passage

thalassic series

book five

Liz Shipton

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination.

PASSAGE

New Adult edition March 1, 2024

Copyright © 2024 Liz Shipton.

Written by Liz Shipton.

Cover Art made with Canva and TextStudio by Liz Shipton

Tyrannosaurus Yes Media

contents

Content Warning

Passage

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

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Acknowledgments

About the Author

content warning

This book contains explicit sex scenes, including an MM and MMF scene. It also contains a scene depicting explicit, fairly detailed drug use.

passage

“THERE IS REALLY ONLY one way to deal with Misery. Accept her presence. Like most experiences in life, we must acknowledge the passage gracefully and let her move through our lives because she brings with her a hidden gift.”

― SARAH BAN BREATHNACH

chapter

one

ANOTHER CLOUD.

It’s been out there for days. It hasn’t moved. It hasn’t changed its shape. It’s gotten no bigger or smaller. It sits on the horizon like a predatory animal, waiting. Perfectly still. A massive gray thunderhead, cumulus and cumulonimbus stacked thousands of feet high, like a mountain on the skyline.

I set my brew on the dock at my feet while I open the gate to Pier Four. The harbor is bathed in pearly, pre-dawn light and the water is still as stone. It’s cold this morning. My fingers are numb. Cold and still and quiet and gray. The whole city is cold and still and quiet and gray. As though the shadow cast by that cloud touches everything.

Leaving the gate propped open, I go through the motions of opening up for the day. Pulling the canvas covers off the boats tied up along the pier. Unzipping sail bags. Checking battery levels and turning on the motor in the skiff to make sure it still starts. I sweep the dock and re-coil some lines that the kids didn’t put away properly yesterday. There aren’t that many to coil —not many kids were here yesterday.

At 0700 I sit on the wall by the gate with my brew and wait. I don’t know how many of them will show up today, if any. Yesterday it was three. The day before that five. I haven’t had a full class since Zenith locked down the city two weeks ago. Technically, the kids are still supposed to come to sailing class. But I guess a lot of parents don’t feel like it’s safe. I guess I don’t blame them.

At 0708 Malick Dawson and his mom turn the corner from the street. Malick trips down the pier as his mom waves to me from the corner. His white-blonde hair is a mess, and his shoe is untied and his coat is buttoned up the wrong way. He’s completely absorbed in fiddling with something on the strap of his pack and not looking where he’s going. He comes to a halt at the gate when he almost runs into it, and looks up.

“Good morning, Dawson.”

“Good morning, Mr. Sargo.” He shuffles past me, rubbing his eyes, and goes to the row of cubbies on the far side of the dock. Sheds his backpack and coat and stuffs them into one. He looks around. “Am I the only one?”

“Looks like it.”

His brow crinkles.

“Do you still want to go out?”

“I guess.”

“We don’t have to. If you want to go home I understand.”

“My mom says I have to come. She says it’s important.”

I tip back the last of my brew so he doesn’t see how acutely those words go through me. “Okay. Why don’t we just take out one boat? We can ride together.”

He shrugs his skinny shoulders. “Okay.”

The air and water are so still this morning there’s barely enough breeze to fill the sail. We sit opposite each other, knees touching, while Malick struggles with the mainsheet and I fold my arms to keep myself from intervening.

“No, you want to pull it to the other side, Bud. Nope, other side. Yep. Okay now cleat it off. Cleat it off. Dawson, cleat the line off! Yep. That’s right. Okay, now ease that one out. Great.”

We glide slowly toward the lighthouse. Malick lets go of the line and I watch his attention drift out to the cloud on the horizon.

“Need to stay focused, Bud. There’s a lighthouse under the water up ahead. We don’t want to hit it.”

He picks up the line and puts his eyes back over the bow.

At the lighthouse we tack and head further out into the bay. The sun is emerging over the hill behind Brume and I feel the first rays on the back of my neck. Somehow, it feels less warm these days. Somehow the light is weaker.

Dawson is squinting over the bow at the cloud again. “Do you think that cloud is ever going to move?”

“That’s a good question. I really don’t know.”

“It’s weird, right? That it doesn’t?”

“Yeah. It’s weird.”

“Why doesn’t it?”

I rub my chin with the back of my hand. “That’s a question for people much smarter than me.”

“Like the people at Zenith?”

“Yes. Careful, it’s luffing.”

He tightens the mainsheet and the sail stops flapping and fills again, and we sail for a few moments in silence. My attention drifts back to that cloud. The cloud that I’m pretty sure Zenith made somehow, and that I’m almost certain isn’t doing what they’d hoped it would be doing.

“Are Zenith the ones who are making everyone stay inside?” says Dawson.

I nod.

“Because of the cloud?”

“No. Because of the Exiters.”

“Oh, right. The ones who blew up the school.”

A shard of pain nicks the center of my chest. “Yes. They’re the ones who blew up the school.”

“Because they hate Zenith.”

“I don’t really know why they did it, Bud. They’re angry and some of them are—not very smart.”

“Are they going to blow up more stuff?”

“I don’t know. No one knows what they’re going to do. Right now we don’t even know where they are. That’s why we have to be careful when we go outside.”

He nods and looks at the cloud. “Are the Exiters bad guys?”

“That’s a complicated question. I don’t think it’s a good idea to label a whole group of people as good or bad.”

“But the ones who blew up the school are bad.”

Another sliver of pain goes through me. “Maybe.”

When we get back to the dock, Dawson helps me tie up the boat, then struggles into his coat. I hold out his pack for him so he can put it on. His little brow is furrowed at the ground like he’s thinking deeply about something. “How do we know the Exiters didn’t just give up?”

“What do you mean?”

“The school bomb was two weeks ago, and nothing’s happened since then. ”

I angle the pack so his flailing arm actually makes it through the strap. “I guess we don’t. But we have to assume they haven’t.”

“Is that why everyone is scared?”

“Do you think everyone is scared?”

He nods.

“Are you scared?”

He shrugs, looking at the ground.

I rub my face with one hand while I look past him at the water. This was not part of my job description: counselor to children living through crisis. Does every teacher find themselves doing this at some point? How am I not being paid more for this?

“I think…I think it’s okay to be scared. It’s normal. Things are scary right now.”

“Are you scared?”

I draw a long breath and nod. “A little, yeah.”

He gets the pack onto his shoulders and turns to face me, brow still furrowed. “What happens when we catch them?”

I put my hands in my pockets because thinking about that question makes them shake. “I think some of them would have to pay for what they did.”

“Like go to jail?”

“Maybe.”

“Or worse?”

I flex and clench my fingers inside my pockets. “I don’t know.”

“It would be nice if they never came back.”

“I think you’re right. I think that would be better for everyone.”

He shuffles around me and heads toward the street, where his mom is standing on the corner. When he reaches the gate he stops and turns around. “Are we still having class tomorrow?”

“I guess that depends on if you want to come back.”

He scrunches his face, contemplating this. “I do.”

“Okay then.” I manage a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Tie your shoelace before you walk home, Bud.”

____________________

No one shows up for the 1000 and 1300 sessions. I hang around until 1400 then close up and head back to Panga. The sun is a cold white disk in the pale sky, and the day is chilly. Panga feels stark and empty. I haven’t seen Bird and Shanny since the day after Electra’s funeral. I make tea to warm the place up, and sit in the cockpit to drink it. Everything is so still. The docks are empty; no noise from the street. It’s as though some god or other got tired of watching and paused the world to go find a snack.

When I finish my tea I set the mug down below in the sink, then stand in the galley with my hands clasped on my head, looking for something to do. I’m running low on veg and rice, but Zenith is restricting who can shop when, and my day isn’t until Friday. There’s a leak in a pipe under the sink that needs sealing, but I’m not allowed to go to the hardware store to pick up what I need to fix it. No lessons to teach. Can’t visit Bird’s moms. I don’t even have a flogging dog to walk anymore. And I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed on the beach anyway. I’m bored and anxious and falling behind in projects. And it’s all Bird’s fault.

I do my best to push that thought away before it sinks its claws into me and it’s all I can think about for the next ten hours. It isn’t helpful. Of course she didn’t think about the consequences of that bomb. Of course it had repercussions far beyond what she could have ever imagined. Electra dead. Lockdown. Kids like Dawson living in fear. Businesses suffering—not least of all mine. She didn’t think about any of that. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. Because if she did think about all of that—if she did fully understand the ramifications of what she was about to do, and then went ahead and did it anyway…

I make another cup of tea and walk to the breakwater.

Johnny still hasn’t responded to any of my messages. I tap open Messenger and swipe through a few of the unanswered texts. Nothing from Paradi either. The last message I got from her was days ago, and all it said was to hold on until they had more information. I’m not sure how much longer I can do that. I know they’re all working overtime trying to locate the Exiters, and it doesn’t make any sense for me to be there until they do, but I can’t sit around waiting anymore.

I’m swiping Messenger closed when an alert pings through my head. It’s from an unrecognized biochip. I squint at the text overlaid against the sky.

>>> HEY, SON. GOT A FAVOR TO ASK.

Frowning, I set aside my tea and pull up the message’s metadata. No one I know calls me Son. According to the geolocation data the message is coming from somewhere on the Salt. Not far from Brume—just up the coast in an anchorage I’ve visited a couple of times on Panga. North, which is odd. Most ships entering Brume come from the south—from Alluvium or Pocosín. I swipe back to the message and stare at it for a minute with pursed lips before I send,

>>> WHO IS THIS?

The reply takes a moment to come back.

>>> YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD RECKONER AND FORMER CAPTAIN OF THE KINGFISHER.

Savage. My blood ignites with fury and I swipe the message closed. A minute or so later, another one comes in. I swipe it away without opening it and pick up my tea. But not long after that another comes in. Then another. With an irritated sigh, I put down the tea and open Messenger again.

>>> HOW DID YOU GET THIS NUMBER?

>>> MY DAUGHTER WAS KIND ENOUGH TO OBLIGE.

Fetch. Why is she even talking to this asshole? I send another.

>>> WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘FORMER’ CAPTAIN OF THE KINGFISHER?

He takes a while to respond, and I guess it’s because he’s slow at using his biochip. Probably typing with two fingers. Like a pathetic old man.

>>> FETCH DIDN’T TELL YOU? I STEPPED DOWN. RED TOOK OVER.

>>> BEING A CAPTAIN WAS GETTING IN THE WAY OF ALL THAT HAAR YOU HAD TO SMOKE?

>>> DON’T DO THAT ANYMORE. SOBER A YEAR NOW. GOT A SON TO LOOK AFTER, YOU KNOW.

>>> IF YOU THINK I’M GOING TO BE IMPRESSED BY YOU FINALLY PULLING YOUR FINGER OUT AND DOING SOMETHING YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE TEN YEARS AGO, YOU’RE WRONG.

A long moment goes by.

>>> NO NEED FOR HOSTILITY, he sends. WE’RE ALL LEARNING AT OUR OWN PACE.

>>> WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Another long pause while I assume he types painstakingly in the air with two fingers.

>>> WE’RE ON THE WAY TO ALLUVIUM. WE WERE HOPING TO MAKE PORT IN BRUME AND GET SOME REPAIRS DONE. BUT HARBOR PATROL IS TELLING RED WE CAN’T COME IN.

>>> YEAH THE CITY IS ON LOCKDOWN. NO ONE GOES IN OR OUT.

>>> AH.

Another long pause. Then,

>>> YOU COULDN’T GET YOUR HANDS ON A PART FOR US, COULD YOU?

I almost laugh out loud. This guy can’t be serious. After everything that went down in the last year? I don’t think there’s a person on the planet I would be less inclined to help than Blondie McSailorTats Jameson Briggs-Savage.

>>> I DON’T THINK SO.

>>> YOU WOULDN’T JUST BE HELPING ME. GOT A CREW HERE NEEDS TO GET SOUTH TOO.

I grit my teeth and glare across the water.

>>> WE CAN PAY YOU FOR YOUR TROUBLE.

>>> EVEN IF I WANTED TO HELP YOU, I COULDN’T. BRUME IS LOCKED DOWN. I CAN’T EVEN GO TO THE FLOGGING STORE TO GET PARTS FOR MY PROJECTS. NOT TO MENTION THAT IT WOULD BE ILLEGAL FOR ME TO LEAVE THE CITY TO BRING IT TO YOU. HOW WERE YOU PLANNING ON GETTING THIS PART FROM ME ONCE I HAD IT?

>>> HOPING YOU MIGHT MEET ME HALFWAY IN THE SKIFF. WE CAN DO IT AT NIGHT. NO ONE WOULD KNOW.

>>> NO WAY. SORRY. FIND SOMEONE ELSE.

I swipe Messenger closed and pick up my tea again. A minute later, another message pings through.

>>> I SAW THE NEWS ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED WITH YOUR GIRL. SORRY TO HEAR THAT.

Rage plummets through me.

>>> YOU DON’T NEED TO BE SORRY ABOUT THAT. YOU DON’T NEED TO TALK ABOUT HER AT ALL.

The cursor blinks as he types his reply. I glare at it, half of the mind to close the chat and uninstall Messenger from my chip entirely so he can never contact me again, half consumed with some perverse, infuriated need to see what the hell this guy could possibly have to say to me about this thing he has no business putting his nose into. When his message comes, it’s a wall of text.

>>> LOOK, SON. I KNOW WE HAVEN’T EXACTLY SEEN EYE TO EYE TIL NOW, BUT I’D BE REMISS IF I DIDN’T SAY MY PIECE HERE, BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE IN YOUR LIFE IS GOING TO HAVE MY TAKE ON THIS, AND I THINK YOU NEED TO HEAR IT.

I swear to God if this asshole calls me Son one more time.

>>> I BET YOU’RE PROBABLY PRETTY ANGRY RIGHT NOW. YOU DON’T KNOW IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN. MAYBE YOU EVEN HOPE SHE GETS WHAT’S COMING TO HER AND YOU DON’T CARE IF THAT MEANS SHE WINDS UP DEAD OR IN JAIL FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE OR WHAT. BUT IT SOUNDS TO ME LIKE WHAT SHE’S DONE IS MAKE THE BIGGEST MISTAKE OF HER LIFE, AND FROM WHAT I’VE SEEN, SHE’S A PERSON WHO MAKES BIG MISTAKES LIKE OTHER PEOPLE MAKE OFFHAND COMMENTS, SO THAT IS SAYING SOMETHING.

>>> SORRY, I send back, furious, ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TRYING TO TELL ME I SHOULD GIVE HER THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT? SHE BLEW UP A SCHOOL. SHE KILLED MY BEST FRIEND.

>>> AND YOU’RE HURTING, AND YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO. ALL I’M SAYING IS I BET THAT GIRL IS HURTING TOO. I BET SHE HATES HERSELF AS MUCH AS YOU HATE HER. PROBABLY MORE.

Another long, long minute goes by. Then

>>> KILLING A PERSON CHANGES YOU. THIS IS WHY I THINK YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS FROM ME, BECAUSE I’M PRETTY SURE NO ONE ELSE YOU KNOW IS GOING TO UNDERSTAND THAT. I TRULY HOPE YOU NEVER HAVE TO. THAT GIRL IS NEVER GOING TO BE THE SAME AGAIN. EXACTLY HOW SHE’LL CHANGE IS ANYONE’S GUESS. BUT I CAN GUARANTEE THAT IF SHE DOESN’T GET SOME HELP FROM SOME PEOPLE THAT LOVE HER, IT WON’T BE INTO ANYTHING GOOD.

