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Instead of heading back toward her quarters, where she’s been working on the elixir, she goes in the opposite direction. Toward the museum’s entrance.

I follow her, something in my gut telling me to find out where she’s going.

I asked Tanner about her before — about whether she made him uncomfortable — but he simply shook his head, shrugged, and said he had no idea what I was talking about.

He’s the empath; he should know. But I still feel like he’s missing something.

The way she talks, and moves, and reacts to things; it’s not quite… normal. And now this?

I shift quickly, instinct telling me I should be a wolf right now not a human. In the shadows, I creep through the museum, following the witch’s scent.

She is leaving. She’s supposed to be fixing Mack, and she’s leaving? At this time of night?

I follow her.

She heads for the main doors, pulls them open, grabs a coat from the hooks by the doors, and wraps it tightly around her. She pulls up the hood, obscuring her silver hair from the glean of the moonlight, and scurries down the steps.

I slip through the door before it closes, and stay a few paces behind her in the shadows.

This, I’m good at. Stalking, tracking, not being seen.

In fact, being invisible has become my superpower lately.

We head in the opposite direction from the one the others took. I can smell them in the air; Kole, Lucien, and Kim. They ploughed through the market square, through the busiest parts of the city. But Miranda is going the other way. Out of town.

She passes the bus station that I saw when I first arrived.

The same homeless man is sitting exactly where he was before. He spots me and waves. He seems pleased to see me. I ignore him, and hope he hasn’t drawn attention to me.

Ahead, Miranda is moving far more quickly than I’d expect for a woman her age.

She crosses the green, sticking to the grass and the shadow of the bushes instead of the main path. I do the same.

Although there are few people around at this time of night — the people of the city know better than that, even if they pretend not to — the odd student can be found staggering home from a party. Straying into the light of the moon.

I can’t be seen.

Snow might have been able to pass for a dog. But I can’t.

Eventually, we reach a semi-circle of houses. Tall townhouses that look like they belong to professors or wealthy artists. They are positioned in a curve, around a neat lawn, with children’s play equipment in the center.

Miranda heads for the first building, but instead of ascending the steps, she takes another set down. I pad over gently and peer through the black railings. At the bottom of the steps, there is another door. A basement that has been turned into an apartment, with a large window that must let in barely any daylight because all it opens onto is the concrete steps.

She knocks on the door, and puts her hands into her pockets while she waits for someone to answer.

My breath puffs out in small clouds. It’s freezing, but she doesn’t seem to feel it.

The door opens. I can’t see who’s on the other side. But I can hear them.

My ears twitch.

“Do you have it?” she asks.

“I have it,” the figure replies.

“And you’re sure it’ll work? You know who she is. You know what she is. If I’m going to immobilise her, it needs to be your best.”

“It’ll work,” the figure snaps. “And in return…”