Scarlet

the stairs, preparing herself not to scream if she spotted a decaying body sprawled across the bed.
    But there was no body.
    The room was in upheaval just as the hangar had been. Clothes and shoes, trinkets and blankets, but no human being. No corpse.
    “Hello?”
    Glancing around the room, Cinder spotted the vanity beside the window and her heart fell. She paced to it and picked up the small chip and held it up for Thorne to see.
    “What’s that?” he asked.
    “Michelle Benoit,” she said. Sighing, she dismissed the netlink.
    “You mean … she’s not here?”
    “Try to keep up,” Cinder grumbled, and pushed past him into the hallway. She planted her fists on her hips and scanned the other closed door, no doubt another bedroom.
    The house was abandoned. Michelle Benoit wasn’t here, and neither was her granddaughter. No one with any answers.
    “How do we track a person who doesn’t have an ID chip?” Thorne said.
    “We don’t,” she said. “That’s the whole point of removing it.”
    “We should talk to the neighbors. They might know something.”
    Cinder groaned. “We’re not talking to anyone. We’re still fugitives, in case you’ve forgotten.” She stared at the rotating pictures. Michelle Benoit and a young Scarlet kneeling proudly beside a freshly planted vegetable bed.
    “Come on,” she said, dusting her hands as if she was the one who had been digging in the dirt. “Let’s get out of here before the Rampion attracts any attention.” The floorboards clapped hollowly beneath her as she tromped down the stairs and rounded the first landing.
    The front door swung open.
    Cinder froze.
    A pretty girl with honey-blonde curls froze in front of her.
    Her eyes widened, first with surprise, then recognition. They fell to Cinder’s cyborg hand and the color drained from her cheeks.
    “ Bonjour, mademoiselle,” said Thorne.
    The girl glanced up at him. Then her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed onto the tile floor.

 
    Thirty-Three
    Cinder cursed and glanced back at Thorne, but he only shrugged. She turned back to the fainted girl. Her head was bent at an awkward angle against an entry table, her feet splayed across the doorway.
    “Is it her granddaughter?” Cinder asked, even as her scanner was connecting the measurements of the girl’s face to the database in her brain and coming up with nothing. Scarlet Benoit it would have recognized. “Never mind,” she said, and inched toward the girl’s prone body. She nudged the table out of the way and the girl’s head thumped onto the tiles.
    Creeping over her, Cinder peered out the front door. A beat-up hover sat in the courtyard.
    “What are you doing?” said Thorne.
    “Looking.” Cinder turned around to see Thorne stepping into the foyer, eyeing the girl with mild curiosity. “She seems to be alone.”
    A wicked grin spread across his face. “We should take her with us.”
    Cinder glared. “Are you crazy?”
    “Crazy in love. She’s gorgeous.”
    “You’re an idiot. Help me carry her into the living room.”
    He made no argument, and a moment later the girl was swooped up in his arms without Cinder’s help.
    “Here, on the couch.” Cinder bustled ahead of him and rearranged a few faded pillows.
    “I’m good like this.” Thorne shifted his arms so the girl’s head fell against his chest, her blonde curls clinging to the zipper of his leather jacket.
    “Thorne. Put her down. Now.”
    Muttering something to himself, he laid the girl down and meticulously arranged her shirt to cover her bared stomach and then moved down to more comfortably position her legs when Cinder grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s get out of here. She definitely recognized us. The moment she wakes up she’ll have a comm to the police.”
    Thorne pulled a portscreen out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Cinder.
    “What’s that?”
    “Her port. I took it off her while you were busy panicking.”
    Cinder snatched the portscreen away and shoved it into the side pocket of her military cargos. “Still, it won’t be long before she tells someone. And they’ll come to investigate and realize we were looking for Michelle Benoit and then they’ll be looking for Michelle Benoit and—maybe I should disable her hover before we go.”
    “I think we should stay and talk to her. Maybe she’ll know where to find Michelle.”
    “Stay and talk to her? And give her even more leads about how to