>>> SO YOU’RE SAYING IT’S MY RESPONSIBILITY TO MAKE SURE SHE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING ELSE STUPID THAT GETS PEOPLE KILLED.

>>> I’M SAYING IF I HAD HAD SOMEONE LIKE YOU AROUND WHEN I WAS YOUNGER AND GOING THROUGH WHAT SHE’S GOING THROUGH, THINGS MIGHT HAVE TURNED OUT DIFFERENTLY FOR ME.

>>> SOMEONE LIKE ME.

>>> A SENSIBLE YOUNG MAN WITH A GOOD HEAD ON HIS SHOULDERS.

Those words hit me like a blow to the chest. A sensible young man. A polite young man. The responsible young man everyone assumes will do the right thing. That everyone assumes will keep following Bird around, cleaning up her messes.

>>> YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME.

>>> I KNOW THAT OUT OF EVERYONE IN THIS WORLD, YOU’RE THE PERSON THAT STANDS THE BEST CHANCE OF GETTING THROUGH TO HER. YOU’RE RIGHT—HER ACTIONS ARE NOT YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. BUT COULD YOU LIVE WITH YOURSELF IF SHE DID SOMETHING ELSE, SOMETHING EVEN WORSE, AND YOU KNEW YOU COULD HAVE DONE MORE TO STOP IT?

I glare through the words to the flat gray Salt. That’s horseshit. Why is this my responsibility? Working with Paradi to find Bird and infiltrate the Exiters is one thing, but I never felt like it was my job to help Bird. I certainly don’t feel like anything I could say would get through to her. When has it ever?

>>> I’M SURE YOU’RE ABOUT TO TELL ME TO FLOG OFF, SAVAGE CONTINUES. WHICH IS PERFECTLY WITHIN YOUR RIGHT. BUT I HAD TO SAY MY PIECE. PEOPLE ARE QUICK TO JUMP TO PUNISHMENT AS A RETALIATION TO TRANSGRESSION. IT’S RARELY A PRODUCTIVE SOLUTION FOR ANYONE INVOLVED.

>>> THIS COMING FROM THE MAN WHO, THE FIRST TIME I SAW HIM, STABBED THREE SAILORS IN THE NECK TO PUNISH THEIR CAPTAIN FOR WITHHOLDING INFORMATION.

>>> LIKE I SAID. WE’RE ALL LEARNING AT OUR OWN PACE.

>>> OKAY. I THINK I’VE HEARD ENOUGH. I stand up, dumping the dregs of my cold tea into the water. NEXT TIME YOU FEEL THE NEED TO REACH OUT AND ASK FOR A FAVOR, OR IMPART SOME UNWANTED WISDOM, FEEL FREE NOT TO.

I close Messenger and climb to the top of the breakwater to begin the short walk back to Panga. Another message comes through as I reach our slip.

>>> ALRIGHT, SON. I’M SORRY I BOTHERED YOU. AND I’M SORRY ABOUT THE SITUATION YOU’RE IN. I DON’T ENVY YOU. IF YOU FIND IT IN YOUR HEART TO COME AROUND AND GIVE US A HAND AT SOME POINT, YOU HAVE MY NUMBER.

>>> I DON’T IMAGINE THAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN, SO DON’T HOLD YOUR BREATH. I DON’T GIVE A SHIT IF YOUR CREW ARE STUCK AS WELL. SEEMS LIKE A FAIR PRICE TO PAY FOR GETTING INVOLVED WITH A SKETCHY, UNRELIABLE DRUG ADDICT.

I swing myself over the rail and set my empty mug on the cockpit floor to send a final message.

>>> AND DON’T CALL ME SON.

chapter

two

DAWSON IS BACK the next morning, tripping over his shoelaces. We ready a small boat together in silence and push it out into the channel. Dawson is quiet and seems distracted, but I don’t have it in me to try and pull any conversation out of him today. Anyway, Dawson is usually quiet and distracted.

At the end of the lesson, we put away the boat and Dawson stands just outside the gate watching while I lock up behind us. When I turn away from the gate, his brow is furrowed.

“What are you going to do all day, Mr. Sargo?”

“That is a great question, Dawson.”

I make tea in Panga’s galley and take it out to the breakwater again to watch the cloud. I lose track of how long I sit there, thinking about Bird and Savage and Electra. Listening to the tide on the rocks.

A message pings me out of it.

>>> CAN YOU COME TO HQ TODAY?

My pulse jumps. Paradi. Finally, something is happening.

>>> WHAT TIME?

>>> SOON AS YOU CAN.

I close up Panga and make the trek up the hill toward Azimuth campus and Zenith’s burned-out headquarters. The streets are empty. Armed peace officers stop me on every corner and I have to let each one scan my retina to check my biochip for the authorization Paradi gave me to be out here. Zenith is doubling down on biochip tracking. Disabling your geolocation module is an offense punishable by imprisonment now, and grounds for investigation. Anyone caught doing it is assumed to be working with the Exiters.

The main gate at Azimuth is chained up and guarded by peace officers. They scan me and then make me stand there for a long time while they check and double-check and triple-check my authorization, make calls to headquarters, look me up and down, and mutter to each other. When they finally admit me, it is with two of them flanking me all the way across campus to the building.

I haven’t been up here since the day after Electra’s funeral. There’s still ash on the ground around the rubble of Azimuth Hall. The truck that carried the bomb into Zenith’s lobby is still sticking out of the bomb crater like a bone sticking out of a wound. I guess there aren’t enough peace officers in Brume to clean up the bomb site and patrol the locked down city.

Dominie greets me at the back door—the same door we came through the night of the attack, when we pulled Johnny out of a pile of rubble and I found Bird standing over Electra’s body. I try to put those images away and focus on Dominie’s face instead. Brown skin, red spex, braided hair dyed to match the spex. A brave smile. She looks genuinely pleased to see me, which is nice.

She waves the peace officers away and steps aside to let me through the door. We walk side-by-side down a long corridor, stepping over piles of rubble. When we pass the old meeting room, where I found Electra, I have to hold my breath until we are past.

“How have you been?” Dominie asks.

The only way I can think to answer that question is either with way too much information, or a boring lie. I go with the boring lie: “Fine.”

“Right,” she says.

We reach a heavy metal door that looks more like the door to a prison cell than an office or lab. She puts her hand on a palm scanner and the door slides open with an ominous clunk and the sound of scraping metal.

“It’s basically a panic room,” Dominie explains, as we step through it. Compared to the old meeting room, this room is smaller, grimmer. Airless and windowless. But at least I don’t have any memories of seeing Electra here. I don’t think I could sit in a room with those kinds of memories for very long. In the middle of the room is a metal table with two people sitting around it. Paradi and Johnny.

Johnny looks up as we step across the threshold and as our eyes meet, my stomach flips over. He looks good. Mostly healed: a long scar across his left cheek where they sewed his face back together, but if anything, it only makes the rest of his face more handsome. Scars on his hands, around the tattoo snaking out of his shirt sleeve. His hair is different: shaved on the sides like Stavra’s used to be. He’s wearing his trademark leather jacket and white t-shirt. He flicks his eyes down without acknowledging me and goes back to reading something off a slate on the table in front of him.

Paradi offers me a tired smile. “How are you doing, Sargo?”

I shrug and lie again. “Fine.”

Dominie takes a seat next to Paradi and busies herself preparing something on her biochip. “Everyone tune to channel sixteen,” she says, tapping behind her head to throw a projection up over the table. A map of Brume. She highlights a section in the southeast corner and enlarges it. It’s the same sketchy neighborhood near the Flats that we tracked Bird to when she was “kidnapped” three weeks ago.

“To bring you up to speed, Sargo,” says Dominie, orienting the map so I can see it better, “this is still the Exiters’ last known location. After the incident at Azimuth Hall, we sent a team to sweep the house where Johnny discovered the ammonium nitrate. We recovered four sets of fingerprints, including those of Kcaj and Neb Berkley. Those are the two individuals whose pictures you’ve probably seen in the biochip broadcasts about the incident. Along with Howsley’s.”

She swipes the map away and pulls up two mug shots. Kcaj, I recognize. He was with Bird at Azimuth Hall the night of the bombing. A gaunt, pale face with two gray eyes sunk into it; a grizzly mane of black hair and beard, streaked with gray. I honestly don’t think I could have imagined a more aptly constructed terrorist. He looks like he spent the last forty years in his parents’ basement building bombs.

Neb is a stark contrast. He looks about my age; blonde, blue-eyed, crewcut, tan, with a straight, white smile that says, Hey, don’t worry: everything’s gonna be fine. I can’t decide which half of this double act is more unsettling.

“These two are brothers and former Anonymity members, with a long history of disturbing the peace in the name of justice,” continues Dominie. “Kcaj is the mastermind: brilliant engineer, mathematician, grade-A psychopath. He’s credited with, among other things, poisoning the water supply for the entire city of Zhīliú ten years ago when Zhou was re-elected.”

“How the hell did he get all the way to Zhīliú?”

“He didn’t.” Dominie enlarges the photo. “Kcaj is usually an orchestrator, not a player.” She swipes the photo away and enlarges the other. “His brother Neb, as far as we can tell, is the face of the organization. Kcaj’s puppet, and the man responsible for recruiting most of the top-level Exiters—including, we think, Howsley.”

I fold my arms and sit back in my chair, a familiar feeling of bitter indignation washing through me. “You’re telling me the reason Bird joined the Exiters is because some handsome prick with shiny teeth told her to?”

“I think you know that’s wildly underselling Bird,” says Paradi, quietly.

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time she fell for a blonde asshole with questionable ethics. Does Neb also have a bunch of dumb sailing tattoos?”

In the uncomfortable silence settling over the table, Dominie clears her throat. “In any case, these two are priority one as far as reaching people within the Exiters’ organization goes. Unfortunately, of course, they’re extremely well-protected, and rarely show their faces at demonstrations. Sargo, you said Kcaj was with Howsley at Azimuth Hall the night of the bomb, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“Pretty sure. He pointed a gun at me.”

“And Bird told him to put it down,” says Paradi.

“Yes.”

Dominie nods. “Which is huge. That indicates to me that Bird holds, if not a prominent position in the organization, then at least some sway with the people in charge. Which makes sense: she has incredibly valuable skills and knowledge about QMTP. The upshot of that is that if we can get you close to her again, we should be able to get you pretty close to Kcaj and Neb.”

My hands are shaking again. Suddenly, the reality of what I’ve signed up to do here feels very…real. “So what does that entail? Getting close to them. Where are they? When am I going?”

Dominie sighs and swipes away the projection. “We don’t know yet.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“We haven’t been able to locate any kind of central meeting point. The house in the Flats has been abandoned since the night of Azimuth Hall. As you’re probably aware, there have been no further demonstrations, not even the usual rallies outside the building here. Every single Exiter in the city appears to be in hiding. Not just in Brume—Pocosín is radio silent too. Around five hundred biochips have been taken offline to prevent us tracking them—so we actually have a pretty good idea of who some of the Exiters are. We just don't know where they are.”

“Are you serious?” I can’t help my voice rising incredulously. “It’s been two weeks.”

Johnny looks up from his slate for the first time since I walked in, but Dominie puts up a hand before he can say anything. “I don’t want to hear anything from you, Johnny. We are working on it.”

He looks at me, then drops his gaze back to the slate.

Paradi clasps her hands. “We think it’s likely they’re hiding in another dimension again. Neb and Kcaj, at least. We’re pretty sure Kcaj had the new biochip prototype installed three weeks ago when Bird took him and that group of Exiters to Brume Three. Which means he now has the same freedom of movement between dimensions that Bird does. Our guess is he’s taken Neb and maybe some of the other top people out of this Parallel.”

Dominie rubs her eyes behind her spex. “Which unfortunately means there are near infinite places they could be. And it’s going to take us some time to narrow it down.”

“So why am I even here?”

“We’re going to outfit you with one of the new chip prototypes,” says Paradi, “to give you the same facility with QMTP that Bird and Kcaj have. So you can jump at will, without a launchpad.”

“Is that safe?”

“With the right training. You’ll need to learn how to properly use it.”

“Who’s this training going to be with? I thought Bird was your QMTP specialist.”

Paradi’s eyes flick to the other end of the table. Johnny lays down his slate. “That would be me.”

“Johnny had the new chip installed a week ago. He’ll take you through QMTP training and some basic hand-to-hand combat.”

“Hand-to-hand combat?”

“This mission carries a lot of risk for you. You’ll be interacting with a lot of dangerous people and putting yourself directly in harm’s way. A chip that allows you to jump wherever, whenever, could be a potentially life-saving piece of equipment, but it’s to be used only as a last resort. Some basic combat training will be your first line of defense.”

“If the Exiters see you jump and figure out you’ve had an upgraded chip installed, they’ll almost certainly deduce that you’re spying for us.” Dominie says. “We need them to believe you’ve come to them of your own free will, because of your love for Howsley. They can’t see you jump.”

“We’re also assigning Johnny to oversee your deployment. He’ll be monitoring your biochip location once you make contact with the Exiters and will jump in and extract you if things go really south.”

“Exactly how far south are you expecting things to go?”

“It’s just a precaution.” Paradi smooths the table and smiles tidily.

I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Okay…so how long is this training going to take?”

“Ideally, QMTP training should only take about a week,” says Dominie.

“A week? It took Bird like a month to figure out how to jump.”

“We’ve come a long way since Howsley was figuring this all out on her own.” She turns to Johnny. “How long did it take you? About a week?” Johnny nods. “And how long do you think for basic combat training?”

He shrugs and looks at me. “I guess that depends how well Mata Hari here follows her orders.”

Irritation flickers on inside me like a broken neon sign. Follows her orders? Are we seriously here again? Is he seriously about to start calling me Princess and pretending like I didn’t save his life twice and drag him out of a burning building? Is he seriously bringing up the fiasco with the High Council in Brume Two, which wasn’t even my fault? Is he seriously going to sit there and pretend like we didn’t kiss?

I glare at him. “Who’s Mata Hari?” He smirks, and the urge to reach across the table and strangle him seizes me like a fist. “I can follow orders just fine when someone explains to me why I need to follow them.”

“Well, I’m afraid that isn’t how orders work—”

“Alright!” Dominie throws up her hand. “Flog’s sake, I can’t with you two! Johnny, I will take you off this mission, so help me gods. You are on thin ice as it is.”

Paradi clears her throat. “Let’s say a week for QMTP training and another—” she looks at Johnny, “two for combat?”

Johnny shrugs, folding his arms.

“Three weeks. We’ll see how far you get in three weeks. Dominie, do you think you’ll have made any progress on narrowing down the Exiters’ location by then?”

“I hope so. But I really can’t say for sure.”

“What if you don’t find them?” I ask. “How am I supposed to get close to Bird if I don’t even know where she is?”

“We may have to get creative. We may be able to draw her to you. We may need you to come up with some ideas on your own. Leverage your relationship with her. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Paradi stands. “For now, let’s adhere to the timeline. Three weeks, and we’ll regroup and see where we’re at. Sargo, we can install your new chip today and you can start training with Johnny tomorrow.”

