Noa stayed focused on the tiny radio in her hand. It was new equipment they were trying out, top-of-the-line military-grade communicators. They hadn’t been cheap, but hopefully they’d be worth it—during their last raid the radios had died, with nearly disastrous consequences.

Noa pursed her lips. The rest of her team was supposed to call in five minutes ago, and they were rarely late. “It’s February,” she said without lifting her gaze. “Everywhere is cold in February.”

“For once, I wish they’d set up a lab in Hawaii,” Zeke mumbled. “We could be having fruity drinks, instead of—”

The radio suddenly crackled to life in Noa’s hands, and she waved for him to shut up. Drawing it to her lips, she said, “Report.”

“Lost him.” Janiqua’s voice crackled, distorted by static.

“What? How?”

“He went into one of the BART stations and got on a train.”

Noa chewed her lip, irritated. They’d been tracking one of Project Persephone’s mercenary squads for three days, watching and waiting to see what they were after. The two guys were cut from the same cloth, both obviously ex-military. Her team had been following them ever since they landed at SFO. But this morning the duo had unexpectedly split up, heading in opposite directions after leaving their hotel. She and Zeke were keeping an eye on one of the men, who was currently sitting in front of a café enjoying a cup of coffee. The news that the other team had lost track of their target was unsettling.

“What do you want us to do?” Janiqua asked.

Zeke was watching Noa expectantly. Sometimes serving as the de facto leader of a group of kids still threw her; they always assumed that she had all the answers. And right now, she felt as clueless as the rest of them. “Get on the next train and try to find him,” she finally said. “We’ll stay on his partner.”

“Got it.”

As the radio fell silent, Noa repressed a shiver. They’d been standing out in the cold for over an hour, hunkered against the side of a building. They couldn’t stay in this position much longer—the owner of the bodega across the street kept throwing suspicious glances their way.

As if on cue, Zeke said, “Looks like he’s going for the phone again. Time to put on another show.”

Noa sighed and rolled her eyes. “I swear this is your favorite part.”

“Definitely.” Zeke smiled as he backed her against the wall, then lowered his face down to hers. They held the pose, just inches apart. His breath tickled her eyelashes, and with every inhale her nostrils filled with his distinctive scent: soap and shaving cream mixed with a sweet underlying musk. Past his shoulder, Noa saw the bodega owner watching them. After a moment’s hesitation, he set the phone back down.

“We’re good,” she murmured.

“Maybe we should give it another minute, just to be sure,” Zeke responded, resting his forehead against hers.

This was supposed to be for show, but his lips hovered a fraction of an inch away. Noa could see the gold flecks that dotted his brown eyes, like spokes of pure sunlight. She felt a shudder down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Trying to regain her composure, she noted wryly, “Try not to get us arrested for public indecency.”

“I’m willing to risk it,” Zeke murmured, leaning in so that his whole body pressed against her.

Noa was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He was just messing with her, right? They were friends, partners. So why was her whole body careening into overdrive? She gently nudged his shoulder, easing him away as she sternly said, “Focus. We’re supposed to be keeping an eye on our target, remember?”

“You really know how to suck all the fun out of a stakeout.” Zeke smirked, stepping away.

Noa didn’t answer. This wasn’t the first time they’d pretended to be a teen couple making out; the last thing they needed was a beat cop nosing around, asking why they’d been standing on the same street corner for more than an hour. But this had felt different, like maybe it hadn’t all been for show. She surreptitiously studied Zeke, who was peering around the corner toward the café. After all these months together, his face was almost as familiar as her own—slim and angular, sharp cheekbones, tan despite the climate. The first time Noa met him, she’d been flustered by how attractive he was; but since then he’d become more like a brother. Although she was pretty sure that what she’d just felt wasn’t sisterly love.

Noa frowned—
now who is distracted?
She forced herself back to the task at hand, asking, “He’s still there, right?”

“Yup. Still just reading the paper.”

“Maybe we’re wrong about this,” Noa said. “Maybe they’re not here on a job at all.”

