Jon was hovering over her when she came to.

  She cracked open her eyes to the dull, fluorescent glow of the light strips that ran along the ceiling and walls of the infirmary, her nose being overwhelmed almost at once by the overpowering scent of antiseptic and blood. The room's walls were gray, as was the floor, and hers was the only occupied bed. Pinned to the wall to the left of her bed, a rack on which her jacket had been hung, still bloodstained from the encounter with the Servants, dirty from being tossed around a forest by an angry god.

  To the right of the bed, on the cold floor, a rusted iron bucket in which had been thrown bloodstained bandages and gauze. On the bedside table, a single blood bag had been placed. At the sight of it, she felt her mouth water somewhat.

  She diverted her gaze from the bag to her legs. Her pants had been ripped in the area where the angry god had stabbed with its limb, and the wound was wrapped now and firmly so in bandages. Beneath the bandages, she felt a dull throb. The pain from earlier was gone, not that it was surprising. In fact, it was more surprising that she hadn't already regenerated from the wound entirely.

  "How long have I been out?" she asked, returning her gaze to Jon, who stood over her bed with his arms crossed and face the same: narrowed and stern.

  "Four hours, forty-seven minutes, sixteen seconds," Jon answered, glancing at his wristwatch. "Sun's up now," he added before moving toward the shut window blinds in the room. He opened them up and let rays of sunlight filter in, suddenly making the room feel more alive and much less sterile.

  "Should have healed in four hours," Chloe commented, staring at her wrapped wound again.

  "Eat," Jon instructed, gesturing to the blood bag on the bedside table. "It'll speed things up a lot more. I'll be waiting outside, find me when you're done. We have to talk."

  Without saying any more, he turned and left the room, gently shutting the dark steel door behind him. Chloe released a sigh and sat up in the bed, wincing slightly as her thigh stung. With the pain came flashes of memory—flashes of the angry god, of her encounter with it, of what it'd looked like.

  A towering monster, shadowy almost, with six limbs, the points of which had been sharp as blades. And that singular red eye of its.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, shook the image out of her head, and drew a deep breath before cracking her eyes open again. She reached for the blood bag then and helped herself to it, raising its point to her mouth and piercing it with a bite. One squeeze filled her mouth with blood and its accompanying metallic taste, one that her condition had caused her to find savory.

  She tried not to think about what she was doing, about what she was drinking. She pictured the days before all of it and what she'd liked to eat back then. Blueberry pancakes, syrup, sausages, scrambled eggs. Or even tacos. She'd liked tacos back when she still had an appetite for it, and cooked meat didn't sour her insides.

  It was the same for Jon, and she knew that was why he'd excused himself from the room, in addition to his being angry at her for almost getting killed, of course. Jon was like she was, a Pandoran—an abomination of science, a last resort to help in the fight against the monsters that had spread their infection across the earth. When they'd agreed to become what they were, it'd been out of a combination of desperation and anger, a desire to make the monsters pay for what they'd taken. And if the entire thing had failed, they'd have been put out of their collective misery regardless.

  But it'd worked. It'd turned them to this, giving Pandorans power in exchange for a piece of themselves.

  And Jon hated to remember what he'd lost, what they'd lost. He constantly tended to leave the room when she had to feed and head someplace he couldn't be seen when he needed to feed.

  The blood bag was empty now, and already she could feel some strength returning to her, could feel the pain in her thighs dull rather significantly. She wiped drops of blood off her lips with the back of her hand, tossed the empty bag into the bucket, and then rose to her feet.

  She moved around the room first to be sure the thigh wouldn't be a problem. Once she'd decided she was fine, she seized her jacket from the rack and made her way outside.

  Jon stood just outside the room, leaning against the wall with one foot to it, his arms still crossed. He glanced at her as she emerged. "Come on," he said, moving away from the wall. Hardy wants to see us?"

  "What for?"

  "What do you think?" Jon started to walk, and Chloe followed him. "An angry god just turned up dangerously close to the District, and you brought in a Stray who may or may not have been luring the angry god here. Hardy's got questions, and he expects that one of us has the answers he wants."

  "You haven't gone in to see him yet?"

  "Told him it'd have to wait till you were awake." Jon didn't look at her when he answered. "Speaking of…what the hell were you thinking back there? Throwing yourself out of the truck like that, getting into a fight with one of them? Were you trying to get yourself killed?"

  "I was trying to make sure Lucas got back to Rora with Mom's old truck," Chloe answered. "I wasn't going to let that thing rip it apart."

  Jon halted then. He turned to her, disbelief etched onto his face now. "You are joking, right? You went after an angry one to protect a truck?"

  "Not just the truck. The boy, too. He's not like us, and it's protocol to protect civilians from the Servants and the angry. I followed protocol."

  "The boy was a Stray, not of any of Aurora's districts. Some wanderer who brought with him a swarm of Servants. He was not our problem or your responsibility, and if you hadn't woken up, I'd have ripped his throat out myself."

  Silence followed and lasted a few seconds until Jon spoke again.

  "Don't do that ever again."

