MARIEL WRAPPED HER arms tighter around herself and bent her head into the blistering wind, walking doggedly home from another of her cousin José’s parties. She shouldn’t have gone out tonight in the first place; should have known that all it would do was stir up memories of Eris. Tender memories that hurt like a bruise, but that she still kept pressing on, because it was better to feel the pain than to feel nothing at all.
She could have taken the monorail, but she liked this stretch of the East River, especially cloaked in the liquid inky shadows of nightfall. It was nice to have a moment to herself, to be alone with her thoughts in the wide-eyed darkness.
She still didn’t understand what had gone so wrong in Dubai. After learning that Leda had killed Eris, Mariel had wanted nothing more than to leave Leda’s life in tatters. Death was too good for Leda—she needed to watch her entire world fall apart, lose the people she loved, be locked away behind bars somewhere dark and hellish and lonely.
Mariel had planted drugs on Leda and abandoned her on the beach, in a spot known only to maintenance workers and drug-ferrying gangs. Then she’d sent in an anonymous tip about her, fully expecting Leda to go to jail for possession—or at the very least, to a rehab facility so miserable that it might as well be jail. She’d been floored when Leda had arrived safely back in New York and stepped into her old life as if nothing had happened at all.
Once again the upper-floor world had flung up an invisible, impenetrable wall to keep people like Mariel out—and to protect its own.
Except that it had failed to protect Eris, Mariel thought bitterly. Eris’s death had been swept under the rug, just like the fact that Leda had been passed out, drugged, on a beach in Dubai.
The wind picked up, sounding almost hollow and mournful as it skittered over the water to batter uselessly at the Tower. It began to rain. Mariel hadn’t realized it was a rain day; she rarely checked the feeds anymore, except to spy on Leda and the others. She shrugged deeper into her jacket and kept her head down, but she was already soaked to her skin.
As she stumbled down the street, her mind was spinning, reliving the final conversation she’d had with Leda. Mariel half wished she’d recorded it, though she would certainly never forget it. The shock of it was branded on her mind forever. Leda had thought Eris was having an affair with her father? How could she be so willfully blind to the truth?
She couldn’t believe the things these highliers did to one another. Their world was a bright, dazzling whirlwind, but underneath the lights and the facade it was harsh and unforgiving: a world of hypocrisy and callousness and coldhearted greed. Leda had assumed the worst of Eris without asking any questions. And then she’d pushed her, accident or not, and the others had all stood there and let it happen.
Mariel felt vindicated, finally knowing the truth about that night. She’d been mad with grief for so long, spinning wildly from one conspiracy theory to the next, trying to force the puzzle pieces into a narrative that made some kind of sense.
When she’d seen Leda and Watt together at the Under the Sea party, had heard Watt mention the roof and “that night,” she’d known they were covering something up. She’d taken that catering job in Dubai—smuggling drugs there with her, and the expensive truth juice—just to prove she was right.
She may not have gotten her revenge, but at least she’d finally learned the truth. Now she knew exactly whom to blame.
I won’t fail you again, Eris. So she’d slipped up in Dubai. It didn’t matter. Mariel was nothing if not determined. Of course, she would have to tread more carefully now, since Leda would recognize her. She’d already quit her job at Altitude and started planning something new.
One by one, no matter how long it took, she would make all four of them pay.
A flash of light exploded in the sky, startling Mariel into stillness. Lightning? This wasn’t just a rainy day, it was a storm. The rain came down even harder, as if each raindrop was hurled right at Mariel with vicious intent. They exploded against the pavement in little bursts, and where they hit her body, they stung her through her flimsy jacket like sharp-edged stones.
There was a shed near the water, with a tiny light glowing stubbornly through one small window. Mariel thought she heard a voice inside. Surely whoever it was would be okay with her waiting out the storm in there.
She started forward, wiping the water from her eyes, as a terrible roll of thunder sounded overhead. “Hello,” Mariel tried to shout, but the thunder was angry and grinding and struck a primal terror deep into Mariel’s chest. She was almost at the shed—
Something slammed into Mariel from behind, hard.
She staggered onto her knees, stumbling on the pavement near the water. Stars burst before her eyes, and a scream escaped her throat. But whoever—or whatever—it was hit her again, relentless. She scrabbled to grab on, but there was nothing there; she was tumbling out into the water. It was bitterly, bracingly cold.
Mariel couldn’t swim.
She fumbled for a foothold, but the river was too deep. The rain kept falling around her, hissing angrily onto the water’s turbulent surface, and she was sinking into a discordant, slippery blackness. The sky was wet and dark, and the water was wet and dark, and there was no way to tell which way was up.
Mariel tried to cry out again, but the sound was lost. The water dragged her limbs down, with cold dead fingers that would never let her go.
And then there was nothing more.