“We’ll be ready for you in the new lab in ten minutes,” says Dominie. “It’s a quick procedure. In and out. You’ll be home this afternoon.”

Paradi pauses, her fingers braced on the table. “We’re grateful. For you doing this. I know it isn’t easy.”

I look down. “Electra was important to me.”

She says nothing. Just nods, briskly, pushing in her chair, and heads for the door with Dominie. Johnny is still sulking on the opposite side of the table as Paradi puts her palm against the scanner and walks out. Dominie pauses, eyeing us.

“Am I going to have problems with the two of you?”

I fold my arms and look at Johnny, who is again refusing to look at me. “Nope.”

“Nope,” echoes Johnny.

She continues to eyeball us, like she isn’t buying that at all, then sighs through her nose and walks out. I wonder if Johnny told anyone what happened between us. I have to assume he didn’t. I can’t imagine Paradi would think it was a good idea to make us work so closely together if she knew.

The door slides shut and a long, long silence settles in Dominie’s wake.

“I messaged you.” I say, finally. “A few times, actually.”

Johnny picks up his slate. Scratches something off the corner of it and says nothing.

“How have you been?”

“Fine. You know.” He sits up. “Survived a bomb. Got demoted.”

“Demoted?”

“Paradi wasn’t going to let me come back after Azimuth Hall. I had to beg them to put me on the team.”

“Why?”

“According to her, I need more time to recover.”

I hesitate. “Do you?”

“Do I look like I need more time to recover, Paz?”

Physically? I can’t tell. He looks fine, although he’s pretty good at pretending everything is okay when it isn’t, as far as I can tell. Mentally? Emotionally? He seems like the same emotionally stunted asshole he’s always been, so I guess no recovery needed there.

I shrug. “You seem fine.”

He sighs, setting down the slate. “Anyway, it wasn’t just that. What happened with the High Council in Brume Two was a big problem. Dominie wouldn’t let it go. And the UD hearing’s coming up. Paradi wanted to make sure the UD saw that she’d made personnel changes since that whole fiasco. Apparently, I’m a liability now.”

I’d almost forgotten about the UD hearing. It’s coming up in a few weeks. I don’t really know what I’m expected to say there; I pretty much agree with Dominie that Johnny keeping information from me in Brume Two was hugely irresponsible. I still don’t understand why he did it.

Johnny shrugs in an over casual way and sends his gaze to the floor. “Dominie’s been after my job for months. So.”

“So she’s running this team now.”

“Yup.”

“And you’re stuck babysitting me.”

His eyes flick up. In the silence that stretches between us, I wait for him to say It’s not babysitting, or That’s not what I meant. But he doesn’t.

I push back my chair and stand. “Great, well I’m sorry you got saddled with such a boring assignment. I’ll do my best not to put myself in any near-death situations. Or maybe you’d prefer that I did? Should I try to get myself killed? Give you something exciting to do?”

He sighs. “No, that’s obviously—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t expect you to be excited about bodyguarding a Princess. Teaching some civilian how to use his biochip. Not exactly the high-octane, adrenaline-fueled stuff you’re used to.”

“Don’t be an asshole. I was good at my job. I liked my job. I’m adjusting.”

I restrain a scoff. Good at my job. More than one person at Zenith has said the words Johnny’s good at his job to me. But to be honest, I’m starting to wonder if he ever actually was any good at it. I think he just enjoyed it. Coming up with risky escape plans and overpowering guards. Jumping off airships and breaking down doors to abandoned houses. Telling people what to do. Being in charge.

Shoving the chair back under the table, I head for the door. “Great. Adjust away. At least now I know what your priorities are.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Ignoring him, I slam my hand onto the scanner. Apparently for Johnny, the job is the most important thing. Apparently for Johnny, kissing random dudes who are assigned to your team is just Tuesday. Apparently it was like I told Bird: a stupid, confused mistake. Fine. It was his stupid, confused mistake. He kissed me. I didn’t kiss him. I didn’t initiate that. He did that. So if he wants to ignore my messages, and refuse to talk to me, and sit there and sulk and pretend it didn’t happen, or that it didn’t mean anything, or that I don’t mean anything, or who flogging knows, then fine. I’m not going to waste my time sitting around sulking with him.

“I’ll do my job, Paz,” he says. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

The door closes on his last word as I step into the corridor.

chapter

three

TWO ZENITH LAB techs armed with a needle the size of my finger inject a local anesthetic behind my left ear and remove my biochip. I have no idea how they do it, and I don’t care to know. I hear it tinkle into a metal dish somewhere behind me, and then one of the techs steps around me and tugs his mask down with bloody-latex-gloved fingers to ask if I want to keep it.

“Keep it for what?”

He shrugs. “We can’t re-use it—it’s linked to your DNA.”

“No. Thank you.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m walking out of the lab with just a gauze pad behind my ear as any indication the procedure happened at all.

“We synced all your settings from the Net, but it’ll need about two hours to fully interface,” the tech tells me. “Don’t attempt to use any of the modules until later this afternoon. I would recommend not trying to get online until tomorrow morning. Take it easy the rest of the day. Drink plenty of fluids.”

It’s just after noon when I step out of the Zenith building and make my way across campus toward the main gate. The wind rises in the fogwood trees, and I look up out of pure instinct to check the sky. But the trees don’t appear to be moving; the day is still and sunny, and as I reach the gate and the sound amplifies, I realize that what I’m hearing isn’t the wind in the trees—a crowd of people is walking up the hill toward campus.

The peace officers stationed at the gate position themselves in front of it, rifles across their chests. As the crowd nears, I recognize the Nabla Omega—the Exiters symbol—spray painted on a sign that someone in the front is holding. The indistinct noise that I took for wind begins to coalesce into a recognizable chant.

“What must be done shall be done.”

An officer touches behind his ear and radios for backup. I pull up and hang back just inside the gate. At the front of the crowd, a woman is reciting Exiters talking points, her voice amplified by some modification to her biochip. I recognize her: frizzy hair, glasses, angry face, big shoulders. She used to stand on the fountain in front of the Zenith lobby at rallies, screaming about the children. A few peace officers flank the crowd, but they aren’t making any move to stop them. I assume because they are extremely outnumbered. When the frizzy-haired woman reaches the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the gate, she stops. At the top of the stairs, six peace officers have formed a barricade.

“I would recommend you folks break this up and turn yourselves around,” says the officer in the middle of the row.

“We have a right to assemble,” replies the woman.

The officer adjusts his stance and shifts his rifle across his chest. “Not here, you don’t.”

A murmur of dissent goes through the crowd. “You can’t tell us where to be,” someone shouts.

“I can tell you that this campus is closed to anyone that doesn’t work for Zenith. And I can tell you that if you don’t break this up and turn around I am authorized to use force to dispel you.”

A group near the front of the crowd begins to boo. The woman with the amplified voice shouts over them. “Authorized by who? What are you going to do? Shoot us?”

“I am authorized by Zenith, and I will use whatever means are necessary to keep the peace.”

The booing is picked up. It lifts the hair on my arms and the back of my neck. The officers stand rigid, staring over the mob to the incongruously blue sky above them.

“They’ve been authorized to shoot us!” the woman yells.

“Ma’am, this is a bean bag gun,” the officer replies. “No one is shooting anyone. Now I’m going to advise you again—”

From somewhere in the middle of the crowd, a rock comes flying at the officer’s head. It bounces off his helmet and skitters away across the ground. For one long, quiet minute, everything goes still.

Then everybody moves at once.

The crowd surges up the steps like a wave breaking against cliffs as the officers lower their weapons and launch a volley of bean bags. But they are heavily outnumbered. As the officer in the middle of the row again radios for backup, Exiters are already making the top of the stairs, climbing over the peace force, beating them back with their posters and fists. They swarm around them, making for the gate.

Holy shit, they’re coming over the gate.

I trip backward as the first wave of them reaches the chain link and they begin to climb. As the first two or three drop down on the interior side, I’m stumbling back toward the quad. More are scrambling over behind them.

I sprint for Zenith headquarters. Footsteps are coming up hard behind me as I reach the fountain in the middle of the quad and chance a look over my shoulder. Two of them have broken away from the group. As I make it to the bombsite at the front of the lobby, one of them catches the back of my jacket and pulls. He gets his arm around my neck.

“You work for Zenith?”

“No—”

He sinks his fist into my ribs and throws me down as the second guy catches up to us. One of them kicks me hard in the stomach and the two of them stand over me as I roll onto my side, gasping.

“Of course he works for Zenith,” the second guy says. “Only Zenith is allowed on campus.”

I make it to my hands and knees, trying to get enough air into my lungs to tell him that this is a mistake. As I get one foot under me, the second guy lunges at me again. I throw my arm up to block him.

And someone appears between us.

They intercept the guy with a shoulder to the sternum and shove him back. As he stumbles away, they’re pulling a gun from a holster under their jacket.

“Back up!”

I squint up at the figure, recognizing him now as he squares his stance in front of me, holding the weapon with both hands and aiming it at the Exiters.

“Back the hell up, right now,” Johnny yells, “or so help me gods I will put a bullet through your flogging eye.”

The Exiter regains his feet and glares back. The other Exiter scoffs and spits on the ground. “He won’t. They can’t do that.”

“Why don’t you keep sassing me, and we’ll find out what I can do,” says Johnny.

The Exiter narrows his eyes. He looks at me, on the ground behind Johnny, then back at Johnny. He steps forward. Johnny lowers the gun and fires. The Exiter screams and goes to ground, clutching his knee.

“What the shit?!” the second guy yells. He gapes at Johnny, then at his friend on the ground, then back at Johnny. Johnny fires another shot into the ground at his feet, and he puts up his hands.

“Are we listening?” says Johnny. He lifts the gun and points it at the guy’s head. “You have ten seconds to pick this man up and take him somewhere else.”

The Exiter glares.

“Ten…”

The guy scrambles to get his friend to his feet and shoots a furious glare over his shoulder at Johnny as they limp away. Johnny keeps the gun trained on them until they are halfway across the quad, then blows out a long breath and lowers it. He turns around.

“Okay?”

I get to my feet, adjust my jacket, and realize my hands are shaking. I shove them into my pockets. “Fine.”

On the other side of the quad, the peace force is trying to get control of the crowd. A few people lie face down with their hands behind their heads. Some are scrambling back over the gate and sprinting down the steps. The two men who came after me dodge out of sight into a grove of fogwood trees and disappear.

“You’re allowed to just shoot people now?” I ask.

Johnny holsters the gun under his jacket. “I was authorized to do whatever’s necessary.”

“Necessary? Authorized by who?”

He zips up the jacket and looks over his shoulder. “Looks like they’re getting them contained. We’re probably okay to leave.”

“We? Sorry, where are we going?”

“Getting you home so I can get back here. I have a lot to do before tomorrow.”

“I don’t need you to take me home.”

“It’s not safe for you to go alone.”

“I’m not a child.”

“How about ‘Thanks for saving my pretty face, Johnny. I sure am glad you were here or those guys would have literally kicked me to death.’” He pulls the collar of his jacket up around his face, shoves his hands into his pockets, and stalks off toward the gate.

There are no peace officers on the streets to question us as we walk back to the harbor in silence; I assume they’re all up at campus dealing with the mob. As we turn onto Pier Two, where Panga bobs gently against the dock, Johnny slows and comes to a halt.

“Seems like you can take it from here.”

I stop next to him and we stand side by side in silence while I wait for him to say something else. That always used to work with Bird—stand there quietly until she got so uncomfortable she had to fill the space. Apparently Johnny is not so easily led.

“Thanks,” I tell him, finally.

He turns to go. “I’m sure you would have been fine.”

“Do you know why they came out again? The Exiters?”

He stops. “No. It’s good, though. It’ll give Dominie something to go on. Hopefully some of the ones we took into custody today will give us something.”

“Right.”

Silence settles between us again. When it’s clear he won’t be saying anything else, I tuck my hands into my pockets and step around him. He stops me with a hand on my arm. “Are you sure you want to do this? It seems like a really bad idea.”

My eyebrows lift. “After what just happened? Honestly, no. But it’s what I said I would do.”

“You don’t have to. You could tell Paradi you changed your mind.”

“And then what? We sit around and wait for them to blow up something else?”

“We would figure something out.”

I shake my head. “I have to do something. I can’t sit around anymore, I’m going out of my mind.”

“There are easier ways to stay busy than walking into a war.”

“I’m not walking into a war. I’m going to knock some sense into my idiot girlfriend.”

The last word of that sentence hangs in the air between us. He removes his hand from my arm and I flex and close my fingers in my pockets. “Anyway. Thanks. I am really glad you were there.”

“I told you I would do my job.”

“And that’s it?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Just doing your job?”

He sighs and looks away. “You’re about to walk into a war, Paz. I think we all just need to be doing our jobs.”

“I’m not walking into—”

“Fine. Then you’re going to knock some sense into your idiot girlfriend, and where does that leave me?” He turns to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t get caught up in any more mobs.”

A hollowness settles in my chest as I watch him walk down the dock and turn the corner onto the main pier. Is that why he didn’t return my messages? Because of Bird? Or is he keeping his distance in case I die? Because I’m walking into a war and he already lost Stavra.

I climb over Panga’s rail and unlock the main hatch. I need a cup of tea. It’s the only thing I can think to do anymore that isn’t confusing or painful. Plus, the lab tech who removed my biochip told me to get plenty of fluids and take it easy today, and I already screwed up taking it easy. I slide the hatch open and step through it, and freeze at the top of the steps. Because Bird is standing in the galley.

She’s dressed like she was the night I saw her at Azimuth Hall. Bulletproof vest with the Nabla Omega stitched in red across the chest. Half her face covered in black paint. She’s wearing gloves and boots and has a pack on one shoulder. She looks up as I open the hatch and we stand perfectly still, like two spooked animals, staring at each other.

“What are you doing here?” I finally manage to say.

“I came to get food for Shanny.”

Furious disbelief boils over inside me so fast I feel my mouth drop open. “You don’t have food for him?”

She rolls her eyes and the stillness is broken. I shove the hatch all the way open and pound down the stairs.

“I had food for him,” she says, flinging open the cupboard under the sink. “But I just ran out and I remembered we had some here. I’m not going to buy more when I can just use this.” She starts pulling out cans as I stand behind her with my mouth open, feeling like I’ve fallen into some kind of bizarre vid stream. One of those sitcoms they used to watch back in the nineteen nineties. Like she’s about to make a stupid pun and the laugh track will come on.

“You can’t just show up here. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I told you what I’m doing.” She continues pulling cans from under the sink. I’m so stunned I can’t move as she swings the pack off her shoulder, gathers up the cans, and tips them all into it. She zips it shut and stands. Again, we stare at each other.

“Where have you been?” I ask.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Is Shanny okay?”

“He’s fine.” She pauses, her eyes narrowing. “I heard you got caught in the rally outside Zenith.”

“How did you know that?”

“Someone who got away just reported back to us. They said a Zenith employee with black hair in a leather jacket shot one of our guys in the leg.” She swings the pack around her shoulders and folds her arms. “Sound like anyone we know?”

“Gee, I’m drawing a blank.”

“So Johnny just shoots people now?”

