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into harsh angles. Everything abouthim looked sharp—sharp jaw line; straight nose; thin, narrowed eyes filled with hatred.
    The most fascinating part, however, was the pink scar on his face, the one stain on an otherwise flawless stretch of skin. Once I saw it, I couldn’t look away, and the rest of his face blurred into nothing. I knew he’d been Marked, but seeing it and hearing about it are two very different things. The Mark twisted like a chameleon’s tail with another line cutting it sharply in two. I’d never heard of a Mark like that before.
    “You see this?” he asked, noticing my stare and pointing a long finger at the scar beneath his right eye. He mocked me; of course I saw it. “This is the scar that marks me, the only constant thing about me. If they know about this Mark and then find someone with this Mark, they will assume that someone is the one they are looking for—the Chameleon.
    “Now what would they do, I wonder, if they found that Mark scratched into the soot of the fire, or on the wall, and then on you?”
    I couldn’t help myself; I began tearing up from the smoke and fear. I shook my head in terror as I realized what he was going to do. “Please don’t,” I begged, struggling to pull away. “Please.”
    He laughed in my face. “Oh, but this could be fun, framing you. You’d be a great little scapegoat, so defenseless and pretty. And you can still hide behind your mask . . . but for how long? Now there’s the question. And an even better question: what would you do with no mask at all?”
    I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t—not anymore. His hand had crept around my neck and was slowly cutting offmy air supply, despite how much I struggled. His hand was like a vice, and I could not break free of it.
    Hachi’s barks—distant, but sharp and growing closer—suddenly cut through the night air. Hope rose in my stomach, but it was short lived. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man poke at the fire with a brand.
    “Oh, don’t worry—this will be quick.”
    With one fluid motion, he ripped my mask from my face. I cried out in shame and fear, but he held me fast. My muscles were weak from smoke inhalation and I couldn’t get my arms or legs to obey my commands.
    He held the brand up for me to see, taunting me with the glowing orange tip as he brought it closer and closer. Finally he pressed it against my skin. I cried out in shock and squeezed my eyes shut, incapable of believing what was happening to me. Tears fell from my closed eyes, and I tried to pull back but couldn’t move.
    “Hold still or it will hurt more,” he warned, his free arm still around my neck, his fingers bruising the skin and cutting off my air supply. Tears streamed down my cheeks and mixed with the blood seeping out through the blistering burn, the saltiness stinging as he pulled the brand back.
    Hachi’s barks grew closer, and the fire in the next room grew louder and hotter. I screwed my eyes shut, willing it to all be just a bad dream, but I could still feel the white-hot burn on my face and smell the burning flesh as the workroom went up in flames around us.
    “There,” he whispered, “all done.” He donned my father’s mask once more. “Now run along, pretty one.” He laughed again and ran out, leaving me disorientated and blinking, gasping for breath, my vision blurred.
    The fire was truly starting to spread now, and I could hear the building groan as it caved in on itself in the gutted-out workroom. I couldn’t think straight, but I knew I had to get out of that building. And I couldn’t be seen. And I needed to stop bleeding.
    Not necessarily in that order.
    I saw some scraps of fabric lying around that I could use as a makeshift mask/bandage. I grabbed the cleanest piece I could find and wrapped it around my hand, intending to use it as a bandage when I had more time. I grabbed a couple more lightweight pieces to use as a face cover and stumbled to the door.
    The brisk night air