  "Sure." Chloe shrugged.

  Jon gave her a lingering look, indicating that he didn't know whether to believe her. Finally, he shrugged and continued ahead, moving through the hallway with his typical long, urgent strides while Chloe followed.

  A minute later, they emerged from the infirmary and into the open streets of Aurora, District 7. The sun wasn't yet out in its full glory, but already, people were moving about, shuffling between tents or moving from building to building. There certainly were a lot of buildings, all sandwiched together and revolving around a long hall right in the center of the District—the Chancellor's Hall.

  Narrow roads made either of gravel or interlocked stone bricks wove through most of the District, although occasional patches of dirt and earth interposed the roads. The only structure not sandwiched with everything else in District 7 was the Barn, which was further east and away from everything else. It was in there that most of the vehicles were stowed.

  As Jon and Chloe moved toward the Chancellor's Hall, eyes followed them, as did a combination of wary and awestruck whispering. News of what had happened had traveled quickly, no doubt thanks to Lucas.

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  "I hear there was an angry one…"

  "Lucky to still be alive, their unit."

  "It's all hokum. No way they survived an angry one."

  "Didn't think she'd wake up."

  "What do you reckon an angry one looks like?"

  They spotted Evan hauling a box filled with canned tuna and tomatoes in the direction of a small brick shack, one of several kitchens in the District. Their paths crossed, and when he saw them, his eyes went a little wide with surprise at the sight of Chloe.

  "Shit, you're alive." Evan's mouth dropped a little open. "I heard…how did…what the hell happened out there?"

  "You seen Mac's boys?" Chloe asked. "Brian and Tanner."

  "Over at mine," Evan said, his face falling suddenly then. "Got the gist of what happened with Mac out there…fucking sucks, I'll tell ya, best drinking bud man like me could have hoped for. And the best bloody cook we had, he'd know how to turn the canned rubbish I've got here into something truly glorious."

  "But they're fine?" Chloe asked, not wanting to speak about Mac.

  "They're young, but they know how it is." Evan shrugged. "Bite's a death sentence if it ain't rectified quick. Only ever one way it could have gone with Mac. It might take 'em some time to fully come to terms with it, but they know there wasn't any other way out of the situation. If he'd made it back in here, would've been hell and them boys might have gotten turned too."

  "Great," Jon said. "Look, we're off to see Hardy now, tell him exactly what went down so uhh, guess we'll leave you be."

  "Right, right." Evan nodded. "See you around."

  Jon and Chloe continued on their way but hadn't gone very far when someone ran past them from behind, brushing Chloe aside as they did. Chloe caught a glimpse of black hair, dirt-stained clothes and what had looked a lot like a tattoo on the person's revealed arm before whoever it was had vanished behind one of the buildings. Behind them, they heard exclaiming and turned to see an angry-looking Evan complaining about having some tomatoes nicked from him.

  "Who the hell was that?" Jon queried, looking in the direction the crook had vanished.

  "Dunno." Chloe shrugged, although her expression was dark. There'd been something odd, a scent that she'd picked up just for a moment when the thief had brushed past her, one she could no longer now detect.

  "Come on." Jon continued in the direction of the Chancellor's Hall, deciding that the thief wasn't close to being worthy of priority.

  At the Hall, they were stopped by the guards at the entrance and patted down before being allowed into the building. Once inside, Jon scoffed. "As if we'd need weapons if we wanted to kill anyone in here."

  "Protocol," Chloe replied and shrugged.

  Hardy was waiting for them in his office—a spacious room with walls lined with mostly bare bookshelves, bathed in the sterile glow of fluorescent bulbs. Hardy's desk was positioned by a window that'd been boarded up and he was currently sat there, eyes locked onto a computer screen on which live security footage of most of the District was often displayed.

  The Chancellor himself was a tall and broad middle-aged man with extensive military experience that made itself known in the roughness of his skin and the callouses on his palms. His hair was black but already graying at the roots, as was his beard. His eyes were a stern gray, his eyebrows bushy and arched such that he looked like he was always scowling, and at the moment, he was clad all in black, which made him look more intimidating, particularly in the gloom of his office.

  "Chancellor Hardy," Jon greeted as they walked in before stiffening from head to toe and performing a salute.

  Chloe, doing her best not to roll her eyes or laugh, attempted the same salute, albeit with much less enthusiasm.

  The Chancellor eyed them both before gesturing to the seats across from him, beckoning for them to sit. The two of them obliged, planting their asses in the cushioned seats available to them, both of them clearing their throats as they sat.

  Hardy regarded them both and when he first spoke, he was addressing Jon: "Tell me what happened. Leave nothing out."

  Jon exchanged looks with Chloe. He drew a deep breath, and then he went into details on what had happened, everything from how they'd just kept watch on the haulers to when Mac had arrived and up until he'd brought Brian and Tanner back to the District. From there, he went on to how he'd had Spike and Aiden lure the angry god away with flares, so he could rescue Chloe from the forest.

  When he was done, Hardy simply nodded and then turned to Chloe. "Now, your turn."

