Chapter 20: The Exchange

The old ice house stood at the edge of pack land, a squat stone building with a mossy roof.

Its door hung on one hinge.

I walked up to it alone at dusk with the gray folder under my arm.

Nobody stopped me.

Eight of Sonja's guards stood in a half ring in the dead grass.

Not one of them looked at my face.

Sonja waited inside, at a table someone had carried in, with a single camp lantern burning in front of her.

The vial stood beside it.

It was small and clear, with a cork and a green wax seal.

"You came alone," she said.

"I said I would."

"Give me the folder."

"Vial first. In my hand."

Sonja studied me, and then, with a faint smile, she pushed it across the table.

I took it, pulled the cork and sniffed.

It smelled of bitter herbs and iron, the opposite of the green glass.

Roth had told me on the drive what a real antidote would smell like.

This one smelled right.

I slid the vial into my sleeve and placed the folder on the table.

Sonja opened it.

She turned the pages quickly, her gray eyes moving, and when she reached the last one she exhaled.

"Original," she said. "Good girl."

"Don't call me that."

"All right. Ashworth."

She closed it and rested her gloved hand on the cover.

"You're quite sure you want to leave it with me?"

"I took pictures of every page."

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