“We have to help—” Diesel started.
“You help,” she said. “I’ll get into the stadium.”
She put on a burst of speed, registering Diesel calling his assent behind her as she ran up the sidewalk and found a side door. It was locked, but the hinges were on the outside. She braced a foot on the wall and yanked with all her strength. The door flew open, hanging crazily on its now-broken hinges.
She moved inside, finding her way through the mazelike corridors of the stadium’s first floor, following the screams until she emerged at one end of the field and into fresh chaos. The bright green of the Astroturf was covered in melted slush, occasionally streaked by red, and more than one body lay unmoving on the field. There were too many people on the field to count, but her eyes fell on the familiar figure of Officer Stensby, his hands outstretched and heading for a man in a referee uniform.
“No!” She’d figure out how the fucking hellStensbycould possibly be here later. She sprinted forward, running into him with her shoulder at full speed. He went flying, smashing into another man and sending them both to the ground.
“Run!” Jamey barked at the ref as she whirled around to find herself face-to-face with Officer Kosler. “You?” she said in shock. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital—fuck.”
She ducked as Kosler came at her, then spun and took him down with a hard kick to his knee. He hit the ground and hissed up at her.
He lookedterrible—even worse than the night before, with blood streaming down a face that was almost unrecognizable, twisted as it was with rage and violence. Jamey took a step back from him. “What the fuck is going on?”
“It’s a new kind of party!”
A voice she didn’t recognize, high-pitched and almost chirpy, came from her side. Jamey spun to find two empaths standing on the forty-yard line, a young woman with dark brown hair and man around the same age with an unsettling gleam in his blue eyes that could only be corruption. Around the two empaths, a group was gathering, their faces lost to expressions of malicious devotion.
Jamey was pretty sure she recognized them both from pictures and planning, and yeah. She’d found their apparently not-so-pacifist-anymore empaths—and their thralls. “Mireya Gomez? Dawson Jones? What happened to you?”
The empaths ignored her question. “She recognizes us,” Mireya said to Dawson as the thralls bared their teeth at Jamey. “We don’t want that, do we?”
“No, we don’t.” Dawson looked at the thralls, then pointed at Jamey. “Take care of her for us.”
Jamey stumbled backward. She could fight thralls, but there were eight of them closing in on her, all with murder in their eyes. Behind her, Stensby and Kosler had both gotten to their feet, blocking her exit.
She raised her chin, fingers curling into fists—
“Get away from her.”
The familiar voice sliced across the football field, so much empathic power lacing it that Jamey felt it against her skin. The thralls hit the ground, curling into whimpering balls,some of them rocking back and forth, some of them covering their heads.
Jamey looked up in shock. But sure enough, there in the stands was Reece. He was glaring at Dawson and Mireya with an unfamiliar rage. “Get your fucking thralls away from my sister before I make them tear themselves apart.”
“Reece?” Jamey said hoarsely.
Dawson and Mireya were backing up rapidly, hands raised in apology. The thralls were crawling after them, dragging themselves along the sideline, still shaking from the cocktail of emotions pouring off Reece, so strong that the hairs on Jamey’s arms and neck were raised. Reece himself was almost unrecognizable, his eyes narrowed, his fists clenched, a darkness in his expression that she had never seen on him before. He looked an inch away from making good on his threat.
Then, as Reece’s gaze darted back to Jamey and their eyes gazes locked, all that fell away, and all she could see was her brother.
Jamey started forward. “Reece.”
But he was turning, sprinting back up the aisle.
Jamey broke into a run. “Wait—”
Reece had reached the top of the aisle, and by the time she’d levered herself over the rail and into the stands, he’d disappeared into the stadium again.
Grayson figured Reece had sent the ferry into a panic hoping to slow him down, but he’d been able to jump from the railing to the pier and from there race onto Alaskan Way. He could make out the top of Lumen Field up ahead, making a beeline for it as he sprinted down the waterfront. A response member recognized him at the barrier and hastily cleared the path.
As Grayson came up on the stadium, he heard his name and turned to see Diesel hurrying his way. “St. James call you?”
Grayson shook his head. “I lost my phone. Reece’s phone. It’s a long story.”
“Where’ve you been?” Diesel said as they fell into step together.
“Also a long story. You spot any empaths yet?”