“Apparently he’s been authorized to do whatever’s necessary.”

“Wow. And somehow we’re the terrorists.”

“Johnny hasn’t blown up any schools, as far as I’m aware.”

She hardens her glare. “Yet.”

“Jesus.” I shake my head. “Are we done here? Anything else you need before you get on your way? Toiletries? Towels?”

“The guy said Johnny was protecting someone.”

“He was in the right place at the right time.”

“Said he came out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t see. I was on the ground with a boot in my ribs.”

She hesitates. “Are you okay?”

My chest squeezes. I swallow hard and say, “Did you really come here just to get food for Shanny?”

Silence. In the close, uncomfortable stillness, her eyes scan my face. “That shouldn’t have happened,” she says finally. “I told them not to touch you.”

“Great. Thanks for that.”

She shifts the pack on her shoulders and narrows her eyes again. “What were you doing at Zenith?”

“How is that any of your business?”

Her face flickers. She sniffs, shrugging, and steps around me. “I guess it isn’t. I’ll hug Shanny for you.”

And she’s gone.

chapter

four

THE HARBOR IS SO SOCKED in with fog when I get up the next morning that I can’t see the end of the dock. It’s early—the sun is still tucked behind the hill above the bay—and everything is dark and cold and damp. It’s the first foggy day we’ve had in over a week, and now that I think about it, that’s unusual for Brume. I lean with my arms folded against the counter in the galley, ruminating on this while I wait for the kettle, then put some things into a pack to take with me to Zenith. I have no idea what I might need for a day of QMTP and self-defense training with Johnny. An iron will and infinite patience?

Fog blankets the city as I climb the hill toward Azimuth campus and the sun begins to creep over the bay. I stop at the fountain in the middle of the quad to check out the view. Three weeks ago I sat on this fountain with Electra the morning before I jumped to Brume Two. She asked me if I was going after Bird because I loved her, or because I couldn’t stand for something to be broken. I told her I was going because I loved her, but to be honest, I don’t think I was sure. I think Electra knew that. Why else would she have asked?

A Zenith employee I’ve never seen before greets me at a back door to headquarters and walks me down a series of corridors. We’re well-removed from the bombsite in this part of the building, and everything is relatively intact. If you only came to this section, you’d never know anything had happened at all. Reminds me of coming back to Brume last year after spending so long in Alluvium. Alluvium was devastated by the pandemic and climate disasters. It feels like people there are still recovering. It feels like the two cities aren’t part of the same world.

We come to a glass door, on the other side of which is a nearly empty gym. A polished wood floor with red crash mats scattered around and mirrors on the far wall. A few racks of weights sit around the perimeter, a punching bag and a knotted rope hang from the ceiling in one corner. In the middle of it all, Johnny is standing with his back to me and his arms folded, contemplating the ceiling in a sleeveless vest and sweatpants. The employee who walked me here puts his palm on a scanner by the door and as it slides open a full-on aural assault of fast, aggressive music blasts out of the room. It’s so loud I step back like someone hit me in the chest. It’s the most horrendous sound I have ever heard. I’m squinting. Like it’s so loud I can’t see.

Obviously Johnny hasn’t heard the door open, so I stand at the threshold screaming his name, and when it becomes clear that is getting me nowhere, I cross the room with my hands over my ears, walk up behind him and put my mouth practically in his ear.

“JOHNNY!”

He jolts and turns around. Taps his brow and kills the music. The abrupt silence screams in my ears.

“Good morning.” He steps around me and crosses to close the door behind me while I stare at him with my head ringing. As it slides shut he turns and, seeing my expression, tilts his head. “You don’t like music?”

“That was not music.”

He scoffs and comes back to the middle of the room, removing a long, white strip of elastic from around his knuckles. He’s already sweating. In fact, the whole room is warm.

“Why are you sweating?”

“Because I’ve been here for two hours working out.”

“You’ve been here for two hours listening to that gods-awful noise?”

He pulls the last strip of elastic from his hands, balls it up, and tosses it into the corner. “Shall we get started?”

His tone is crisp. Professional. I spread my hands. “Guess so.”

“We’re gonna start with QMTP since it requires more mental work than physical, and I tend to think people are sharper in the morning. Did you eat?”

I blink. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Uh—”

“You should eat in the morning.”

“Excuse me?”

“You should eat,” he repeats, more slowly, “in the morning. Eggs, if you can.”

“Is this part of training?”

“Everything is part of training. Food, sleep. This is your job now.”

“This is three weeks out of my life. I’m learning some basics so I can help out with a mission, not joining the peace force.”

“Exactly. I have three short weeks to teach you enough that you don’t die a gruesome and preventable death at the hands of terrorists. Do you want to die a gruesome and preventable death at the hands of terrorists, Paz?”

I glare. “No.”

“Great. So you’ll eat eggs in the morning.”

Flog’s sake.

He motions for me to follow him to one of the red crash mats in a corner of the room. “Stand in the middle of that.”

I do.

He drags another mat over and positions it so the long edges of the two mats are touching. Then he kneels on the second mat, pulls a roll of white tape out of the pocket of his sweatpants, and tapes a large X in the middle of it.

“There’s really no way to teach QMTP except to do it,” he says, standing and pocketing the tape. “At least, as far as I’m aware. So we’re just gonna start small.”

“No way to teach it? That can’t possibly be right. Who taught you?”

“Nobody. I came to this room every day until I figured it out.”

My eyebrows lift. “And it only took you a week?”

“I’m extremely persistent.” He steps off the mat and folds his arms. “Alright. Jump to that X.”

I turn my gaze back to the X, about ten feet from me in the middle of the other mat. “Are you serious?”

“I’m pretty much always serious, Paz.”

“This is your plan? Jump to the X?”

“Do you have a better one?”

“This is not an effective teaching strategy.”

He rubs a hand through his hair. “I’m sure you would know.”

“I’m a teacher.”

“Of sailing.”

“The principles are the same.”

He scoffs. “No they’re not. You don’t teach someone how to tie their shoe the same way you teach them how to do a backflip.”

“A backflip?”

“Have you ever done a backflip?”

“Do I look like I’ve ever done a backflip?”

He shakes his head. “You can’t work up to a backflip. People will tell you that drills and rolling around on the ground helps, but those people are idiots. The only way to truly learn how to do a backflip is to just do a flogging backflip.”

“I’m almost certain that’s not true. Have you ever done a backflip?”

Instead of responding, he steps back, bends his knees, and executes a perfect backflip. It looks effortless. Like he was born doing backflips. Like he backflipped out of the womb. He straightens and folds his arms again.

“Jump to the X, please.”

Asshole.

There’s no way this is the right way to do this. Anyone who knows anything about teaching knows that just because you can do something, doesn’t mean the way you learned it is the way everyone learns it. One hour of trying to get Malick Dawson to understand the difference between true and apparent wind will tell you that.

“Can you give me some kind of direction? Do I close my eyes? Or something?”

“I generally find it’s better to keep your eyes open when you’re trying to do pretty much anything,” Johnny replies.

Breathing down my irritation, I put my gaze on the X. We’re here to bring in the Exiters. We’re all just doing our jobs. There are more important things happening in the world than me and Johnny arguing.

I stare at the tape. Jump to the X. Jump to the X. Just focus on the spot and jump to the X.

Nothing happens.

I feel like I remember Bird telling me something about this. Something Rav taught her in therapy, when she was first learning how to do this. What did she call it? Playing the tape forward—something like that. Imagining herself doing a thing before she did it. Picturing herself in the moments right after it happened. It was supposed to teach her to think about the consequences of her actions and stop her from making reckless decisions, but it also turned out to be a pretty effective way of teaching herself to jump.

If her actions in the last two weeks are any indication, it seems like it didn’t do much to stop her making reckless decisions.

I try to picture myself standing on the X. Nothing happens. I squint harder and try to imagine what it would feel like to teleport by myself. But I have no idea what that would feel like. I know what it feels like to teleport using a launchpad, or to jump somewhere with Bird, but who’s to say if that feels the same at all? How am I supposed to imagine myself doing something when I have no concept of what it will be like? How am I supposed to get somewhere when I have zero idea what the path is?

“Open your eyes, Paz,” says Johnny.

I open my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. “This isn’t working.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Day One. Honestly, it would be very surprising if it did work today.”

I sigh. “So what are we even doing here?”

“Putting in the work. You won’t get to Day Seven if you don’t do Day One.”

“Spare me the motivational quotes, please.” He looks annoyed and I force myself to take a breath. “Maybe it would help if I see you do it.”

Uncrossing his arms, he does a big, stupid flourish, and disappears. Before my brain has even absorbed that he’s gone, he re-appears on the X in front of me. “How was that?”

“Super helpful. Thanks.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want from me. How is watching me do it supposed to help you?”

“I don’t know, Johnny!” My carefully tempered irritation starts to boil over. “But so far you’ve given me exactly zero actual instruction on how to do this, so I’m just trying to work with what I’ve got.”

“I told you, there isn’t any way to teach this. You just have to do it!”

“No, that’s how you did it! Just because you did it, doesn’t mean everyone can.”

“Of course it does.”

I drag my hand down my face. “What are you thinking about when you do it? How do you make it happen?”

“I’m not thinking about anything! I just picture the place, and I go there. I really don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Great. Awesome. Well this has been really informative, thank you so much. I hope you’re better at teaching self-defense than you are at teaching this because if you’re not, then I am super dead.”

“I’m perfectly capable of teaching both things, thanks.”

“No, actually, you really suck.”

He clenches his fist, and for a second I’m sure he’s going to hit me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says, very quietly, “You know what, Virginia Hall? You’re the flogging teacher. Why don’t you teach yourself?”

And walks out of the room.

____________________

I don’t see him again until he, Paradi, Dominie and I meet that afternoon. Paradi and Dominie want an update on how the morning went. It must be immediately apparent from our surly, tense silence that it did not go well.

Paradi restrains an exasperated sigh and clasps her hands on the table. Dominie, who is glaring at Johnny, says, “If you can’t get along, we can always find someone else to teach Paz how to do this.”

“Oh yeah?” Johnny looks at her. “Like who? Who apart from me and Howsley has figured out how to do this without the aid of a launchpad?”

“No one,” she replies, icily, “because no one was authorized to get the new prototypes installed. You went behind—”

Paradi lifts a hand. “We’re aware of what he did. We don’t need to rehash this argument.” She sighs. “It’s only the first day. I’m sure it’ll take a day or two for them to find their feet. What have you been able to find out from the Exiters we apprehended yesterday?”

Dominie peels her angry glare off Johnny and taps her biochip. “Not much. The security we had at the gate was too light. By the time backup from the streets arrived, most of them had gotten away.”

Johnny scoffs and folds his arms. “Whose fault is that?”

Dominie glares. “We weren’t expecting them to hold another demonstration here. The peace force is stretched thin and we thought it was more prudent to have them down in the streets, where they can protect citizens.”

“Did you manage to get anything?”

She sighs. “The ones we did manage to take into custody are fringe. They’re not part of the core group that has gone into hiding—many of them had never even been to a rally before.”

“Great, so they’re attracting new members.” Johnny rubs his chin. “Have you had the peace force go door to door? Talked to relatives of known members?”

“Yes, of course we’ve done that,” Dominie says, rather sharply. “Here and in Pocosín. But like I said, we’re stretched thin. The few people we’ve been able to track down have been either uninformed or uncooperative. Many of them are simply friends of friends who don’t have any real connection to the organization. And we can’t force people to tell us anything. If we don’t have evidence that they’ve done anything wrong—no connection to the bombings or even to demonstrations—we can’t take them into custody. This isn’t a regime.”

“Seriously? You locked down the entire city. How is that not a regime?”

“There’s a difference between keeping people safe and interrogating them without due cause.”

“I’m aware.” They glare at each other.

“We are doing our best,” says Dominie, “with what we have.”

Johnny tuts and sits back in his chair.

Dominie eyes him. “Sorry—did you have something to say about that?”

“Just that if this was up to me, this would be going a lot faster.”

The air between him and Dominie goes very still. I keep my eyes on my slate on the table in front of me.

“If things were left up to you, we’d still be sitting in prison in Brume Two, awaiting execution by the High Council,” says Dominie.

“That’s not even true!” Johnny says. “I got us out of that prison.”

“You also got us into it.”

“Paz got us into it when he failed to follow orders.”

“Don’t blame Sargo for your terrible call. How was he supposed to know you had legitimate reasons for lying to the Council?”

“He wasn’t! It was an order. He was supposed to follow it. That’s what you do with orders—you don’t question them, you just follow.”

“Okay, well how about this?” says Dominie. “I’m ordering you to shut your mouth and stop questioning my leadership. I’m running this operation.”

I can’t help my eyebrows lifting as I sneak a glance at Johnny. His jaw is rigid. Paradi clears her throat and sits up. “Are we finished?”

“With Johnny? Yes.” Dominie adjusts her spex.

“What about Neb and Kcaj?” asks Paradi.

“We think they’re moving,” Dominie replies. “Jumping between Parallels and staying one step ahead of us. All our sources in other dimensions claim to have seen both Neb and Kcaj at some time or another, but by the time we get to wherever they’re alleged to be holed up, they’ve moved on. Which suggests that Kcaj is becoming more proficient with QMTP, and may even be moving Neb on his own, without Howsley’s help.” She turns to me. “When was the last time you heard from Howsley?”

I blink at the abrupt question and sit up. “Yesterday. She came to Panga after the rally.”

“She came to Panga? Of her own accord?” Dominie sits forward. “What did she want?”

“She was stealing dog food. She asked about the rally. She heard Johnny had shot someone. She asked me what I was doing at Zenith.”

“What did you tell her?”

“To mind her own business.”

Dominie nods and inputs something into her biochip. “Okay. Okay, this is good.”

“How is this good?”

“My guess is she wasn’t actually there for dog food. I think she was there to check up on you. I think she was worried about you. Which is good for us. It means I was right, and using you to draw her out will probably work.” She sits back. “Shenanigans is a good lever. If you contacted Bird out of the blue, it might look suspicious. But if you contacted her and told her you want to meet up and see Shanny, she might be more receptive.”

“And then what?”

“And then you work your charm, Sailor,” Johnny interrupts. “Do whatever you did last time that made her go all gooey for you.”

“So, flee the city together, cross the Salt, get kidnapped by pirates, bring down a biotech corporation. Got it.”

He shakes his head and looks out the window.

“I’m not saying this is our only course of action, but it’s another angle,” says Dominie. “We will of course continue to try and locate the Exiters ourselves, but if we don’t make progress, we may need you to start working on Bird. We can use Shanny as an excuse to set up the first meeting or two. Then you can work up to getting your foot in the door with the Exiters. Like it was an idea that grew organically from hanging out with her.”

I nod, swallowing. Dominie clears the projection above the table. She eyes Johnny again. “Are we going to have more problems with training this afternoon?” He shakes his head, glaring at me. “Great.” Dominie shoves her chair back from the table and stands. Johnny does the same and stalks out of the room without another word. I hear Dominie stop him in the corridor, and an angry, muttered exchange.

Paradi stops me on my way out. “Tell me I haven’t made a mistake,” she says quietly, positioning herself between me and the door.

“You haven’t.”

