She in trouble?"

"Missing." Malachi shoved the photo back in his pocket.

"When did you last see her?" Reza asked.

"You just missed her." Louise stuck her hands in the pockets of her apron, concern darkening her eyes. "She followed this guy out... he looked a whole lot older than her. Lord, if I had known, I would not have let her walk out those doors—"

"It's not your fault," Reza assured her.

"What kind of car was she in?" Malachi asked. "Did you see where they headed off to?"

"A gray Oldsmobile. She just left, heading... east on Route 66, off toward the desert. If you go now, you might be able to catch up with her. Road only goes one way, after all."

Malachi turned toward the exit without so much as a thank you. He had other things on his mind.

"Hang on!" Louise called. "I care about that little weirdo. She's grown on me. If she's in trouble... I want to help. I'm coming with you."

Malachi didn't have time to argue. And maybe Louise knew this town better than he did. "Just hurry."

"Jacob!" Louise called over her shoulder toward a door against the wall, behind the open kitchen. "Get off break! I'm leaving!"

"Fuck off! I still have three minutes!" This disembodied "Jacob" yelled back.

"It's an emergency!" Louise yelled as she cleanly slid over the counter, joining Malachi and Reza at the door. "It's about that Sofía girl."

"The weird one?"

"Yeah. Hot chocolate girl."

"Get some, Lou!"

Louise's cheeks reddened. She opened the door and the three ran outside. They piled into Reza's car, Louise in the backseat. Reza threw the car in reverse.

"Her name's not actually Sofía," Malachi pointed out.

"What?"

"Her name's Mila. Camila Santos."

Reza shot out of the parking lot, turning back the way they came.

Louise scrunched up her nose. "Why did she lie to me?"

"She's been lying to everyone," Malachi replied.

"Oh." Louise hunched in on herself. "How do you guys know her? She never mentioned any brothers."

"She's my best friend," Malachi answered.

"I only sort of knew her." Reza pointed his thumb at Malachi as he pushed to twenty past the speed limit. "I'm only here because this idiot can't drive."

"I live in New York. I don't need to drive."

"What... what happened?" Louise leaned forward in her seat. "With her? With everything? Lord, I can't wrap my head around any of this."

Reza tilted his head back against the headrest. "That's what we're trying to figure out."

"We think she faked her death," Malachi explained. "And came here." He shrugged. "No idea why."

"I think she was running from someone," Reza offered.

"Or something."

"Shut up, she's not running from Bigfoot—"

"Lord." Louise ran her hands over her face, ruffling up her bangs. "I knew something was off about her, but this...?"

"Beyond anything you could have imagined?" Reza supplied.

"Precisely. I thought she was just a little off her rocker."

"Be on the lookout," Reza ordered. "In case her car's pulled to the side of the road or into one of those parking lots."

"I'm looking right," Malachi said. "Louise, you look left. You said a gray Oldsmobile?" Malachi racked his brain, but he had no idea what an Oldsmobile was.

"Yessir."

"What does that look like?"

"It's an old sedan."

He blanked on the word sedan, too. "I don't know shit about cars—"

"It's one of those small, long cars!" Reza snapped. "Like Doc Hudson in Cars!"

Now Malachi understood.

He stared out the window as they sped past the shops and restaurants on the town's main strip. Just as quick as they began, the buildings abruptly ended. Off to the right, Route 66 branched off into what must have been the town's main residential space—a run-down trailer and RV park. He made a mental note that if they didn't find Mila speeding down Route 66, they'd double back and check it.

Phwoom.

Malachi threw his hands over his ears. Louise flinched. "Was that a gunshot?" she asked.

Reza slammed his foot on the gas. The speed limit jumped to sixty-five. Reza was pushing a hundred. Malachi didn't even know his little car could go that fast.

Phwoom. Phwoom. Phwoomphwoomphwoomphwoomphwoom.

"What the fuck?" Reza asked.

"Reza!" Malachi snapped. "It's the gas station. It's coming from the gas station. She's at the gas station. Stop the car Reza stop the car stop the—"

The phwoomphwoomphwoomphwoomphwoom turned into an ear-shattering PSHEWPSHEWPSHEWPSHEWPSHEW!

