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mirror. Not for the first time that night, he realized there were a lot of mirrors at the party, and each one reflected dozens of sets of eyes trained on their own images.
    Cole’s stomach turned on itself. He felt a wave of revulsion, a thick blot of anger directed at every Prior, the “superior” kind of human.
    Animals.
    He’d have to help her on his own. Where were her friends?
    â€œWhat’s wrong with her?”
    Cole had just begun hoisting the girl’s body over his shoulders. The voice, sharp and afraid all at once, belonged to Davis. Cole shook his head, grunting as he changed position, holding the redhead like he might a baby. Her body was surprisingly heavy.
    â€œI thought…” Davis said, her voice dying to a whisper. “I thought she was just drunk. Is she—?” Her sentence cut off, her chin beginning to tremble. Cole looked at her in surprise.
    â€œLet’s get her downstairs.” His voice was harsher than he’d intended.
    Davis nodded. It didn’t escape Cole that she was the only one at the whole party who’d even noticed something was wrong, or cared enough to do something about it. Cole managed, with difficulty, to carry the redhead into the elevator. Davis punched furiously at the lobby button. Her eyes looked naked and frightened.
    â€œWe should call an ambulance,” Cole said, breathing hard.
    â€œWe can’t,” Davis told him. “The Imps are on strike, remember? There aren’t any drivers, there haven’t been for days.”
    Cole turned away, trying not to flinch when he heard the word Imps . Of course. He’d forgotten about the strikes. For the first time, he realized how dependent on the Imps the residents of Columbus really were.
    Once outside, Cole laid the girl’s body gently on the pavement within the building’s inner courtyard, leaning her against the cold slabs of limestone just in front of the grassy strip that decorated the base of Emilie’s building. Davis knelt next to her. Thankfully, they were out of sight of anyone who might pass by—still shielded by the building’s opaque entry gate, which divided the courtyard from the streets and served as the building’s sole security system. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning, dark, and mostly quiet.
    â€œWhat’s her name?” His words came out sharply.
    â€œCaitlyn. I think … Caitlyn. Should I get someone?”
    â€œWe don’t have time. Caitlyn,” he said. “Can you hear us?” He cupped her face in a gentle motion, squeezing, shaking her face. Her eyes fluttered open.
    â€œDon’t hurt her,” Davis said.
    â€œShe needs to stay conscious. Caitlyn,” he said again. “Caitlyn, where do you live? Can you hear me?”
    The girl’s lips parted, and the tiniest bit of blood bubbled between them. God . What was wrong with this girl? What had she done to herself? Priors didn’t just get sick. Drugs, maybe? Some kind of OD? He had no idea what kind of shit Priors took.
    She mumbled something, and her body began to shake. Then her eyes shot open, and she trained them on Davis. They were wide and vacant, as if she was having trouble focusing.
    â€œDavis?” the girl slurred. “Can you … can you check…”
    â€œWhat, honey?” Davis asked. Cole could see she was struggling to stay calm—her hands trembled. “What do you need?”
    â€œDo I look okay?” the girl asked, her head lolling to the side. Her eyelids fluttered again, dangerously close to shutting altogether. “Is … is my mascara smudged?” The last part came out thick, like she had cotton stuffed in her mouth.
    â€œNo,” Davis lied. “You look just beautiful.” Caitlyn rested her head against Davis’s shoulder, and blood and saliva trickled down Caitlyn’s neck, onto the straps of her white dress. Some of it was getting on