  Chloe shrugged. "I think he's said all that needs to be said," she answered. "Things went smoothly, then they didn't. I got hurt, he saved me, life continued. Simple enough."

  "Sure," Hardy said, "Except, of course, for the fact that there's a stray in our District now, one more mouth for us to feed when we're already past capacity and rapidly thinning what resources we have left. Whose genius idea was it to have the stray brought in?"

  "Mine," Chloe answered before Jon could say anything. "And it wasn't an idea to have him brought in; it was a rectification of a mistake. His car was halted, and he was concussed. If I'd left him, the angry god would have torn him apart. I entrusted him to Lucas so I could divert the threat of the creature away from our District. It was a high-pressure situation, and not nearly enough time to think of every protocol in the book; I acted only as instinct dictated and no offence, but I think the only people who can scrutinize my choices are the ones who know what it's like to be up against the kind of things out there."

  At this, Jon's face paled. Next to her, he gulped, but said nothing.

  Hardy's eyes narrowed even more. "Twenty-two years," the Chancellor said, as he slowly rose to his feet. "That's how long I served for. You think I don't know what a high-pressure situation is? Let me tell you what a high pressure looks like to me. A settlement of survivors running on dwindling resources, and morale at an all-time low, now burdened with one more mouth to feed."

  "Mac's gone," Chloe said then. "The number of mouths we feed remain the same. Besides, why are we even talking about this? If you don't want the stray, send him out…or send him to district 5 to participate in Pandora. If he survives it, you have one more soldier. If he dies, good for you, right? Isn't that how it works around here?"

  "Did you know he wasn't alone?" Hardy queried then, crossing his arms and focusing his gaze on her. "This boy you saved, his name's Mason by the way…he had someone else in the car with him."

  "No, he didn't." Chloe's tone was fierce. "I detected only one heat signature in the car. His. If there'd been someone else, I'd have seen them or smelt them."

  "Well, he seems pretty insistent that he was carrying live cargo," Hardy went on. "Smuggling live cargo, to be exact. A damsel who happened upon him and specifically asked to be brought to one of the districts. Described her as rough looking, and scary sounding, says he didn't have much of a choice."

  "And you believe him?" Jon asked, raising one eyebrow over the other. "Not that I'm trying to say anything here but, Chloe's right. If there'd been anyone else in that car with him, she'd have noticed them. Or Lucas would have. That's why we do what we do, it's impossible to sneak anything past us."

  "Is there anything that might not have popped up for you?" Hardy asked some calm in his voice now. He sat at his desk once more, intertwined his hands beneath his chin. "Something you might have missed. Heat signatures are fairly easy to tamper with. If his cargo was in the trunk and surrounded by ice, for example, you'd have missed that. But smell… smell's harder to disguise, especially for your kind. Is there something you wouldn't have smelled?"

  "No," Chloe and Jon answered in unison. "If there's blood flowing through them, if they're capable of sweating, of producing saliva, we'd smell them," Chloe added. "If there was nothing at all, then there was no one. The boy's lying."

  Hardy paused for a moment. He leaned back slightly in his seat, started to tap his fingers against the surface of his desk, while keeping his gaze fixed on the both of them. "So just a desperate attempt to buy enough time to avoid Pandora then?"

  Jon and Chloe exchanged looks. The both of them shrugged.

  "Would it be too much of an ask to ask you to head back out there?" Hardy raised one eyebrow over the other. "Find the totaled car, search, see if there's anything that might point to someone else having been in there with him. Search the surrounding woods, too. I'll organize a search of the District, a census to make sure we don't number more than we should."

  "Sir, there were a lot of Servants around," Jon said. "An angry god, too. For all we know, the coast isn't quite clear yet."

  "Is that a problem?" Hardy queried, his gaze narrowing once more.

  Jon bit his lips. After a moment, he shook his head. "No, sir."

  "Good." Hardy smiled. "And before I dismiss you, one more thing…take the boy with you. See what you can get out of him and why he was trying to smuggle someone in here. He might be a lot more forthcoming with answers if he senses his life is in some very real danger."

  "And if there aren't any answers?" Chloe frowned.

  Hardy shrugged. "Do what you want. Leave him, I couldn't care less. Just head out there and make sure there's nothing going on here that we might be missing."

  "Yes, sir.'

  "Dismissed."

  A minute later, Chloe and Jon were back outside. Jon stopped her at once, turning to face her, his expression serious.

  "What do you really think?" He asked.

  "I think that we've never been able to smell angry gods or sense them coming," Chloe said at once. "And we've never been able to pick up their signatures like with the Servants."

  "We've seen what those things look like." Jon shook his head. "No way one of them was hitching a ride in a trunk. And even if it was one of them, why would they have wanted to get into the District? They can't even talk, can they?"

  "I don't know," Chloe admitted. "But—,"

  "Why was there an angry god here last night? So close by?" Jon pondered his own question for a few seconds, appearing rather hard in thought. Finally, he shook his head, let out a sigh. "Let's go search as Hardy asked."

  "And if the one from last night's still there?"

  "We try not to let it finish what it started."