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I ignore her and go inside.

I’m in a hallway with a white-tiled floor. Before I go any farther, there’s something I need to do.

The ILF has me wired up with a device that will record my conversation with Mae. They said it’s because everything she says is valuable and I could forget something. That may be true, but I can’t help wondering if they just want to know every word we say to each other.

If a recording of our conversation ends up in the wrong hands, it could cost Mae her life. I’m not willing to risk that. I’m also under no illusions—I’m a tool for the ILF, nothing more.

I reach beneath my shirt and tug the device free from the tape on my chest, then set the microphone on the ground and smash it with my boot. I pick up the pieces and shove them in my pocket.

I told Marta I’d ask Mae to plant the listening device. I made no promises about what I would or wouldn’t do after that.

I go left down the hallway, passing a door and stopping at the next one.

This is it. I take a deep breath and walk into the room.

It’s a beautiful space, pale-pink wallpaper with silver sparkles adorning the walls, and two chandeliers casting prisms of light around the room. There are two rows of six shampoo bowls, and Mae is sitting in a chair at one, talking to a woman with shoulder-length red hair.

The guard is standing on the other side of the room, beside the door I assume leads to the main salon area.

“I am so lost,” I say, laughing. “Do you guys know how to get to the salon?”

“You can’t be in here,” the guard says.

“Oh.” I walk toward the two women. “I remember you. You’re Maisie’s stylist; she loves you. She’s the one who recommended this salon to me.”

“Ma’am, you cannot be in here.”

The guard raises his gun and I put my palms in the air.

“Oh my gosh, I just got lost. Is this the way to the waiting room?”

“Right,” the owner says. “Through that door.”

The guard glares at me, annoyed. I stop in front of the door and look at him.

“Sorry. Oh no, what’s that thing on your face?”

He furrows his brow and puts a hand on his face, giving me the opening I need to put my hands on his neck and end him the way my father taught me. He goes limp, his body dropping.

“Oh shit,” the salon owner says, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

I try to support his weight with one arm while throwing my hood back and jerking my face covering down with the other. I don’t want him to drop to the floor hard, because someone on the other side of the door could hear it.

“Briar!” Mae’s cry is soft, her eyes wide with shock.

Her dark hair is longer and she’s a little leaner, but otherwise, she’s the sister I love so dearly and thought until recently I’d never see again.

“What the hell are we going to say about him?” the stylist asks me.

“Say he just fell over dead,” Mae murmurs. “No one will be able to tell he didn’t die of natural causes.”

“No one said anything about guards getting killed.”

“Alyssa, this is my sister. I haven’t seen her since before the virus.”

“I promise you no one will know,” I say. “It will look like a heart attack.”

She sighs heavily. “You have three minutes. I’m risking my life for this.”