As far as big reveals went, Eliot had had worse. Nobody pointed a gun at him this time, though he suspected that was only because Eve was unarmed. The conversation didn't end with anyone in tears, prison, or the hospital, so overall Eliot had to count it as successful.

But Eve's stony silence made it hard to feel victorious. She avoided his gaze as they hurried down the hallway, though he felt her eyes on him whenever he looked away. Her loyalty to her Librarians meant that she had to accept his help whether she wanted it or not, and she had made it clear that she fell into the latter frame of mind.

That was fine. Eliot could handle silence—in fact, he preferred it. He didn't need Eve to like him or even trust him, as long as they could find Alex before anything happened to him. Then he'd go back to New Orleans and she'd never have to see him again.

"We need to find that basement," Eve muttered, breaking into his thoughts. "If we can get a look at it, we might be able to figure out the spell."

"I don't know anything about that," Eliot said. "I could look for—"

"Nope," Eve said. "You're staying right where I can see you."

Eliot shrugged. "Suit yourself. But we'd cover more ground if we split up."

"Not gonna happen," Eve scowled. She turned a corner and threw a pointed look over her shoulder when he didn't immediately catch up. "What part of 'stay where I can see you' are you not getting?"

He pushed a strand of hair out of his face. "You know… You say you don't trust me, but you don't seem to have any problem turning your back on me. Why do you think that is?"

Eve stopped. He was still a step behind her, and the stiff set of her shoulders made him think she was being intentional about not turning to look at him. "That's my mistake," she said finally. "Maybe it's because you look like Jake. I'll be more careful from now on."

It took every ounce of his willpower not to roll his eyes. "Now you're just being difficult. If half of what Jake's said about you is true, I'll bet you're used to trusting your instincts. Maybe you should listen to them and stop looking for something to be upset about."

"Looking for something to be upset about?" Eve snapped. "You're an international hitman. A literal terrorist. I think I'm being extremely calm about this."

"I was an international hitman," Eliot countered.

"Semantics."

Eliot crossed his arms. "That was over a decade ago. You don't work for NATO now, Colonel, so you're going to have to decide whether you trust your own judgement on this. Neither of us can afford for you to keep second guessing yourself."

The scowl on Eve's face darkened. "Do you have any idea how frustrating it is that I have to hear that coming from Jake's face?"

"I'm not Jake."

"But you look like him, and you sound like him," Eve said. "And I am not in the mood to take advice from either of you right now."

Eliot hitched a shoulder. "Jake can be pretty wise sometimes. He gets it from his big brother."

"You're the same age."

"I'm eight minutes older."

"Right," she muttered. "You're practically ancient. Think you can make it down the hall without a walker?"

I'm already without a Walker, Eliot thought dismally. And if he couldn't figure out how to get Eve to work with him, he might not get him back.

"Listen," Eve said, stopping short as Eliot caught up to her. He'd heard it too—a faint echo down the hallway that grew in the new silence. He held himself still, listening, as Eve did the same beside him. "Music?" she whispered, but he barely heard her.

Flute music. It seeped into his mind, circling his thoughts, pulling them away from her voice. He'd heard the sound before, back in the ruins—the memory crashed over him like a wave of ice water, submerging him in the frantic fear of being chased.

A hand gripped his arm. He tore his attention away from the music to look down at Eve's fingers on his sleeve, then forced his eyes up to hers.

"You with me?" she said.

He cleared his throat and nodded, casting through his memories for something else to focus on. 1.5 pounds of ground 80/20 beef. 2 cups yellow onions. 3 tablespoons crushed garlic.

"We need to get that flute away from him," Eve said.

1 tablespoon smoked paprika, 2.5 tablespoons ground cumin. "I'll go," he rasped.

Uncertainty flashed across her face. She wanted to argue—he could see that plainly enough—but there wasn't time. "I'll be right behind you," she said at last, and he couldn't tell if she meant it as reassurance or as a threat.

It didn't matter. Eliot gave her a curt nod and crept to where the hallway turned a corner, moving on the balls of his feet. 2.5 tablespoons chili powder, 2 teaspoons black pepper, 2 teaspoons coarse salt. He leaned around the corner, watching in his peripheral vision as Eve slid into position behind him.

A figure walked briskly toward him and Eve, a flute lifted to his lips. David. He paused every few steps to look over his shoulder, and Eliot's stomach clenched when he thought about David must be waiting for. If he was summoning the creature—if he was waiting for it—Eliot had to act now.

He forced himself around the corner. "David, right?" he said in a deceptively even voice. "We met earlier."