The gunshots got louder, loud enough Malachi thought the world was ending around him. And they were coming from outside the gas station they'd been at earlier—the Navajo Gas Station. A little gray car sat diagonally next to a semi-truck beneath the steel canopy.

Pshew! Pshew! Pshew!

Reza slammed on the brakes and threw the steering wheel to the side, the tires spitting dust behind them. The car spun to the right and screeched to a halt.

Pshew!

Malachi leapt out onto the sand, racing toward the truck. Mila was here. Mila was here and she was in danger. Mila Mila Mila Mila—he was so preoccupied with her that he hadn't realized that Louise had thrown herself to the floor in the backseat, curled into a ball with Reza's suitcase on top of her, sobbing. And he'd been so preoccupied with her he hadn't heard Louise call 911.

Pshewpshewpshewpshew— !

Reza stumbled out of the car. "MALACHI!" he screamed. "Stop! Get back in the car—!"

Pshew! Pshew! Pshew!

Balls of yellow light flashed from inside the truck. Malachi—pshew! pshew!—ran toward it, Reza nipping at his heels. He hopped onto the footstool along the side of it and pulled the door handle. Reza tore at his arm, ripping him back down to the concrete.

"Malachi, you idiot, you're gonna get yourself killed!" Reza howled over the gunshots.

"Let go of me!" Malachi screeched, yanking his arm out of Reza's reach. "I don't care! I don't care!"

Pshew!

"I care!" Reza insisted.

"Then let me do this! I couldn't live with myself if something happened to her and I was right here—"

"Fine." Reza stepped backward, tears filling his eyes. "But I see hope you know I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you and I was right here."

Malachi barely heard him. He yanked the door open, gritting his teeth, bracing for the worst. The cab was empty. His heart leapt into his throat. He could still see the gun firing out the other window. He hadn't seen them from inside the truck; it was all on the other side of it. He crawled across the seats and shoved open the other door, stumbling out into what must have been the end of the world.

The sound of the gunshots was unbearable, like driving nails into his ears. Blood trickled down the sides of his neck. He couldn't hear anything but the echoes of the gunshots. He wondered if he'd ever be able to hear again.

A girl stood with her back to him, curly blond hair cut messily at her shoulders. A black t-shirt covered her back, her arms in front of her.

"Mila!" Malachi yelled, grabbing hold of her arms, yanking her backward.

She spun around, eyes wild and crazed, a bloodlust in them Malachi had never seen before, not from her. Not so close to home. Tears rolled down her cheeks, smearing her dark eyeliner.

She aimed the gun at his head.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" She howled. Her hands shook on the gun. Thick, lumpy blood covered her head-to-toe, splattered against her face and arms. She looked ravenous and wild. "I'll fuck you up! I'll blow your brains out!"

This was not Mila.

But this was all Mila ever could be.

Mila was not in danger. Never had been. Never would be.

Mila was the danger.

Malachi could never save her; she had never needed to be saved. All she needed was a gun and some spilled guts.

On the ground in front of her, a body lay. A person, once. Chest not moving, everything completely and entirely still. So covered in blood and guts it was difficult to tell it was a person, once. Malachi wouldn't be surprised if it was a chunk of bloody, raw ground beef.

"MALACHI!" Reza screamed, grabbing him around his stomach. He yanked him backward, Reza landing hard on his back on the packed desert sand. Malachi fell on top of him. Reza's head barely missed the footstool on the side of the truck.

Another gunshot rang out, splitting the air above Malachi's head. The bullet lodged in the side of the truck where his head had been a moment ago.

Mila had just tried to shoot him.

She'd only missed because Reza got there at just the right time.

"Malachi?" Mila whispered, body looming above him in the dark. "I could have killed you! Leave me alone!"

Sirens howled in the distance. Malachi could barely hear them. Barely hear Mila.

She turned her back on Malachi and Reza, aimed her gun at the lifeless body, and fired again. PSHEW! PSHEW! PSHEW!