“I know Johnny is a pain in the ass. He wasn’t my first choice for this job, but he was adamant about being the one to train you, for some reason. He went behind my back to get a new chip implanted and taught himself how to use it in less than a week. I would have fired him, but we haven’t actually been able to bring anyone else up to speed that quickly.”

“Yeah, well, he’s dedicated to his job,” I say, bitterly. “He was just trying to make himself indispensable to the team.”

“Right. But I need you to be the voice of reason between the two of you.”

“Why do I have to be the voice of reason?”

“Because that’s who you are. I know you’re going through a lot. We’re all going through a lot. But I need sensible, level-headed Sargo Paz to be the one that shows up in that training room. Please.”

I walk back to the gym in a vicious, muttering rage. Because that’s who you are. The sensible young man cleaning up Bird’s messes. Putting up with Johnny’s shit. That is what people expect from me. I should have spent my entire life screwing up and being an asshole, because that’s the only way people will let you get away with that kind of behavior. You have to train them to expect it from you. That’s where I went wrong.

I slam my hand against the scanner and step into the gym. Johnny leans against a weight rack, watching, as I cross to the red crash mat, stand in the center of it, and give him a big, toothy smile.

“Alrighty. Here I am. Ready to learn.”

He returns the big, fake smile and makes a show of calmly getting up and coming over. “Maybe we should forget about QMTP for now.”

I fold my arms. “Great.”

“Maybe we should move on to combat training.”

“Sounds good.”

“And basic conditioning.”

“Whatever you say.”

A pause. “Great.”

“Great!”

“Great.”

I glare at the back of his head as he turns and stalks back to the weight rack, removes two large dumbbells and brings them over. He sets them on the floor at my feet. “I need to see what kind of shape you’re in before I can figure out where to start. Pick those up.”

I pick them up. They’re heavy but not impossible. Holding them at my sides, I raise my eyebrows. “Now what?”

“Lift them over your head.” I do. His eyes narrow. “Alright. Put them down. Have you ever done a push up?”

“Have I ever done a push up? What kind of question is that?”

“Well, have you?”

“Of course.”

“When?”

“I mean…” I scowl. “Not for a while.”

He steps back and folds his arms. “Show me ten.”

I continue to scowl at him as I get down on the floor. This feels less like a physical fitness evaluation and more like Johnny toying with me for his own amusement. Ten push ups turns out to be pretty easy. I stand and face him again. He looks annoyed.

“Fine.” His eyes flick over my shoulder. “Can you climb that?”

I evaluate the rope hanging from the ceiling in the corner behind me. About thirty feet from where the end of it touches the floor to where the other end is attached to the ceiling. A small bell hangs next to it at the top. “Probably.”

“Great. Let’s see.”

I walk to the rope and wrap my hands around it just above my head, one on top of the other. Wrap the rope around one calf and under my foot, then shimmy the other foot underneath beside it. I haven’t done this in a while, but this is how we teach kids to climb a rope for the sailing evaluation everyone does when they turn eighteen. It’s how I learned to climb a rope before my evaluation. That was four years ago, but I still use the principles any time I have to climb Panga’s mast to take care of the rigging. Usually it’s in a safety harness, but I guess that doesn’t matter here. Pinching the rope between my feet, I start to climb.

It takes me a while to get to the top. My arms are shaking and sweat is running down my spine by the time I get there. I reach up with one hand and tug the clapper on the bell, then unwind my feet and shimmy back down. Six feet from the ground I let go and drop, bending my knees to soften the landing. When I straighten up and face him again, Johnny is looking daggers at me.

“So you’re in decent shape,” he says.

“Yeah. From sailing. Actual work. Not dumb little dance routines set to music in a gym—”

His fist is in the middle of my stomach. I feel my whole torso collapsing as the wind goes out of me and I sink to one knee. I shoot out a hand to brace myself and Johnny grabs it by the wrist.

He lowers his face to mine and turns his ear toward me. “Sorry, Nancy Wake, what was that?”

All I can do is try to haul air back into my deflating lungs.

“Because it sounded to me like you were about to say—again—that you have nothing to learn from me. But if that was the case, surely you would have been able to defend yourself against a hit like that? Surely I shouldn’t be able to put you on your knees so easily.”

“You’re an asshole,” I gasp.

He releases my wrist and shoves me onto the floor. I roll onto my back, clutching my stomach as he steps over me.

“Takes one to know one, Paz,” he says, and walks out of the room.

chapter

five

THE NEXT SEVEN days go about as well as Day One did. QMTP practice every morning—Johnny remains convinced that there should be nothing more to it than just doing it—and in the afternoons we work on conditioning and combat, which feels more like an excuse for Johnny to pummel me than it does actual training.

I limp back to Panga every night bruised and exhausted and wake up every morning aching. Every time I walk past the bomb site at the front of Zenith headquarters, I think about Electra. Every time I pass the fountain, I remember the day we sat there. Every morning when I get to the training room, the first thing Johnny asks me is what I had for breakfast, and by Day Three, I’m showing him my teeth as I report that, nope, I did not eat eggs this morning, again.

Combat training goes better than QMTP does, but only because it becomes immediately apparent that if I want to get through a session without bleeding, I’ll need to come up to speed quickly. I find myself dodging more hits than I’m taking by the end of the fifth day. It’s not clear whether Johnny is pleased with this progress or annoyed by it. When I manage to land a fist in the side of his face on Day Six, he retaliates by flying completely off the handle and putting me on my back, then pulling me to my feet with a brusque, “Nice job.”

Dominie keeps nudging me to get in touch with Bird, so I send a message to her on the morning of Day Three. I lie on my back on the bunk in the early morning dark, staring at the ceiling in the sleeping berth, trying to think of something to say to her. I type and delete and re-type the message over and over and over, but everything sounds wrong. Finally, I go with

>>> HOW IS SHANNY DOING?

Predictably, she doesn’t respond.

By the end of the eighth day, Johnny is noticeably quiet and preoccupied when I show up for training in the morning. I think I know why: I should be getting the hang of QMTP by now, but I’ve made no progress. I’ve practiced on my own, I’ve practiced with Johnny, I’ve even tried standing on a deactivated launchpad and jumping from there, but nothing seems to work. I’ve been back to the lab and the techs have examined my new chip for malfunctions. Every morning has become more and more fraught as I struggle to make anything happen and Johnny fails to conceal his frustration.

“Okay, just stop.” He throws up his hands on the morning of Day Nine and retreats to the weight rack to lean against it and glare at me. “Just stop. What is going on? Why is this so hard for you?”

“I don’t know, could it be because the guy teaching me how to do it has no idea what he’s doing?”

He disappears and suddenly his face is two inches from mine. “Obviously I have some idea what I’m doing, Paz.” He disappears and reappears on the other side of the room. “Otherwise…” He punctuates each of the next statements by disappearing and reappearing in a new place. “I wouldn’t…be able…to do this…would I?” This final question is delivered from the top of the climbing rope, where he is hanging by one arm. He rings the bell, aggressively and for too long, then disappears and pops up in front of me again.

I work hard to keep my voice even. “I don’t know how many times I can say this to you, but being able to do a thing and being able to teach someone else how to do it are not the same.”

He growls in exasperation and rubs his face with both hands.

“Look, people learn at different speeds. Maybe it’s just going to take me longer.”

He shakes his head. “But you should have gotten somewhere by now.”

“How do you know? How many other people have you failed to teach this to?”

He shoots me a look. “What are you thinking about when you’re doing it? Walk me through it.”

I sigh and close my eyes. We’ve had this conversation so many times in the last nine days that I’m running out of ways to explain it. “I think I’m starting to feel something. When I picture myself on the X, I can start to feel something happening.”

“And it feels like pins and needles.”

“Yes.”

He nods. “Okay, well that’s right.”

“But then it just…it’s not right. I feel like something is about to happen, but it’s not what I’m trying to make happen. I can feel, like, something pulling me, but it’s not pulling toward the X. It’s pulling in all directions. Like it’s going to rip me into pieces.”

“And then what happens?”

“And then it just stops.”

He folds his arms and stares at the floor between us like he’s thinking deeply.

“I mean, you agree that’s not right, don’t you?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. That wasn’t how it was for me, but like you keep saying, maybe it’s different for different people. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to feel for you.”

“Maybe it’s supposed to tear me to pieces?”

“How can you be sure it’s not right if you have no idea how it’s supposed to feel?”

I grit my teeth. “I know when something is not right inside my own body.”

He puts up his hands again and retreats to the corner. “Alright. Well then I don’t know what to do. Maybe we just forget it. Maybe you don’t figure it out. Maybe knowing some basic self-defense is enough.”

I watch him go. “Do you actually believe that?”

He doesn’t respond.

____________________

A message alert pings me out of a sullen thought spiral later that evening while I’m sitting on the end of the breakwater watching the sun sink into the Salt, a cup of cold tea untouched in my hands. My heart spikes and I tap my temple and swipe open the message, but it’s not Bird.

>>> DID YOU HEAR FROM SAVAGE YET?

Fetch. I’ve never once heard her call Savage Dad. I set down my tea to reply.

>>> I DID. THANKS FOR THAT BY THE WAY. JUST THE PERSON I WANTED TO HEAR FROM.

>>> SORRY. I DIDN’T KNOW WHO ELSE TO REACH OUT TO. DON’T KNOW MANY PEOPLE IN BRUME.

>>> IT’S FINE. I GUESS I WAS SURPRISED YOU’RE EVEN SPEAKING TO HIM.

She doesn’t reply for a while. I watch the cursor blink as she types, pause as she stops, then blink again.

>>> HE’S AN ASSHOLE BUT HE’S STILL MY FAMILY. AND IT SEEMS LIKE HE IS ACTUALLY MAKING AN EFFORT SINCE Z-DAY.

Another long pause.

>>> AND TO BE HONEST I’M TOO FLOGGING TIRED TO HOLD GRUDGES ANYMORE. IT FEELS LIKE SUCH A WASTE OF EFFORT, YOU KNOW?

I guess I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever drop my grudge against Savage. She sends another message.

>>> AFTER ELECTRA’S FUNERAL, L AND I DID A LOT OF TALKING. LIFE IS SHORT. PEOPLE DIE. IT DOESN’T FEEL WORTH IT TO BE ANGRY.

>>> THOSE SOUND LIKE LOCUAZ’S WORDS.

>>> THEY ARE.

I sigh and turn my gaze back out to where the sun has just disappeared into the fog. The air is turning chilly and the pink and gold wash of the sky is fading to gray. I send another message.

>>> ANYWAY, IT’S ALL MOOT. I COULDN’T HELP SAVAGE EVEN IF I WANTED TO. BRUME IS LOCKED DOWN. I CAN’T EVEN GET TO THE STORE TO PICK UP THE PART HE NEEDS.

>>> POCOSÍN IS THE SAME. L AND I ARE STUCK ON ÎLE TOR WAITING FOR THE CITY TO OPEN UP AGAIN.

>>> I CAN THINK OF WORSE PLACES TO BE STUCK.

>>> YEAH, IT’S NOT SO BAD. Another pause, then she sends, HOW ARE YOU DOING?

I go with the boring lie again.

>>> FINE.

>>> THAT SOUNDS LIKE A LIE.

I can’t help smiling. There is no way to bullshit Fetch. At least, there’s no way I’ve ever been able to. Bird did it pretty easily.

My chest squeezes. I push Bird’s face out of my head.

>>> SO HOW ARE YOU ACTUALLY DOING? sends Fetch.

The only alternative to the boring lie is way too much information. I send Fetch a wall of text explaining the assignment I’m supposed to be doing for Zenith, the training with Johnny. She doesn’t send anything back for a while and I sip my cold tea and stare at the Salt while I wait. Finally she replies,

>>> YOU’RE SURE IT’S NOT JUST YOUR FEELINGS FOR JOHNNY THAT ARE GETTING IN THE WAY OF TRAINING?

>>> WHY WOULD MY FEELINGS ABOUT THAT HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH WHETHER OR NOT I CAN TELEPORT?

>>> WELL

Her next thoughts come slowly, one at a time.

>>> FROM WHAT I GATHERED ABOUT HOW QMTP WORKS, IT’S GOT A LOT TO DO WITH YOUR MENTAL STATE

>>> AND IT SOUNDS LIKE YOUR MENTAL STATE IS KIND OF A MESS

>>> AND FROM WHAT I’VE GATHERED FROM YOU, YOU DON’T LIKE A MESS

>>> SO IT DOESN’T SEEM TOO FAR-FETCHED TO THINK THAT MAYBE THAT’S CAUSING A PROBLEM

I stare at her words. God damn her frank, spot-on, Little Sister assessment. But she isn’t even done.

>>> YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I THINK? SHE SENDS. I THINK YOUR FEELINGS FOR JOHNNY HAVE EVERYTHING TO DO WITH WHY YOU CAN’T TELEPORT. THOSE ARE BIG FEELINGS. AND IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU’VE DONE NOTHING TO ADDRESS THEM.

>>> I TRIED. JOHNNY WAS UNRECEPTIVE TO ADULT CONVERSATION

>>> I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT TALKING TO JOHNNY. I’M TALKING ABOUT FIGURING OUT YOUR OWN SHIT. YOU SPENT LIKE TWELVE YEARS PRETENDING A WHOLE PART OF YOURSELF DIDN’T EXIST. AND NOW YOU’RE ACKNOWLEDGING THAT PART AND PUTTING IT OUT IN THE WORLD. THAT’S HUGE. HOW MUCH THOUGHT HAVE YOU GIVEN TO THAT?

I scratch my stubble.

>>> YEAH, OKAY, NONE

>>> EXACTLY. AND HOW ARE YOU DEALING WITH YOUR FEELINGS FOR BIRD?

>>> I’M NOT.

>>> SO DON’T GO PUTTING THIS ALL ON JOHNNY. IT’S YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO FIGURE OUT HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT YOU BEFORE YOU TRY AND FIGURE OUT HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT SOMEONE ELSE.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again.

>>> SO HOW DO I DO THAT?

>>> DON’T ASK ME. I THINK THAT’S SOMETHING YOU JUST HAVE TO FIGURE OUT.

>> GREAT. THANKS. SUPER HELPFUL.

A long pause. Then she types. Deletes. Types again.

>>> I GUESS I CAN ONLY TELL YOU THAT WHEN I CAME OUT, IT WAS SCARY. AND CONFUSING. THERE WERE A LOT OF DIFFICULT FEELINGS TO NAVIGATE. BUT IT DEFINITELY DIDN’T HELP FOR ME TO IGNORE THOSE FEELINGS. YOU HAVE TO FEEL YOUR FEELINGS.

I frown at the cursor as it blinks. It blinks for a long time. Then she sends,

>>> FIGURING THIS STUFF OUT IS KIND OF LIKE SAILING UPWIND. IT’S LIKE SAILING UPWIND WHEN EVERYONE ELSE YOU KNOW IS SAILING DOWNWIND. AN UPWIND PASSAGE IS HARDER. ON AN UPWIND PASSAGE, YOU CAN’T GO RIGHT WHERE YOU WANT TO GO. YOU HAVE TO TACK, AND SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO CHANGE COURSE, AND YOU KIND OF JUST HAVE TO BE OKAY WITH THAT. BECAUSE THE MORE YOU FIGHT IT, THE HARDER IT IS.

>>> SPARE ME THE SAILING ANALOGIES.