“Sure.” Zeke nodded. “I hear that San Francisco is where all the bad guys come on vacation. They just can’t get enough of the chowder bowls and trolley rides.”

Noa ignored him, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the café. Their target was sitting at an outside table despite the cold, sipping from a large mug as he scanned a newspaper. He was a bulky guy with close-cropped hair, dressed in dark jeans, a peacoat, and combat boots. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was just a soldier on leave, enjoying some down time.

But she did know better.

“Be ready to move,” she warned Zeke, stretching her legs to get the kinks out.

He snorted. “I’m always ready.”

“Sure you are.” She grinned. “Like in San Diego, when you almost got left in the lab after the radios crashed.”

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault,” Zeke protested, lightly punching her shoulder. “I figured the kids might be in another part of the building.”

They both fell silent at the memory. The raid had gone smoothly—except that by the time they got inside, there wasn’t anyone left to save. Zeke cleared his throat, then said more soberly, “So you think these two are here to scout another lab?”

“I don’t know,” Noa admitted. “But something is going down.” The two commandos hadn’t gone anywhere near the warehouse district, though, which was unusual. She was having a hard time getting a handle on what they were after; they’d spent the entirety of the past two days walking through the Mission District.

“He’s on the move,” Zeke announced.

Noa’s head snapped up—the guy was halfway down the block, headed toward Valencia Street. “Remember to stay half a block behind me,” she said in a low voice. “If I have to pass him, you take over.”

“Got it,” Zeke said.

Noa pulled her watch cap lower, ducked her head, and trotted across the street in pursuit.

Teo Castillo was tired and hungry. He’d spent the day panhandling on BART, shuffling from one subway car to the next, begging spare change from commuters who studiously avoided eye contact.

He was halfway back to the encampment where he’d been living the past few months when he realized someone was following him. A lanky, rough-looking street kid. No one he recognized, though, and by now he knew all the homeless teens on this side of town. Teo had first noticed him studying the subway map near the turnstile at the Twenty-Fourth Street BART station. And now here he was again, walking down Mission Street fifty feet behind him.

Teo stopped abruptly and bent to retie his filthy Vans. Covertly, he glanced back. The kid was standing in front of a dollar store, examining their inventory with the same intense interest he’d given the subway map. He was tall and gangly, with knobby elbows jutting out of an oversized white T-shirt and jeans belted halfway down his thighs.

Teo tried to brush aside his paranoia. The kid was probably just headed in the same direction as him.

Five blocks later, he was seriously doubting it. The hair on the back of his neck prickled; he’d been jumped before, and wasn’t eager to go through it again. Last time he’d suffered three broken ribs and a concussion.

Plus, over the past year he’d heard plenty of horror stories; some kids even claimed that a group was snatching runaways off the streets to experiment on. Teo wasn’t sure he believed that; it sounded too far-fetched. But he knew bad things happened to kids like him if they were out here long enough.

And he had no intention of becoming a cautionary tale. He’d make a break for the underpass where he’d been crashing; hopefully some of the others would already be there. As he turned the corner onto Cesar Chavez Street, Teo broke into a trot. Within seconds, his lungs throbbed and he felt sick. He’d barely eaten all day, so even slight physical exertion made him dizzy. Pathetic. Not so long ago, he’d been the star sprinter at his high school. Might even have had a shot at a college scholarship if everything hadn’t gone sideways.

After seven blocks, he hazarded a glance back over his shoulder. The kid was not only still there, he’d been joined by two others—a black girl and guy. They weren’t even pretending not to follow him anymore—they were flat out chasing him.

Crap
, Teo thought. Three against one—he’d end up in the ER again for sure. He tried to run faster, but his legs were shaking too hard to maintain the pace.

To throw them off course, he abruptly darted left down Hampshire Street, then took a sharp right through the empty soccer field at the rec center. Dodging left again, he lurched onto a footpath that led through overgrown bushes. It was hard to spot unless you were right on top of it; with any luck, they hadn’t seen him make the turn.

