My palm ripples and my chest catches. I jerk my iScroll up, hoping and praying Raine has had a change of heart, but the caller is unidentified. Anonymous. I hesitate, wondering if I should accept, but before I can the call ends. “Percel, who was it?”
“Sorry, sir, it was an unregistered source. No caller ID.”
Who besides Raine and the Network knows my code? And why did they terminate the call before I could answer? Is someone trying to figure out where I am?
I look back at my apartment. I deliberately left the shutters open and the lights on so I could check for unusual activity when I returned. I don’t want to be ambushed. Security patrols on the street are more frequent, slowing down as they pass my apartment, but at least they don’t stop. The Secretary seems to be employing cheap intimidation methods with a clear message: Stay away from my daughter.
Even though I can’t see my front door from my position, I open it with the remote code anyway, hoping it will trigger movement inside if anyone is there. It remains still. When I decide that everything is reasonably clear I return to the apartment, lock the door behind me, eat a leftover chunk of cheese, and wash it down with some water. I’ve hardly eaten today.
Next I call Carver, trying to dispel my guilt over not taking his call last night, wondering if I could have made any difference for Livvy. He sounds and looks drained, as though he hasn’t slept in days.
“I’m sorry about Livvy,” I say. “Any news?”
He shakes his head. “No. Any news on your end?”
I want to give him at least a glimmer of hope. “I was able to duck into the Secretary’s office last night for a few minutes and got a quick glimpse of some blueprints. There’s a lighting grid down in the tunnel. I think it must lead to something.”
His face brightens. “You’re going back tonight?”
Apparently the Collective wasn’t notified. The Secretary must assume that I have the good sense not to show up. Maybe that’s the purpose of the increased patrols. At least that’s one worry off my mind—Xavier and Carver don’t know yet that I was thrown out. “Yeah, going back tonight,” I tell him.
“Good,” he says. “Find out more. If I hear any news about Livvy I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.”
He’s about to sign off but I stop him. “About last night—I’m sorry I didn’t take your call. I was—”
“No need to explain. You’re making progress. We desperately need that now.”
It was progress—until I was caught.
A Deadly Walk
I stay in the cov
er of the trees this time. I don’t want to drive her away with my presence.
I just need to see her and know she’s still okay.
The experimental scan that awaits Karden—and possibly Raine too—haunts me. I imagine all the ways it’s more painful and risky than a standard scan.
While I wait for her to show, memories of all our nights together begin to surface, the times on the PAT taking turns choosing destinations, laughing together as we chose Hawaii, or Paris, or Moscow, and PAT repeating over and over, Not a valid destination, but it delayed our departure, and that was really all we wanted—more time to be with each other.
I think about the miles and miles we walked for all the prescribed hours that the Secretary slept, using up each minute because we had so much to talk about, so much to share, the places we wanted to visit, the things we wanted to see. It didn’t matter that we were born in different centuries—there were so many things that were amazingly timeless between us. And then I think about the times the conversation turned and I ached because I had to share a different version of myself.
I think about all the nights we lay under the stars in each other’s arms, and I listened to her breaths like they were my own. I think about our first kiss and all the ones that came after, the times I traced her lips with my finger, traced the profile of her face, the times my finger slid down her throat and across her collarbone and I thought she was too perfect to be true. The times I told her the truths I could, how I was mesmerized by her from the first time I saw her even though I wouldn’t admit it to myself, and she told me the truth of the night we danced in the graveyard, that all she could think about was me dancing with Vina and wanting to replace that memory with one of us dancing together instead. And I told her it worked. The truth.
But I did use her.
That’s one truth I can’t change.
At 2:15 she appears. Like the first night I saw her, she climbs onto the edge of the rooftop wall and dangles her legs over. The wind is brisk and blows strands of hair across her eyes. She turns her face to the wind and stands. Her gown snaps in the wind. I stand too, holding my breath. Raine, get down. But she walks the length of the wall, one foot over another, her arms poised at length for balance. Get down. Please. I don’t dare call out and draw her attention away from her footing. Her movements are fearless and graceful. Confident. But my God, she’s nine stories up on an old building that may have loose stones. When she gets to the end she jumps down onto the rooftop and disappears back into the shadows. Gone for the night. A short but potentially lethal appearance, like she has to push her limits in new ways.
I step from the shadows, angry at her for taking such risks, angry that she could throw so much away without even an explanation, but then I see movement again on the rooftop. I’m about to move back where it’s dark, but before I can, Hap steps to the edge and looks straight down at me as if he knew I was there all along.
Bitter Pill
I sneak in through the door that Raine showed me—the one that’s never locked—like they know some poor souls must always be in need of sanctuary if they’re only smart enough to find their way in. The hinges groan as I open the heavy wooden door. I don’t worry at the sound. Very little sneaking is actually involved. Like every time I visited here with Raine, the cathedral is empty, void of priests, caretakers, nuns, and even those in need of middle-of-the-night confessions. I’m not sure anyone comes here anymore but Raine and myself.