>>> OH, SO SORRY. I FIGURED MR. ‘AS THE SALT SO THE SAILOR’ WOULD APPRECIATE A GOOD SAILING ANALOGY.

>>> FINE. AND I SUPPOSE YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME THAT I’LL BE A BETTER PERSON FOR ALL THIS UPWIND PASSAGE-MAKING I’M DOING.

>>> NOT NECESSARILY. IT’S JUST SOMETHING YOU HAVE TO DO BECAUSE IT’S WHO YOU ARE.

I turn my gaze back out to the Salt, where dark is falling and the water is slate gray. A sliver of blood red moon has just risen over the fog bank on the horizon and hangs in the sky like a paper sun.

>>> RIGHT NOW, IT SOUNDS TO ME LIKE YOU’RE FIGHTING A LOT OF THINGS, SHE SENDS. IT MIGHT BE EASIER IF YOU DIDN’T.

>>> I HAVE TO FEEL MY FEELINGS.

>>> EXACTLY.

____________________

A message from Bird comes through as I’m walking into Zenith two days later for a check-in with Paradi and Dominie. I freeze in the hallway outside the meeting room with my hand halfway to the palm scanner. Dominie, who was filing in behind me, runs into me and gives me a confused look as I turn around.

“It’s Bird.”

Her eyes go wide. She nods and steps back as I swipe open the message.

>>> SHANNY IS FINE.

That’s it. After five days. I stand there staring at the three frustratingly insufficient words as a hard, painful bubble of fury and disappointment and I don’t even know what else fills my chest. I realize Dominie is still watching me and swipe the message closed.

“Apparently Shanny is fine.”

She says nothing as I turn and walk into the meeting room.

I barely hear whatever Dominie and Johnny are arguing about during today’s check-in. The wall on the other side of the room blurs and disappears as I stare through it, angry thoughts banging into each other inside my head. My girlfriend blew up a school and stole my flogging dog. She killed my best friend. She hasn’t apologized. She won’t even talk to me.

“—made no progress whatsoever!” I hear Dominie exclaim. I blink and look at her. She’s glaring at Johnny, who has his arms folded and is glaring right back.

“It’s not my fault. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I don’t know why he can’t just make it happen.”

“This was a mistake.” Dominie turns to Paradi in exasperation. “Johnny can’t teach him how to do this. We need a professional.”

“A professional what?” Johnny spits back. “It’s not like I had anyone teaching me how to do it. It’s not like Howsley had anyone helping her.”

Dominie rubs her eyes behind her spex and launches another volley of angry words at him, but I don’t hear them. Because what Johnny just said has knocked something loose in a deep, half-buried corner of my brain and I can feel it rattling slowly to the surface. It’s not like Howsley had anyone helping her.

I shake my gaze off the wall and look around the table. “Bird did have someone helping her.”

Dominie’s mouth sticks open halfway through a word and the room goes silent.

“Bird had a teacher,” I repeat. “She had Rav.”

____________________

Rav’s house is across town—over Fisherman’s Bridge and halfway up the hill on the other side of the bay. The morning sun touches this part of Brume earlier than it does the other side of town, and the feeling of it on the back of my neck as I stand on Rav’s doorstep is unexpectedly uplifting.

The sound of soft shoes on a wood floor tells me someone is approaching on the other side of the door, and then it swings open to reveal a middle-aged woman with a lavender scarf pulled across the lower half of her face. Her hair is cut short and speckled with gray, and her eyes behind a pair of blue-rimmed spex are mildly suspicious. She doesn’t recognize me. There’s no reason she should—as much as I’ve heard about her from Bird, I have no idea how much Bird ever told her about me.

It’s been a while since I saw someone covering their face with a mask or scarf. When Paradi and Electra took over Zenith after Z-Day, they relaxed that particular regulation. It’s been more than twenty years since the pandemic. It’s probably safe to do away with the masks. But old habits die hard for some people, I guess—especially those who lived through it.

I dig in my back pocket for a bandana, but it’s been so long since I wore one I don’t even have it on me. Stepping back, I pull the collar of my shirt over my nose and awkwardly address her through it.

“Hi. Uh—you probably don’t know me, but you used to work with my girlfriend. She came to you for counseling. Bird Howsley.” Rav closes her eyes and sighs. “I guess you saw what happened at Azimuth Hall.” She nods. “I’m here because—I think I was hoping you might be able to help.”

Her eyes are deeply pained as they study me over the top of the scarf. Then she nods again and steps back, opening the door.

The house smells overwhelmingly of incense. I keep my collar up as I follow Rav to a small living room, where a battered couch and a high-backed leather armchair are arranged on either side of a squat wooden table. She indicates the couch, and as I sit, she tugs down her scarf and stands with her hands on the back of the armchair opposite me.

“Shall I make some tea?”

The tea is peppermint and scalding hot. I sip it as Rav sits in the leather chair and arranges her scarf around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a mask.”

“Oh—” She waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. An old habit.” She picks up her tea. “I saw Bird’s picture in the broadcasts. I just can’t believe it. I just can’t—” She shakes her head. Sips her tea. “I just can’t believe it.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you heard from her?”

“No. Not really.”

She nods, studying me. “I did wonder if you might come to see me. But I feel I should tell you, I don’t know if I’m the best person to counsel you, given the relationship I already have with Bird. I’m not sure—I’m not sure I could remain objective. Unfortunately, I’m the only therapist in the city, so…I’m not sure what we should do about this.”

“I’m not here for that.”

Her brows lift. “Oh?”

“I need you to tell me how Bird figured out QMTP. You helped her, right? You know how she did it.”

She sighs deeply and sets down her tea. Her gaze sticks on the mug like she’s looking for the answer in there. “Yes. I did help her. Getting control of the blips was a big part of what we did together.” She removes her spex and rubs her eyes. “But I’m really not able to discuss specifics of what I do with my patients. It would be a serious breach of client confidentiality. Why do you need to know?”

I sink back into the couch. Explain the last ten days. The assignment I agreed to. The difficulty with training. The impossibility of Johnny’s obtuse advice. Rav picks up a corner of her scarf and polishes her spex while she listens. When I finish, she puts them back on and clasps her hands in her lap.

“It sounds to me like your issue isn’t so much gaining control of QMTP as it is making it happen at all. That’s not how it was for Bird. She was struggling because she was jumping all the time—at random, without any control. It sounds like your issue is different.”

I frown. “I guess that’s true.”

“What I helped Bird with was learning to focus her thoughts and channel her feelings. It was all tied into her therapy. And of course, getting sober helped. And medication.”

“Okay, well I don’t have a drinking habit to kick or a mental health issue to address. There must be something else to it?”

She shakes her head. “I’m no expert. I’m afraid I don’t know how QMTP interacts with different brains. You’re looking at a sample size of one, here. The only experience I have is with Bird.”

I rub my face with both hands and send my gaze through the window. Rav’s eyes burn into the side of my head as she continues to watch me, then she picks up her tea and says, “It must be very difficult for you. What you’re having to do.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m sure you have a lot of feelings about what Bird did.” She sips her tea, and I get the feeling she’s waiting for me to say something else. I know this game. This is the game I play with Bird to make her become so uncomfortable she fills the space with words. I turn my gaze back to her.

“I didn’t come here to be counseled.”

“Of course not.”

The silence continues until I pick up my tea, drain the last of it, set down the empty mug, and stand.

Rav watches me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“It’s fine.” I offer my hand and she stands to shake it. “Thank you for the tea.”

I’m stepping onto the doorstep when Rav’s voice from the other room stops me. “You know, there was one other thing.” She hurries around the corner from the living room, her eyes bright. “Before Bird came to me, there had been one time she was able to control a jump on her own. When she told me about it, we determined that it was strong feelings about the place she was jumping to that made it work.”

“Strong feelings?”

“Yes. In fact, it was that same day that she jumped for the first time here.” She turns and leads me back to the living room. “She was trying to jump to this rug,” she indicates a shabby red rug under the table in the middle of the room, “and nothing was happening. We took a break and I asked her to tell me about the time she’d been able to do it before. We had the epiphany that it was her strong desire to get somewhere that made it work. This rug,” she waves at it again, “meant nothing to her. But when I asked her to visualize a place that did mean something—a place she had strong feelings for—she was able to do it. She disappeared, right there, in the middle of this room.”

“Do you know where the place was?”

Rav shakes her head. “I didn’t ask. It felt too personal. But I don’t think it was the place that mattered necessarily. It was her strong feelings about it that made it happen.”

My heart is beating fast. I remember something. Bird telling me that Dr. Lysett in Grike thought QMTP was triggered by stress, or fear. Those creepy tests they made her do.

“Strong feelings like what?” I ask.

Rav shakes her head. “I can’t tell you that: again, I didn’t ask. But maybe accessing some of those feelings yourself might help you?” She hesitates. “Your feelings about Bird, for example. About what you’re being asked to do. Have you explored that?”

I look at her sharply. “I told you I didn’t come here to be counseled.”

“You asked for my help. There it is.”

I sigh. “You’re telling me to feel my feelings?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No. It’s just not the first time I’ve heard that advice today.”

“Mm. Well whoever told you that must be very wise.”

“I think she’d be pretty offended if she heard you call her that.”

I turn my gaze to the window again. The sun is turning the bay into a blanket of glittering blue light. It’s clear enough that I can see all the way to the horizon. To the edge of the world that Bird and I went over together last year.

“I don’t know what my feelings are about Bird.”

Rav purses her lips and studies me for a long moment. Then says, “I didn’t say they had to be good feelings.”

chapter

six

JOHNNY IS SITTING on a weight bench with a thermos of brew in his hand when I arrive at the gym the following morning. He looks tired and doesn’t even bother to get up as I come in.

“Wasn’t even sure you were going to come,” he says.

I step into the middle of the red crash mat that has become my personal circle of Hell and say nothing. He lies down on the bench, folding his hands on his chest and closing his eyes.

“Wake me up when something happens.”

A familiar feeling of frustration begins to creep from my gut and I close my eyes and take a deep breath to push it down.

And a voice in my head says, Why?

Fetch is right. Rav is right. I am fighting things. I’m fighting this angry feeling. Why? Why am I fighting it? Why am I letting Johnny push me around? Why am I accepting his bullshit? Because we all just need to be doing our jobs? Because I’m the sensible, level-headed young man with a good head on his shoulders? The voice of reason? Screw that. I don’t want to be the voice of reason. I don’t want to be the polite young man. I want to be the angry, sulky asshole who screws things up and makes a mess.

I glare at that little white X. As if I could send all this rage directly into that X and into another dimension and rid myself of it entirely.

Rav and Fetch want me to feel my feelings? Fine. Here we go.

How am I supposed to feel when, after twelve years, the very first person I showed this new part of myself to rejected me? How am I supposed to feel when the guy who kissed me won’t even acknowledge that he did it? After twelve years of hiding I finally knocked down the wall and stepped into the light and the first person I saw on the other side of that wall is pretending like he doesn’t see me. And the second person I saw on the other side of that wall was Bird. Who was so freaked out by what she saw that she ran away and blew up a flogging school. Killed Electra. Killed my best friend. Threw the whole world into chaos and stole my dog and has the nerve to send me a message that says Shanny is fine.

I can feel the pins and needles feeling of QMTP prickling me. The unsettling, creepy feeling that something weird and wrong is about to happen. I hate that feeling. It makes me want to tear off my own skin.

Johnny tilts his head toward me. “How’s it going over there, Krystyna Skarbeck?”

Something inside me ignites.

The feeling that something is about to rip me to shreds overwhelms me like a tidal wave. I don’t even care. I hope it does. I hope it shreds me into ribbons and delivers me to the four corners of oblivion. I hope it turns me to dust and scatters me across the Salt like we scattered my best friend’s ashes and watched them dissolve into nothing and float away.

I squeeze my hands into fists. “You know what, Johnny? Why don’t you—”

____________________

Light.

Light so acute and intense I can hear it. Smell it. Taste it. It’s everywhere. Like a bomb went off inside my chest and I’m exploding in slow motion. Pieces of me scattering like fragments of the stars.

I’ve been light before. I’ve jumped with Bird. I’ve used the launchpads. It always made me nauseous.

This is not like that. This is bigger. Brighter. More infinite.

Can something be more infinite than infinite?

I can’t feel my face. Or my hands. Or my feelings. I think I’m spinning, but that can’t be possible, because in order to spin, I would have to be. And right now, I am not.

I am more infinite than infinite.

I am nothing.

____________________

The world comes roaring back into my peripherals. A lungful of air hits me like a sack of rocks to the chest. My ears are screaming. My skin feels like it’s on fire.

The solid ground beneath my feet buckles my knees and I blindly stagger sideways and catch myself on something hard. A wall. Splotches of form and figure return as the world reassembles around me. A street. I’m on the street. A quiet street. Small—an alley. There’s no one around, thank gods. Trash and grime and tall buildings close on either side of me. As the screaming in my ears subsides, I pick up the distant sound of waves. A gull crying somewhere. I can smell the Salt. I recognize this street, actually. It’s somewhere in the Flats. I’m still in Brume.

A figure turns the corner at the end of the alley and my stomach heaves. It’s Bird. Unmistakable. Her hair covered by that old gray beanie she always used to wear. That hoodie with the holes in the elbows that she refused to throw away, even after weeks of sailing rendered it basically a rag.

She sees me and stops dead. We stare at each other from fifteen feet away. “What are you doing here?” she says.

I take a breath and try not to look like a person who just teleported for the first time and doesn’t know where he is. She can’t know I jumped here. She can’t know I have the new chip.

“I was looking for you. I got tired of waiting for a response to my message about Shanny and figured I’d hunt you down and see for myself.”

“I sent you a message about Shanny.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

She adjusts her stance. “The city is under lockdown. It’s illegal for you to be out.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to stand there and lecture me on what’s legal.”

“Just seems like risky behavior. Especially from you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She folds her arms. “You know what it means.”

“Right. I’m not supposed to be breaking rules. Only you get to do that.”

“You don’t like breaking rules, Sargo. It’s not who you are. You don’t want to be—”

“You don’t know what I want. You have no idea what I want.”

“I have some.”

I grit my teeth. “I want my dog back.”

“He’s not your dog.”

“Please.” I can feel the rage inside me turning to exasperated despair. I feel like I might hit her. I feel like I might cry. “Why are you doing this?”

She hesitates, and something other than bitter animosity flashes through her eyes. A spark jumps between us. A mutual anguish. A shared pain.

“Why did you help them blow up that building?”

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispers.

“That’s not good enough.”

“I know. But I don’t know what else to say.”

“You could say you’re sorry.”

“I am sorry.”

“You could bring Shanny back.”

She shakes her head.

“Why not?”

Her eyes rim with tears. “Because then I would be alone.”

A knife twists in my heart. “I’m alone.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

I just look at her helplessly. She’s right: that sorry isn’t enough. But in spite of everything, she looks so lost and sad and scared and small that I just want to put my arms around her and cry.

She drags the back of her arm across her face. “I have to go.”

“No you don’t. Where are you going?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.” She steps around me and I find myself grabbing her arm.

“Please just wait. Can I see you again? Can we talk?”

Digging tears out of her eyes with the heel of one hand, she catches her breath. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“When?”