Malachi knew if they left Mila here like this, when the cops got here, there would be questions she couldn't answer. A jail cell. A life behind bars.

Malachi couldn't let that happen.

He scrambled to his feet, shoving Reza's hands off him as he fought to keep Malachi down. He grabbed hold of Mila's arms, hoping this time, knowing who he was, she wouldn't try to shoot him.

"Mila!" Malachi yelled. "Mila, stop. Mila, he's dead. Stop it. He's already dead. The cops are coming. We need to get out of here—"

"Let go of me!" Mila screamed, firing off another round into the unmoving body. "I'm fine! I'm fine! I'm FINE!" She did not seem fine.

"Mila, stop it! He's dead!"

"FUCK OFF!"

Mila pulled the trigger again. Nothing came out. She tried once more. Nothing.

"Jesus fuck!" she yelled, slamming the gun against the side of the truck. "I'm out of bullets."

"Come on, Mila," Malachi pleaded, "please, the cops—"

Mila turned toward Malachi, blinking the blood out of her eyes. The crazed, bloodthirsty look subsided. All at once, he could recognize her again. She held up her bloody, trembling hands as if noticing them for the first time, turning them one way and the next, examining them from all over.

"Get out of here." Her voice was a hoarse growl, but it was Mila again, all Mila. "You've got—fuck—there's blood all over you. And your DNA's everywhere. You're such an idiot for coming here. Get out of here. Now." Malachi couldn't tell who she was talking to—him or herself—until she added, "I'll keep them off your trail."

"Mila," Malachi begged, "come with us. We'll hide you somewhere. We can—"

"Jesus Christ, Malachi! Hide me where? I just killed someone!"

"In self-defense!"

Mila stared down at the body. Something dark glinted in her eyes.

"Mila! In self-defense, right?"

"In self-defense," she agreed, her voice faint, her eyes downcast. "But the cops won't see it like that." She turned to look at Malachi and shoved him toward the truck. "You need to get out of here. Now—"

"We can vouch for you," Malachi pled. "We'll say he kidnapped you. We'll say he held you at gunpoint and he did all that back in New Jersey and—did he? Mila? What happened?" He lowered his voice. "What did he do to you?"

"You need to get out of here!" Mila insisted. "Go! Now! Or I'll shoot you too!"

"Mila, please— !"

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Mila screamed, flailing her hands at him. "Fucking Christ! Go! Go! GO!"

Malachi wasn't going to leave her. He couldn't. If she went down, he was going down with her. But Reza grabbed him by his armpits, dragging him toward his car. Malachi was so numb and overwhelmed, he went limp in his arms, unable to fight back. All he could do was watch Mila's stare alternate between her hands, her gun, and the body. Some part of him knew he would never see her again. He screamed, sobs racking his body.

Reza yanked Malachi, his heels dragging in the sand, back to the car. He threw him in the passenger seat and climbed in on his side.

Louise peeked her head out from beneath Reza's suitcase. The tears had stopped, but her eyes were still wide and fearful. "What's happening?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

Reza slammed on the gas, spinning the car around. "We're getting out of here."

"What?" Louise asked. "Why? What happened?"

Malachi looked down at his own hands, covered in secondhand blood. He looked them over the same way Mila had: first examining his palms, then the back of his hands. He hadn't realized how badly he was shaking.

They were leaving her. They'd come all this way and they were leaving her. But he couldn't force himself out of the car, didn't know what he would do. Didn't know anything he could say that would convince her to come with him.

He rubbed his bloody ears. The sirens were louder, getting closer. Reza and Louise's conversation sounded like they were all underwater. He wondered how Reza's ears hadn't suffered the same damage. He watched out the window as they sped down Route 66 back toward town, looking back at the gas station.

The truck loomed beneath a twitching street light, the doors still open. Mila appeared out from behind the truck, still looking at her hands. She sprinted into the brush at the edge of the parking lot and disappeared into the desert. Malachi watched until he couldn't even see her shadow moving amongst all the darkness.

Red and blue lights flashed on the horizon.