The other man started, lowering the flute to his side. "I was hoping I wouldn't run into you," he said. "Man, it's weird seeing someone else look so much like Jake. I never pictured him with long hair."

Eliot centered himself in the hallway and crossed his arms. "Gonna have to take that flute from you," he said. With the music gone, it was easier to concentrate on the task at hand instead of just trying to hold himself together, but the distant threat of the creature gathered over him like smoke. He was running out of time.

"Sorry," David said. "It's better that I keep the flute, trust me."

Eliot planted his feet, and David sighed. "You don't just look like your brother, huh? You seem just as stubborn."

"I've been told that," Eliot said.

"Then we'll have to do this the hard way," David said. He threw a punch, but Eliot caught it and pulled David's arm behind his back. In an instant, Eve was beside him to tear the flute out of David's free hand.

"How do you control the creature?" she asked.

David lunged after it, but Eliot held him fast. "Give it back," he snapped. "You don't know what you're dealing with."

"That's why I want to get rid of it," Eve said.

David struggled again, then threw his elbow into Eliot's ribs. He saw it coming and moved with the blow, taking the hit without feeling the pain, and pulled David away from Eve. "Better tell her what she wants to know," he said.

But David twisted in his grasp and shot him a sharp look. "You've felt it," he said, still squirming. "You know what will happen if it comes after us. I'm the only one who can control it."

"Then tell me what you know," Eve said.

A gust of wind shot down the hallway, slicing through Eliot's body like it wasn't even there—like there was no substance to him, like he would blow away with the next blast. The looming pressure of darkness rose in the hall behind him, and he knew without looking that the Nalusa Falaya was coming.

David tore out of his grasp. He dove for the flute, but Eve jerked it back and grappled with him. With a grunt, she ripped it out of his hands, only for him to flail and send it spinning from her fingers.

It struck the wall and shattered. David cursed, falling on his knees above the pieces, scrambling to pull them together.

"There," Eve said, panting. "It's over now."

But David lifted his pale face and stared at her. "It's not over. The flute was the only thing controlling the monster, and now—"

Icy wind shrieked down the hallway, tearing at Eliot's hair and clothes. "It's coming," David said in a dark voice. "Get out of here while you can."

The skin on the back of Eliot's neck prickled, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. His body remembered the horrible feeling of being chased, of being toyed with. Of being prey. In seconds, his heart was racing as fast as it had when he'd fled the creature's grasp, only this time he knew there would be no escape.

Distantly, Eliot watched as David leaped to his feet and shoved Eve aside. She shouted after him as he raced down the hallway, but when he didn't stop she turned and grabbed at Eliot's arm. He saw her mouth moving, but his ears were filled with the roaring wind. "Come on, Spencer," Eve shouted soundlessly. "We have to go after him."

1 bay leaf, one chopped jalapeño...

"Run," he said, grasping her wrist and holding it fast. He wanted to grip it tightly, to feel the pressure of her skin against his like an anchor against the storm—so he made his touch gentle, and found the control reassuring. Awareness sprouted from the crack he'd made in his fear; he watched as Eve's eyes darted over his shoulder, as she sensed the creature coming for them. Her unease wasn't overwhelming yet, but that would come. He needed to get her to safety before the discomfort turned to terror, before the creature could find them and chase them until it tired of its game.

Eliot shifted his hold until he was gripping Eve's hand. "Listen to me," he said, his voice steady in the thunderous wind. "That thing can't catch us both. One of us has to make it to Alex and Cassie."

Her eyes snapped to his. "What are you saying?"

1 minced habanero. 1 cup of water. It was coming closer. He felt the weight of it on his mind, saw it in the way Eve's face paled. "Find them," he said, releasing her. "I'll hold it off."

"You can't hold it—" she started, but the wind rose to a scream and cut her off. Then all at once it died away, and Eliot kept himself still in the sudden silence. He knew what he would find if he looked over his shoulder.

He looked at Eve. She was frozen with her eyes on the creature, her expression contorted in fear. She would stay that way until it made her run, until it directed her along a predetermined route designed to increase its own pleasure in the chase. Then it would catch her and consume her the way it had promised Eliot back in the ruins.

But not Eliot. Not this time.

"Go," he said again, giving her permission instead of a command. He turned her with a gentle hand to her shoulder, breaking her eye contact with the creature, and she went—running down the hall without a backwards glance, without a moment's hesitation. Leaving him alone with the monster.

Eliot cracked his knuckles, rolled his shoulders, and turned to face the darkness.