She looks up and down the alley like she’s afraid someone might see us. “I don’t know. I can’t just meet you. You can’t just show up like this.”

“But you can show up whenever you like and take whatever you want?”

“I didn’t—” She shrugs her arm out of my grip with a huff. “I’ll send you a message. Okay?”

“When?”

She steps back. “Soon.” And disappears.

I stare at the spot where she stood, dimly aware that I’m doing exactly what Dominie asked me to do. I’m drawing Bird out. But it doesn’t feel like that. I’m not playing her or trying to entrap her. I just need to see her again. I need to understand why she did this.

____________________

When I come back together and appear out of the light, I’m on my back and the ceiling is far above me. Someone is shaking my arm and saying, “Open your eyes, Paz.”

“They’re open,” I mumble. “Stop shaking me.”

The gym comes slowly into focus and Johnny’s face appears as I sit up on my elbows. I shove his hand off me and stagger to my feet and stand there swaying, specks of light flashing all around me.

I made it back. I did it twice. Strong feelings. Rav was right.

“You did it,” says Johnny.

I throw my finger in his face. “You kissed me.”

“I—” He frowns. “Okay.”

“And that was a lot for me.”

“Okay.”

“And now you’re acting like it didn’t happen, and that’s a really shitty thing to do.”

He hesitates. Stands there with his mouth half-open like he’s about to say something. But then, predictably says nothing. I don’t care. I said my piece. I felt my feelings. I feel really dizzy and like I need to sit down. But not here. I need to get out of this room. Outside maybe. Into some fresh air.

Johnny says nothing as I lurch past him, through the door, and down the corridor toward the exit.

chapter

seven

THE PING of an incoming message snaps me awake the next morning. I roll onto my back with my eyes still closed and blindly tap it open. What asshole is sending messages this early in the morning? It’s too early in the morning for messages.

>>> MORNING, SON. ANY WORD ON THAT PART YET?

Oh. That asshole.

I swipe the message closed. It’s still dark. Whispers of light barely sliding around the edges of the portholes. Rolling over, I pull the blanket back over my head, then spend thirty minutes tossing and turning and failing to go back to sleep before I throw it off and get up. I’m starving—I was so exhausted after I barged out of the training room yesterday that I pretty much came back to Panga and went directly to sleep. I make my way to the galley and root around in the cooler for something to eat. The only thing in there is a box with three eggs in it. I stand there glaring at them. Eating eggs for breakfast feels like admitting Johnny is right. But there is literally nothing else to eat.

I crack them into a pan with some oil and onions, then fling the finished product onto the foldout table in the middle of the cabin and sit with my elbows on either side of the pan, scowling at the wall while I eat them.

A message from Dominie comes through as I’m finishing up. Can I come up to headquarters a little early today for a check-in? I tell her I can, wash the plate, make some brew and get ready to go. The world is bright gray by the time I climb out of Panga with my pack over one shoulder and lock up the hatch behind me.

I’m the first to arrive at campus and the building is still locked when I get there. I sit on the fountain in the quad and watch the sun creep across the city. The light is just touching Midtown when a footstep behind me turns my head. Johnny stops on the other side of the fountain and gestures to the empty space next to me. I shrug and turn around. For a long time after he sits we just sit there, watching the light change.

“I guess I owe you an apology,” he says. He doesn’t say anything else, and I get the feeling he’s waiting for me to acknowledge that as an apology. When I don’t, he sighs and says, “I think I kind of forgot that this is new for you. Not QMTP. The—other thing. Which is not something I know how to handle. And so far I’ve handled it really badly, I think. So I’m sorry about that.”

“I guess I would just appreciate it if you would tell me if it meant nothing.”

“It didn’t mean nothing,” he says, quietly. “I just don’t know what it does mean, yet.”

I watch wisps of fog winding through the streets below. I don’t know how to respond to that. On the horizon, that ominous gray cloud still squats like some kind of waiting animal.

“I had eggs for breakfast this morning,” I tell him.

He looks at me. “Oh yeah? How were they?”

“Pretty good, actually.”

Dominie and Paradi arrive ten minutes later and we follow them to the meeting room. The air feels clearer between Johnny and me, and when Dominie asks for a status report, there’s a note of pride in his voice as he tells her I made my first jump, and that combat training is going well. Dominie is visibly relieved to hear that.

She turns to me. “How is it going making contact with Bird?”

A spike of anxiety shoots through me. I turn my gaze down to my hands. “I saw her yesterday.”

The room is very still until Dominie says, “And how did that go?”

“About as well as you might expect.”

She nods. Across the table, Johnny has turned his attention to the slate in front of him and is picking at the corner of it like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“How did she seem?” asks Dominie.

“Upset.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I asked her to bring Shanny back. She said no. I asked her why she helped them blow up Azimuth Hall. She said she didn’t mean to.”

“Did she tell you anything about what she’s been doing?” says Paradi. I shake my head. “Do you think she would agree to see you again?”

I tuck my hands into my pockets. “Maybe.”

The meeting adjourns twenty minutes later and Johnny and I make our way to the training room. As the lights flicker on and the familiar smell of wood and rubber mats greets me, I’m gripped by visceral dread. Thinking about doing what I did yesterday all over again makes me want to throw up. There’s no way I can keep having strong feelings like that every time I want to make a jump. I’ll be a husk of a person. Trying not to think about it, I sling my pack onto a bench, kick off my shoes, and head to a mat by the mirror to warm up.

I’m halfway into a set of sit-ups when I notice Johnny is leaning in the doorway watching me. I meet his eyes in the mirror. “Yes?”

“Is that what happened yesterday? When you disappeared from here. You went to see Howsley.”

“I didn’t go to see her. I accidentally jumped to her. Almost blew the whole mission. If she had seen me land it would have been a disaster.”

He frowns. “You jumped to her? How do you figure that happened?”

“You don’t know?” A moment of triumph goes through me as I realize I might be able to do something that Johnny can’t.

He shakes his head. “Never happened for me.”

I begin the sit ups again. “It’s part of the QMTP thing; jumping directly to another person even when you don’t know where they are. Bird can do it. It’s how she found Axioma Nation last year when we were putting together a plan to take her down.”

“She never mentioned anything like that.”

“She doesn’t mention a lot of things.”

“Why do you think that happened?”

Strong feelings. I flick my eyes away from his. “No idea.”

When I finish the warm-up I take my stance in the middle of the same red mat as yesterday. Johnny is keeping his distance, and says, carefully, “We could start with something else. If you want.”

I shake my head. “Better to find out now if I can do it again or not. Because if I have to go through what I went through yesterday every single time I do this, I’ll be honest, I’m probably not going to do it again.”

He nods and takes a seat on a bench by the wall. Fixing my gaze on the X, I draw a deep breath and let it out, and this time, when I feel the needles start to rip me apart, I close my eyes and let them. There’s a moment of roaring, blinding white, and then an abrupt silence as I come back together. I gasp in a lungful of air and look down. Between my bare feet is a small, white X.

“Great.” Johnny’s voice turns my gaze up. “So it wasn’t a fluke.” He gets up, picks up the mat I just left, and drags it a few feet further away. “Can you do it again?”

Two hours later, I’m jumping from one end of the room to the other, and landing pretty much dead on top of the X every time. When Johnny drags one of the mats out into the hall and closes the door between it and me, I make it through the door without any trouble. As the jumps get longer and more difficult—up to the third floor, out to the fountain, back to the red crash mat—I feel myself starting to fatigue, and at the end of three hours, I sink onto one of the benches against the wall by the mirror and put my head between my knees.

Johnny sits down beside me. For a moment, I’m sure he’s about to put a hand between my shoulders, and I go still with nervous anticipation, waiting for it. But he doesn’t. He braces his forearms on his knees.

“So you got it,” he says.

“Mhm.”

“How’d you figure it out?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I think I just sort of…stopped fighting it.”

“Dude…” He sits up and looks at me. “Are you serious? That’s literally what I’ve been telling you to do for like, two weeks.”

I snap my head around. “What?”

“That’s what I kept saying!”

“Not once did you say that.”

“I did! I said you just have to do it. Like, just let it happen.”

“No, you said just do it. Like I was already supposed to know how.”

“Right, but obviously that’s what I meant.”

“Jesus Christ.” I drop my face into my hands. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“It worked out though, right? I got through to you eventually.”

“No. Absolutely not. Fetch got through to me. Rav got through to me.”

He frowns. “Fetch got through to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I sit up. “God, you are a really terrible teacher.”

“You know, I never claimed to be a good teacher. I never wanted to be a teacher. I’m doing my best, okay?” He sighs. “Anyway, you’re getting the hang of it. Tomorrow we can try jumping to another Parallel. There’s a pretty easy one to get to that we can use to practice.”

“Are they not all easy to get to?”

“According to Howsley, no. But I haven’t done a lot of interdimensional jumping on my own yet, so I don’t really know. It’ll be a learning experience for both of us.”

“Great, I’m sure that’ll go swimmingly.” I sit back against the wall.

“It’s all the same principles. We should be fine as long as we just do it.” He braces his hands on his knees and stands, and for the first time in a week, I catch a glimpse of his radiant, Earth-tilting smile. “We should work on backflips too.”

The sun is setting by the time I leave the practice room that evening. The air is cool and fog has blanketed the bay. I limp down the hill toward the harbor, my whole left side aching from a particularly brutal takedown Johnny executed just before we called it for the night. I swear to gods he’s getting some kind of twisted enjoyment out of throwing me around.

By the time I get back to Panga I’m starving. Unfortunately, when I open up the cooler, I’m greeted by a completely empty box. The only thing that was in here was a container of eggs and I ate those this morning.

I put the kettle on the stove and flop onto the starboard couch to wallow in hungry misery. It’s not my day to go out and buy food. What am I supposed to do? Scrounge food out of the garbage like an animal? Go out against lockdown without an authorization? I could sneak over to Bird’s moms after dark and borrow something, but even that is risky. It’s not like I can dodge the peace force when they’re standing on every corner. It’s not like I can—

Wait.

I sit bolt upright on the sofa. It’s not like I can get there without running into them on every street. Unless I don’t take the streets. Unless I don’t walk there at all.

I don’t have to wait until my assigned day to go out and buy food. I don’t have to worry about the peace force. I don’t have to obey lockdown rules at all. I have a chip in my head that lets me go wherever I want, at any time, in less than the blink of an eye. I could jump anywhere and take whatever I wanted. I could be back here before anyone even knew I had left.

The back of my neck begins to prickle. That would be against the law. That would be something Bird would do. That’s not me.

But what if I was considering it? What if I transferred coin for whatever I took? That would be okay, right? If I went after dark, when everything was closed, and I paid for things, and I didn’t see anyone and no one knew what had happened…that wouldn’t be a crime. Okay, it would be a crime, but not a very bad one.

The kettle whistles and I get up to pull it off the stove. I set it aside and drum my fingers on the counter.

Jumping from here all the way to the grocer across town would be further than I’ve gone yet. But all the jumps I did today went fine. Johnny said we should work on jumping between dimensions tomorrow, and I can’t see hopping across town being more difficult than that.

I turn around to look for Shanny out of pure instinct. He’s usually there when I’m thinking through something like this. He’s usually sitting on the floor, looking up at me with reproachful eyebrows that say, “I know what you’re thinking, and don’t.”

But Shanny isn’t here. Shanny isn’t here for the same reason I have no food. Because Bird the Ever-Irresponsible blew everything to shit. Bird the Ever-Irresponsible blew everything to shit and now Sensible Long-Suffering Sargo Paz is supposed to fix it all.

Well I’m not going to fix it all. I’m going to break the law.

The grocer’s shelves are wreathed in shadows as I creep silently between them, carefully tucking things into my pack. Some cans, a few veg, a bag of rice, another box of eggs. Nothing outrageous. Just the things I need. I adjust the remaining items on the shelves to make it less obvious that things have been taken. I don’t know why—it’s not like anyone will check, but it makes me feel better.

An EV goes by outside, its headlights piercing the swirling fog, flooding the shop with white light. I freeze. But it doesn’t stop. Continues trundling away down the street. Peace force, probably, doing the rounds.

When the pack is full I head to the register and tap my brow to transfer some coin. My hands are shaking, but I don’t think it’s out of fear this time. I feel powerful. Supernatural. Like a person outside of space and time.

On the night of the Azimuth Hall bombing, I accused Bird of becoming like Axioma Nation; of thinking she was God. I think I can see why she may have started to feel that way.

An ear-splitting ping shatters the quiet and a new message slides in front of my eyes. I jump out of my skin and drop the pack. Cans and veg explode out of it and roll in all directions across the floor. Cursing, I scramble after them. When I pick up the pack to stuff everything back into it, I discover that the box of eggs has burst open and the eggs have smashed all over the inside of the bag. I refrain from blaming Johnny and his stupid insistence on such a fragile breakfast food, and shove everything back into the mess, feeling extremely un-God-like.

I swipe open the message and glare at its contents. It’s Fetch again, asking if I heard from Savage this morning. Furiously, I begin a reply. Yes, I heard from him. No, I do not plan on doing anything to help that insufferable junkie prick.

Halfway through the message, I stop. I delete the words insufferable junkie prick and sigh. I have Fetch partly to thank for helping me crack QMTP. For telling me to feel my feelings. Technically, I’m here feeding myself thanks to her. And technically, now that I’ve harnessed the power of teleportation, it wouldn’t actually be all that difficult to jump to the hardware store, find that part, and take it out to Savage on the Kingfisher. I’m already out here breaking the law, after all.

I clear the message to Fetch and blow a long, hard breath into the dark. Then I swallow every ounce of pride I have left and send a message to Savage.

When I land on the moonlit deck of the Kingfisher with the part—a valve cover gasket—in my hand, the first person I see is Red. He’s sitting in the captain’s chair behind the helm with his boots crossed up on the wheel, and he looks so much like Savage that I do a double take. Is there a rule that the captain of the Kingfisher has to dress like a shabby hobo and sit with their dirty boots up on things all the time?

He rolls out of the chair as I appear, grabbing his ax, which was propped on the floor beside him, and swinging it over his shaggy ginger head. I throw up my hands and disappear. Pop up behind him on the other side of the deck and he spins, his eyes two wild pinpricks in a mane of hair and beard. A glimmer of recognition crosses his face. He stops. He signs something at me, angrily.

“Sorry.” I keep my hands either side of my face and don’t move. “My bad. I didn’t think anyone would be up.”

He props the ax against the helm and signs again. I’m guessing it means something like, “What the hell are you doing here?”

I carefully lower my hands and hold out the gasket. “I was told you guys need this.”

His eyebrows go up. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small headlamp, flicks it on, straps it around his head, and comes over. He studies the gasket, then clicks off the light, looks up and gives me an appreciative nod. He gestures to the stairs that lead below deck.

“No, thanks. I wasn’t planning on seeing anyone. In fact, I’d really rather not—”

“No need to be rude, Son.”

Savage appears at the top of the stairs and steps into the cockpit, his stupid too-long hair falling in his eyes, looking haggard and creepy in the moonlight. Red hands him the gasket and he looks it over. “Much obliged. What made you change your mind?”

“Someone told me holding grudges was a waste of energy.”

“Someone sounds very wise.”

“That’s what people keep saying.”

