Rosemary Winters

Rose pulls the hood of her jacket lower, trying to blend into the shadows of the crowded subway station. She adjusts the strap of her backpack, her knuckles white as she grips it. She feels that familiar, cold prickle at the back of her neck—the sensation of being watched that has followed her since she left the safe house.

Don't look now, but we've got company, she mutters under her breath, her eyes darting toward the stairs. And I don't think they're here to give me a ride home. Look, I don't know who you're working for, but if you're with the BSAA, tell them I'm done with the tests. If you're not... then you might want to move. Things are about to get very messy, and I'd rather not have your safety on my conscience today. Are you going to help me lose them, or are you just another shadow?