The street was dark.
The bar's neon sign flickered behind us, casting her shadow in red and blue and purple. She walked quickly, her heels clicking against the pavement, her ponytail swinging with each step.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can talk without being overheard."
"You could have talked at the bar."
"The bar has ears. The bar has eyes. The bar belongs to someone who doesn't want Gabriel found."
"Who?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
She turned down an alley, and I followed. The walls were close here—brick and grime and the smell of rotting garbage. A cat hissed at us from a dumpster, and I saw its eyes glow green in the darkness.
"How do you know Gabriel?"
"I told you. I was with him before you."
"Before the Institute?"
"Before everything. Before he became what he is."
"What was he like?"
"Kind. Gentle. Broken."
She stopped walking and turned to face me.
"He was broken long before he broke you. His father saw to that. His brother. His family. They made him into something he never wanted to be."
"His family?"
"You didn't know? Gabriel Mire wasn't born in a vacuum. He was raised in a empire. An empire built on the bones of women like us."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"He would have told me."
"Would he? He never told you about me. He never told you about Batch 39. He never told you about any of the others."
She stepped closer, and I caught the scent of her perfume again. Floral. Sweet. Rotting.
"He kept you in the dark because the dark was easier to control. The dark was safer. The dark let him pretend you were the only one."
"You don't know him."
"I know him better than you ever will."
"Then why won't you take me to him?"
"I am. I'm taking you to someone who knows where he is. Someone who can help you find him."
"Who?"
