They reached the other platform without any further run-ins, spotted only by a middle-aged man who watched them curiously over his port.
Scarlet checked her own port when they reached street level. The city was quiet in the still of morning. They were at the Gare de Lyon, surrounded by avenues of shops and offices. Though Wolf tried to hide it, Scarlet could tell he was sniffing for something.
All she could smell was city. Metal and asphalt and baking bread from a closed patisserie on the corner.
Wolf headed northwest.
The street was lined with imposing second-era Beaux-Arts structures and flower boxes hanging from stone-wrapped windows. An ornate clock tower stood in the distance, its face lit up and showing two broad pointed hands and roman numerals; below it stood a digital screen that read 04:26 beside an ad for the newest model of house android.
“How far are we?” Scarlet asked.
“Not far. We can walk.”
They turned left at a traffic circle, Wolf half a step ahead of her, hunched over like he was barricading himself. Scarlet’s gaze traveled down his arm, over the bandaged wound that no longer seemed to be bothering him, to his fidgeting fingers. She wanted to reach out to him, but found it impossible. She tucked both of her hands into her hoodie’s pockets instead.
There was an abyss opening up between them, cutting through whatever they’d shared on the train. They were almost there—almost to her grandmother, almost to the Order of the Pack.
Maybe he was leading her to her death.
Maybe Wolf was marching toward his.
She tilted her chin up, refusing to frighten herself with her own morose thoughts. All that mattered now was rescuing her grandmother, and she was so close. So close.
The ancient residences drew in closer to the road as they left the busy intersection behind. There was only the occasional sign of life—a cat cleaning itself in the window of a hat shop, a man in a suit darting from a hotel into a waiting hover. They passed a netscreen that showed a commercial for a shampoo that claimed to change the color of one’s hair based on their moods.
She already yearned for the solitude of the farm. That was the only reality she knew. The farm and her grandmother and her weekly deliveries. And now, Wolf. That was the reality she wanted.
Wolf quickened his pace, but his shoulders were squeezing inward again. Locking her jaw, Scarlet reached forward and grasped his wrist.
“I can’t let you do this,” she said, angrier than she’d intended. “Just tell me where it is and I’ll go on by myself. Just tell me what to do. Give me some indication of what I’m dealing with and I’ll figure something out, but I can’t let you go with me.”
He stared down at her for a long moment and she tried to see softness in his stark green eyes, but the warmth and desperation that had been so apparent on the train were now replaced with a cold resolve. He pried his arm away.
“Do you see the man sitting in front of the closed café on the other side of the street?”
She slid her attention off him and found the man sitting at one of the outdoor tables. One ankle was propped on his knee, his elbow dangling off the back of his chair. He was staring at them, and he didn’t try to hide it. When Scarlet caught his eye, he winked.
A chill crawled over her skin.
“Pack member,” said Wolf. “We passed another at the magrail station two blocks back. And…” He craned his head. “If the stench is any indication, we’re about to cross paths with another when we turn this next corner.”
Her heart was suddenly stomping. “How did they know we were here?”
“I suspect they’ve been waiting for us. They’ve probably been tracking your ID.”
That’s what people did when they ran away and didn’t want to be found—they cut out their ID chips.
“Or yours,” she murmured. “If they do have access to an ID tracker, then maybe they’ve been following you.”
“Maybe.” His voice was nonchalant and she realized this wasn’t news to him. Had he thought this could be possible? Was that how Ran had found them?
“We might as well go find out what they want.” Wolf turned away and she had to race to keep up with him.
“But there’s only three of them. You can fight three of them, can’t you? You said you could take—” She hesitated. Wolf had told her he would win in a fight against six wolves. When had those wild animals become synonymous with these men, this Order of the Pack?
“You could still get away. There’s still a chance,” she finished.
“I said I would protect you and that’s what I’m going to do. It’s pointless to discuss this any further.”