Plans are easy when they’re just lines on a whiteboard. They’re clean, logical, and they don’t involve the possibility of being vaporized by a city security drone. Standing on a rooftop overlooking the glittering, chaotic heart of the Mid-Sector Night Market, the lines on the board back in the lab felt very far away.

  “This is, for the record, the single stupidest idea you’ve had yet,” Handy’s voice was a flat, tinny statement of fact in my ear. “And that includes the time you decided to fight an eight-foot-tall genetically modified werewolf with nothing but your fists and some misplaced optimism.”

  “It’s not stupid, it’s theatrical,” I muttered back, my fingers nervously drumming against the cold metal of the rooftop’s edge. Below me, the market was a chaotic pulse of bodies and light.

  The smells hit me first, a thick wave of sizzling synth-meat and ozone from sputtering signs that made my head swim. Noise rose in a physical wall—a thousand conversations crashing into one another.

  Perfect, I thought. No one will look up. “Ravage is hunting in the shadows, picking off stragglers. If I want to get his attention, I can’t just whisper my name into the wind. I have to scream it.”

  “You’re not just going to scream,” Handy corrected. “You’re going to commit several felonies, cause millions in property damage, and get your face—or, more accurately, your white, furry, monstrous face—plastered on every news feed in the city. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page, chaos-wise.”

  He was right. The ice in my gut, the cold, hard fear for Jackie, had solidified into this insane, desperate plan. I was about to make myself the city’s most wanted freak.

  A bigger, louder monster than Ravage, if only for one night. The thought made my stomach churn, but the alternative—sitting in the lab, waiting for the news of another attack, another body—was worse.

  “Just be ready with that projector when I get to the station,” I said, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be. “This whole thing is a bust if the guest of honor doesn’t show up.”

  “The stage is set,” Handy said. “I’ve even taken the liberty of setting the atmospheric controls in the subway tunnel to ‘damp and vaguely smelling of regret.’ For ambience.”

  “You’re a real pal.” I took a deep breath, the smells of the market filling my lungs. This was it. No more hiding. No more reacting. Time to make some noise.

  My target was a massive, three-dimensional Pandora Corp ad that hung suspended between two skyscrapers, right above the most crowded section of the market. It showed a smiling, happy family, all with gleaming chrome eyes and perfectly augmented smiles, living their best lives thanks to Pandora’s latest line of genetic upgrades. It was the most obnoxious, self-congratulatory piece of propaganda I’d ever seen. Perfect.

  I backed up to the far edge of the rooftop, my bare feet gripping the gritty surface. I took a running start, my powerful legs eating up the distance in three long strides. I launched myself into the air, a silent, human cannonball aimed at the heart of the corporate dream.

  For a second, I flew, the city, a kaleidoscope of light below me. Then my feet hit the smooth, holographic surface of the ad. I didn't stop. I kept running, right up the side of the smiling father’s stupidly handsome face.

  “Security drone deployment in five… four…” Handy counted down in my ear.

  I reached the top of the ad, a hundred feet above the unsuspecting crowd. I turned, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I let the monster out to play.

  Not all of it. Just a taste.

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  A surge of hot, wild energy flooded my veins. My eyes burned, the world sharpening into a high-definition, yellow-tinged image. My muscles coiled, my strength multiplying. I took a deep breath and drove my heel down into the projector unit at the heart of the ad.

  The sound was a deafening shriek of tearing metal and shorting electronics. Sparks rained down like fireflies, and the happy family flickered, distorted, and then vanished, leaving a gaping hole of darkness in the sky. The crowd below noticed something was wrong. A wave of confused shouts and pointed fingers rippled through the market.

  Right on cue, two city security drones zipped around the corner of a nearby skyscraper. They were sleek, black, and vaguely insect-like, their single red optical sensors locking onto me.

  “Intruder detected,” a synthesized, emotionless voice blared from their external speakers. “Cease all destructive activity. You have ten seconds to comply.”

  “Sorry, boys,” I said with a grin that was all teeth. “I’m on a tight schedule.”

  I didn’t give them the ten seconds. I launched myself off the dying ad, aiming for the roof of a lower building across the street. As I flew, the first plasma bolts sizzled past my head, close enough for me to feel the heat on my cheek.

  I landed in a roll on the new rooftop, the impact jarring but manageable. The chase was on.

  I didn't just run. I danced.

  I leapt from one awning to the next, a blur of controlled chaos.

  The drones followed.

  Plasma fire chewed up the scenery. A bolt went wide, vaporizing a stall of glowing synth-fruit. The air filled with the smell of burnt sugar. Another clipped a neon sign. It sputtered, sparked, and crashed to the street.

  I flinched but kept moving. Keep their eyes on me. Keep them from hitting the crowd. It was a terrifying, exhilarating tightrope walk. My enhanced senses were a godsend, my brain processing the chaos at a superhuman speed. I could see the trajectory of their shots, hear the whine of their servos as they adjusted their aim, smell the ozone of a near-miss.

  I vaulted over a food cart, skidded across a slick patch of spilled noodles, and used a vendor’s signpost to swing myself down into the alleyway below. The drones, too large to follow, zipped overhead, their searchlights cutting swaths through the darkness.

  People were screaming, running, their fun night out turning into a scene of panic and confusion. Comm screens were everywhere, held up by trembling hands, all pointed at me, or rather, at the blurry, white-furred creature that was causing all the destruction. My partial transformation, a necessary evil to access my full speed and strength, had turned my jacket and pants a stark white, my hair a wild, snowy mane. I was a phantom, a white wolf, a monster on the evening news.

  Panic flickered in my chest as a plasma bolt vaporized a fruit stall. The guilt of it all was a bitter taste in my mouth. For Jackie, I thought, gritting my teeth as I dodged again. This is for Jackie.

  I led the drones on a ten-minute rampage through the market, a choreographed ballet of destruction. I was a blur, a ghost, always one step ahead. I headed for the exit, the dark, gaping maw of the abandoned subway station that was my final destination.

  “He’s moving,” Handy’s voice cut through the roar in my ears. “I’ve got him. He’s diverted from his last known position and is heading toward the disturbance. He’s taking the bait, Nikki. He’s coming.”

  A wave of grim, triumphant relief washed over me. It worked. The stupid, insane, theatrical plan had worked.

  I poured on one last burst of speed, leaving the drones and the chaos of the market behind. I plunged into the darkness of the subway entrance, the sounds of the city—the sirens, the screaming, the plasma fire—fading behind me.

  I came to a stop in the cavernous, echoing silence of the main concourse, my chest heaving, my body slick with sweat. The adrenaline faded, leaving the bone-deep ache of exhaustion in its place.

  On a large public display screen, the news was already playing. Shaky comm footage of a white blur. A monster. Me.

  “They see you,” Handy’s voice was a low murmur. “I’m cross-referencing Pandora’s internal network. They’ve flagged the footage. They're analyzing your movements... your genetic signature.”

  The screen showed the shattered Pandora sign. My work. I’d gotten Ravage’s attention. But I’d also just put a massive, glowing target on my back. I was no longer a ghost. I was a headline. There was no going back.

  I looked down the dark, waiting subway tunnel. The ice in my gut hardened. Let them come.