Seconds later he emerged in the camp, a bare patch of earth beneath a busy section of highway. It was hemmed in on all sides by soundproofing walls, a chain-link fence, and large bushy hedges. The clearing was cluttered with makeshift shelters: big boxes with tarps for roofs, a couple of muddy tents. The ground was dotted with soiled food wrappers, empty bottles, and syringes.

Teo’s heart sank: There was no one else there. He was on his own.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm. He winced reflexively, bracing for a blow. . . .

It never came. Teo opened his eyes and did a double take when he saw not the ragged trio of teens, but a good-looking guy in his thirties, well-dressed in jeans and a dark jacket. He was huge, easily six inches taller than Teo, and built like a tank.

“Teo Castillo, right?” the guy said with a smile.

Teo jerked his arm free and took a shaky step back. “Who are you?” His chest was still heaving, and his legs felt rubbery.

The guy held up both hands. “Hey, man, take it easy. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

The guy looked normal, but something felt off. Teo eased back a few more inches. “How do you know my name?”

The guy squinted and cocked his head to the side. “You don’t remember me?”

Teo shook his head slowly. The guy didn’t look familiar, but the way he was acting . . . maybe one of his former social workers? Or a teacher? But what was he doing here?

“That’s okay, it was a long time ago.” The guy was still grinning, although the smile hadn’t made it all the way to his eyes. “I’m here to help you, Teo.”

“I don’t need any help,” Teo said quickly. “Thanks anyway, though.”

“Oh, I think you do. What about those kids back there?” The guy jerked his head toward the bushes. “Looked like you were in trouble.” He stepped forward. “And living in this dump? Not good.”

“I’m fine,” Teo snapped. He was sick of adults thinking they knew what was best for him. He turned and marched deliberately toward the other side of camp, where a narrow path led out to Potrero Avenue.

Before he reached it, though, another big guy emerged from the bushes, blocking his way. He was dressed in jeans and a fleece jacket, with a ball cap pulled down over his ears. Teo halted, confused.

“We’re here to take you somewhere safe,” the first guy said from behind him. “Trust me.”

Teo’s mind raced. The two guys were blocking the exits: The only other option was the chain-link fence on his left. If he could get over it, there were cars a block away—plenty of witnesses.

He bolted toward the nearest section of fence. Panic sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, spurring him faster than he’d ever run before.

He was halfway over the fence when a hand clamped down on his leg. Teo yelped in pain as he was yanked back and slammed to the ground. Both guys loomed over him; one of them was holding a syringe.

“Hey, listen . . . I don’t do drugs,” Teo said, panicked. “Seriously, I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t stick me with that thing.”

“Got a clean one here, Jimmy, you hear that?” the first guy said.

Ball Cap nodded. “That’s why they want him. Nice, clean subject.”

“A clean . . . what?” Those experiments he’d heard about, Teo realized suddenly.
They were real. . . .

The guy with the needle leaned over and tugged at his jacket collar. Teo struggled, but the other guy pinned his arms and pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck.

Teo squeezed his eyes shut and prayed it would be over soon. He waited for the needle to pierce his skin.

And waited.

Suddenly, there was a strange chattering noise close by. Teo opened his eyes: The guy with the needle was standing bolt upright, his whole body twitching uncontrollably. His mouth gaped open, exposing gleaming rows of white teeth.

Simultaneously, Ball Cap’s legs buckled. He landed on the ground looking perplexed, and oddly frozen.

Teo lurched to his feet, grasping the fence for balance. His first thought was,
What the hell just happened?
Followed immediately by,
Who cares—get out of here, now!

As he turned to run, Teo nearly crashed into a girl who’d materialized right behind him. He’d never seen her before: She was stunning, with close-cropped dark hair and bright-green eyes. She was dressed all in black like the other guys, and held something that looked like an oversized TV remote.

“Relax,” the girl said without taking her eyes off the guys on the ground. “We got this.”

A group of teenagers swarmed out from behind her. They were all dressed differently: a few Goths, some skate rats, a couple of stoner types. All straggly and unkempt looking, like most street kids. But Teo had never seen any of them before.

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