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Clare,” he said suddenly. “I’ve never been … I’ve never travelled anywhere, or been on a date, or … I don’t … I don’t even know what else I haven’t done—I don’t want to die!”
    She looked at him. He was pleading with her. The successful Clare noted it with a detached amazement. She wondered if he thought he was talking to the other Clare, the Clare that she had imagined earlier, who had been reluctant to proceed, who’d thought, He’s just a teenager, just a harmless kid. But how would he know about that Clare? She didn’t exist.
    “Nobody wants to,” the real Clare snapped. “Everybody has to.”
    Are you sure you can handle prepping the target ? Seevers had asked. Of course , Clare had said, and meant it. She was a professional; of course she could handle this. It hadn’t been hard to get him to sign the waiver, either; a vague threat had been all that she needed. And it wasn’t going to be hard to get him to run for the hunters. He was scared. He was crying. He was seventeen; he didn’t want to die. Are you sure you can handle it ? Fuck that! Did Seevers think just because she was a woman she didn’t have what it took? She was going to show him. She was going to show all of them.
    “You’ve got to run,” Clare said. “The clients want a chase. They’re amateurs—there’s always a chance you might get away. So run. It’s in everyone’s best interest. Jake and Laurence—they’re Stake employees. They’re out there to make sure the clients get a good hunt. That means they’ll try to stop you getting away, but they won’t kill you. Honestly, if you get away, it’s good for us. One less target we have to locate next time. And werewolves are really rare. I don’t know if you knew that. The clients are a man and a boy about your age. They’re the ones who are going for the kill.”
    He was looking at her with desolate, hollow eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”
    “Because I want it to look good. This is the first hunt I’ve pitched and prepped all on my own. Make it look good for me. Okay? Will you do that for me?” She drew off her glove and touched the side of his face. He was kind of a cute kid, after all. Not sexy like Takehiko, of course. But if he was going to die, he could at least go with the memory of one kiss.
    He slapped her hand away and recoiled with a look of disgust and horror that startled Clare more than anything else that day. The bicycle clattered to the ground and he stepped away from it.
    “Watch out, Clare,” he said. He looked calm now, but the tears still glistened on his face. “They’ll be hunting you next. I don’t think you’re human.”
    And he ran. He pelted off down the wide, empty sidewalk, his open jacket flapping as he ran. Clare fumbled for her phone, still stunned by his reaction to her attempted kiss. He had acted as if she were ugly, or something. As if she were an ugly man . And when he had said that— I don’t think you’re human —he hadn’t meant, You’re one of us . He had meant: You’re a monster .
    “Jake, it’s Clare. We have compliance.”
    “We can see that,” came Jake’s voice, dryly.
    Jake and Laurence moved out onto the sidewalk, blocking Nick’s way. They were both armed with the light crossbows they used on real hunts. Nick turned and ran down a path between two rows of lights on low posts. He had something in his hand as he ran, Clare saw. A cell phone. She should have checked for that, should have confiscated it. Shit.
    Laurence had seen the phone too, and shot a bolt that caused the boy to drop it onto the pavement. Jake and Laurence followed him down the path. Clare ran to catch up. By the time she reached the end of the rows of lights, Nick had disappeared from sight, but she could still see Jake, stationed at one end of the area they had chosen as the primary hunting ground. She ran down to join him.
    “The fucking kid had a mobile!” Jake had picked up the phone and was holding it in the