He sets the gasket down. “Well, thanks. And like I said, we’ll pay you for your trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was a favor for a friend.”

He exchanges a look with Red. “In that case, consider us in your debt. One favor. If you should ever need it.”

“If I ever need a favor from anyone, believe me, you will be the last person I call.”

He scratches the stubble under his chin. “I thought your very wise friend had counseled you to move beyond grudges. Sounds to me like you might still be holding on to this one, Son.”

I grit my teeth. “Well, we’re all learning at our own pace, aren’t we? And don’t. Call me. Son.”

chapter

eight

A MESSAGE from Bird comes as I’m walking home from headquarters the next evening, bruised and exhausted. I swipe it away and try not to think about it as I turn onto the street by the harbor. I ignore it as I walk through the docks, climb aboard Panga, make some tea, and take it out to the breakwater to watch the sunset. I ignore it as the sky turns from pink to gray and the rosy sliver of the moon rises over the water. But eventually, with the cold and the fog creeping in and no way to avoid it anymore, I have to swipe it open. It says

>>> HEY.

Flog’s sake. Are you kidding me, Howsley? Hey? You blew up a school and killed my best friend and stole my dog and have barely spoken to me since, and all you have to say is Hey?

I close my eyes and spend a long, difficult minute remembering why I’m doing this. For Electra. For Shanny. For Paradi and Johnny and Dominie. For everyone in Brume who is currently sequestered in their homes because of what this maniac did to our city. I open my eyes and send a message back.

>>> HEY. HOW ARE YOU?

The cursor jumps to life immediately.

>>> OKAY. HOW ARE YOU?

>>> FINE. WAS THERE SOMETHING YOU WANTED TO SAY?

A long moment while the cursor blinks. Then

>>> YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO MEET AGAIN. SO I WAS THINKING MAYBE TONIGHT. IF YOU’RE NOT BUSY.

>>> NO ONE IS BUSY, BIRD. THE CITY IS UNDER LOCKDOWN.

>>> RIGHT. The cursor blinks. SO DO YOU WANT TO MEET OR NOT?

I sigh and rub my face.

>>> HOW?

>>> I COULD JUMP TO PANGA. SINCE YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO BE OUT ON THE STREETS THAT’S PROBABLY SAFEST.

>>> OKAY. ARE YOU GOING TO BRING SHENANIGANS?

The cursor blinks

>>> I GUESS I CAN DO THAT.

>>> OKAY. WHEN?

>>> I’M HERE.

>>> WHAT?

>>> I’M HERE. I JUST GOT TO PANGA. WHERE ARE YOU?

Christ. Flogging teleportation.

>>> I’M ON THE BREAKWATER. I’LL BE THERE IN FIVE.

Shanny comes zooming down the dock like a little hairy bullet as I turn the corner onto Pier Two. He launches himself at me from a good five feet away and I barely manage to catch him as he makes a direct trajectory for my face.

“Hey, Buddy.” I try not to burst into tears and struggle to hold onto him as he snorts and sneezes all over me and desperately tries to get his tongue onto as much of my face as possible. “I know, Buddy. I missed you too.”

Bird looks up as I climb over the rail into the cockpit with Shanny wriggling under one arm. She watches me set him down between us and sit on the bench opposite her. For a long time, no one says anything. Bird looks wary. Shanny trots around the cockpit, touching everything with his nose and wobbling his tail.

“Have you eaten?” I ask.

Bird’s eyebrows lift in surprise. She shakes her head.

“Okay. Well I need to make dinner.”

“Is that, like…an invitation?”

“It’s a statement about what I’m about to do. If you haven’t eaten you may as well.”

We go below to the galley and I cook the few remaining unbroken eggs I stole last night. Bird frowns at them from the starboard sofa as I push them around in the pan with a wooden spoon. “I thought you didn’t like eggs.”

“People change.”

I cook in silence and throw two plates and forks onto the table. Bird shrugs off her ratty denim hoodie and sets it aside. Underneath it, she’s wearing short sleeves. My eyes stick on a black mark on her bicep. She sees me frowning at it and looks down, and quickly folds her arms around herself, covering the mark with her hand.

“What is that?” I ask.

“It’s nothing. Not important.”

“Is that a tattoo?”

She sighs, dropping her arms, and angles her shoulder toward me. The Nabla Omega is inked into her arm.

“How long have you had that?”

“A few weeks.”

Disappointed rage plummets through me. “Seriously? You got an Exiters tattoo?”

“I had to. Everyone has to. Please don’t be mad. Please—”

“Please don’t be mad? Please don’t be mad that you got the symbol of the organization that killed my best friend permanently etched into your skin?”

She drops her eyes and says nothing.

I throw down a plate for Shanny so hard I hear it crack and sit opposite her, glaring at my food. She picks up her fork and perches uncomfortably on the edge of her seat, picking delicately at her plate like she’s a guest in the home of a stranger.

When we’ve both finished eating and neither of us has said a single word, I watch her clear the plates—she actually washes them, which I don’t think I’ve ever seen her do before—and wonder what the point of this ridiculous exercise was.

She sits on the other side of the table and studies her nails. “Why did you want to meet?”

“I feel like you should be able to figure that out.”

“You want me to apologize.”

“No. I don’t want an apology. You’re right: it’s not enough. It will never be enough.”

She flinches. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“I want an explanation.”

“I don’t know if I have one.”

“What does that mean? That doesn’t help me.”

“It means…” She sighs and drops her head into her hands. “It means I made a mistake. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done and I regret it every day. I don’t know what to do; it’s never going to go away. There are so many things I’ve done that I’m never going to be able to undo, but this one just…I mean, you know. I can’t fix it. Ever.”

Shanny finishes chasing his cracked plate around the floor and hops up onto the sofa next to me. He turns a small circle and curls up with his face against my leg.

“I just don’t understand why you did it. Even you must have been able to see what a horrible decision that was.”

She drops her gaze to her hands again and fiddles with her nails. “Right up until that night I don’t think I believed it would actually happen. Right up until—” She stops. “Well, right up until that night.”

“Right up until what?”

“Right up until I saw you kissing Johnny.”

“Oh.” Fury blazes up my spine. “So it’s my fault.”

“No. But right up until that moment, I wasn’t sure I was going to go through with it. I mean, look, by that point, things had been set in motion. It wasn’t up to me if it happened or not. It was Neb and Kcaj—well, mostly Kcaj—and some others. I was there, while they were planning it. In Brume Three, before you found me. I was involved. But I didn’t like it. It seemed really crazy, and too big, and—not like the Green, you know? That was small. It was contained. It was just flash, not something really dangerous.” She shivers and wraps her arms around her shoulders. “Can we close the hatch?”

I get up and silently close the main hatch over the companionway. Fill the kettle and put it on the stove to warm the cabin up, and lean against the counter with my eyes on the floor while it boils.

“Anyway, when I got back here, after you pulled me out of Brume Three, I kind of started panicking about it. I didn’t know if I should tell someone what we were planning or not. Every day I thought I would tell someone. And I just kept not doing it. And then you and I had that fight, the night it happened, and I went to the breakwater and I was like I have to tell someone. Because it was making me crazy. I knew Johnny would be coming here to check in and I was going to tell him and he would go back to Zenith and rally the peace force and they would have stopped it. And then I came back and saw you guys and I just…” She lifts her hands and lets them fall. “I don’t know. I was angry. I wanted to destroy something you loved. So I let them blow up the school.”

The kettle whistles. I pull it off the stove and scoop leaves into the teapot while Bird chews her nails and stares through the floor.

“Stop doing that.”

She looks up, startled, then tucks her hand into her pocket. I sit down and set a mug in front of her and she looks vaguely through it like she doesn’t know what it is. “Kcaj wanted to do it in the middle of the day, while there were kids at school. Neb talked him out of that. I told them when the buildings would be empty. Well…when they were supposed to be empty.”

Silence fills the cabin. We both stare at our mugs without touching them. Finally, I say, “Just because you didn’t set off the bomb, doesn’t make it okay.”

“I know.”

“You should have told someone.”

“I know.”

“You shouldn’t have set off that thing at the Green either.”

“I know.”

“You shouldn’t have lied to me, and used me.”

She fiddles with her nails. “I know.”

“So now what? What else are you planning to blow up?”

She looks up at me sharply. “Nothing.”

“Okay, well how do I know? You’re acting like some kind of innocent bystander but you—”

“I’m not acting like an innocent bystander.”

“You ran away! You’re evading the peace force. You’re still working with them.”

“Because what we’re doing is important! I don’t agree with Kcaj’s methods all the time, but we have the same goals. And they listen to me. Kcaj and Neb listen to me because they know I have more experience operating in other Parallels than anyone else. I can be a voice of reason. I can push the movement in the right direction.”

“Do you actually believe that? That guy poisoned the water supply for the entire city of Zhīliú. He’s a psychopath.”

“He’s not a psychopath.”

“Okay. And your brother wasn’t a terrorist.”

Her glare hardens. “He wasn’t.”

“How would you know? You’re a terrorist too.”

“I’m not a terrorist.”

“You blew up a school, Bird! Someone died.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Her voice cracks. She jumps up from the table so fast that Shanny jolts awake. “I didn’t blow up the school! I didn’t mean to. I didn’t kill anyone!”

“Whoa—” I put up my hands. “Just—”

“I didn’t kill her! It wasn’t my fault.”

Shanny cowers and tries to wedge himself behind me as she lurches away from the table toward the stairs and finds herself trapped by the closed hatch. She wheels around like a panicked animal. Tears start streaming down her face.

“Bird, sit down, you’re scaring Shanny.”

“No!”

She’s going to jump. She’s probably not even going to remember to take Shanny with her. She’s freaking out, and if she disappears now I may not be able to get her to come back.

I get to my feet too. “Bird, calm down—”

“I don’t want to go to prison.”

“No one said anything about anyone going to prison.”

I put out my hands as she backs herself into a corner by the nav station, trembling. Her back comes up against the table and she stops. A moment of complete stillness hangs between us, then I lunge for her and make a grab for her arm, and as my fingers close around her elbow, we disappear.

____________________

My feet touch the ground and the light dissolves away, and the first thing I see is the Nabla Omega, dripping down a tiled wall in front of me in dried black and red spray paint. Bird is heaving panicked breaths and doesn’t seem to have realized I’m there. I drop her arm and step back.

More of our surroundings start to register in my peripherals. Some kind of corridor with grimy, tiled walls. Bare lightbulbs in cages spaced at regular intervals. Old posters, torn and yellowing, bearing Zenith aphorisms. Dig into the future! The most good for the most people. All of it graffitied over with the Nabla Omega. With swear words. Pictures of dicks.

“Where are we?”

Bird’s head snaps around and her face goes taut. “What are you doing?”

She shoots out a hand to grab me, but some primal instinct makes me dodge out of her reach at the last moment. Suddenly, I understand exactly where we are.

“You can’t be here,” she hisses, and grabs at my arm again. I dodge again. By total freak accident, I got her to bring me right into the middle of some Exiters hideout, and if she gets hold of me, she’ll jump us back to Panga and I might never get back here. I duck around her and put my hands up.

“Just wait!”

She glares at me and stops. Her face is still streaked with tears, hair sticking to it in places. I take two slow steps back and look around. The tunnel extends so far behind her that the end of it is lost in darkness. When I look behind me, the same is true in the other direction.

She takes a step toward me and I step back. “Don’t—just hang on. Okay? I’m trying to understand.”

That’s a lie. I’m stalling. I’m trying to figure out how I can get her to tell me where this is. I’m trying not to spook her, because she could jump the few feet between us and have me back on Panga and be back here with Shanny before I even had time to think about dodging her.

She swipes hair and tears off her face. “Understand what?”

“Is this where you’ve been? Is this where they’re organizing?”

“You know I can’t—”

“Just tell me. You killed my best friend. You stole my dog. The least you can do is tell me where you’ve been for three weeks.”

Her eyes go bright with tears again. She shuts her mouth and swallows. “Yes. This is where I’ve been.”

“Where are we? In another Parallel?”

A long moment of tense silence passes. Finally, she says, “I have to take you back.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You know why I’m doing this.”

“I don’t. I truly don’t. It sounds like you didn’t want to be involved in what happened at Azimuth Hall. It sounds like you don’t agree with how Kcaj and Neb operate. So why are you here?”

“Because Zenith is wrong. And because it’s not just about Kcaj and Neb. And because if I come back—” She swallows. “Because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“You could make a deal with Zenith. You could help them—”

She shakes her head. “No. Zenith is wrong.”

I can feel frustrated anger beginning to simmer inside me again. “You can’t just keep saying that.”

“Well they are! I worked with them. I saw it. I watched Electra and Paradi fail and make bad decisions and refuse to admit when things weren’t working.”

“How do you know what they’re doing isn’t working? What proof do you have?”

“Why don’t we start with that weird-ass cloud, for one thing? What the hell is that about? Do you know?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Why would I know? I’m not a flogging scientist. I have to put my faith in Zenith because there are people there who are smarter than me who do know. You can’t just fear something because you don’t understand it. That’s nuts. That’s conspiracy-theory-level bullshit.”

“I don’t fear the cloud because I don’t understand it. I fear it because I don’t think Zenith understands it. Paradi doesn’t understand it.”

A footstep rings down the tiled tunnel and Bird’s eyes go wide. She lunges for me and grabs my hand. When we re-appear in Panga’s galley, Shanny is running circles around us, frantically wiggling his tail and sniffing our shoes.

Bird doesn’t let go of my hand right away. Shanny wedges himself between our feet and sits right in between us, staring up at me, whirring his tail.

“I don’t want to fight you,” says Bird.

A shard of pain nicks my heart. “I wish you didn’t feel like you have to fight me.”

We stand there staring at each other. The air seems to settle around us, and for a moment, the world goes quiet. A ripple of electricity goes down the back of my neck, and she leans into me.

I drop her hand and step back. “What are you doing?”

She freezes. “Nothing. I don’t know.” Her face goes bright red and she turns away.

“Were you going to kiss me? Why would you think that would be okay?”

“I don’t know!” Flustered, she casts about her feet for Shanny and bends to pick him up. “I’m going. Okay? Sorry.”

Realizing my face is warm and my heart is beating fast, I look for something to pivot to. “You’re taking Shanny?”

She frowns. “Yes?”

“Can’t you just leave him here? That place was grim. It doesn’t seem like a good place for him to be.”

“It’s not all like that. He’s fine. I can’t—I don’t—” Her eyes fill with tears again. “I don’t want to leave him. I don’t have any friends there.”

She turns away to hide her face and I feel another awful, sharp chunk notching out of my heart. I sigh, and step into the galley. Pop open the cabinet under the sink, pull out all the remaining cans of food she didn’t take last time she was here, find a spare bag, shove them all into it, and hold it out to her. “Fine. Then I guess you may as well take this.”

I don’t look at her as she tucks the bag under one arm, clutching Shanny under her chin. “Thanks.”

“Are you going to visit again?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know.”

I should tell her to come back. That would be what Dominie would want. That would be a step forward. A step toward infiltrating the Exiters. But what if she tries to kiss me again? What if, next time, I let her?

Prickly silence creeps into the space between us. She studies my face carefully. “It was good to see you.”

“Uh huh.”

“I guess I’ll message you?”

“Okay.”

The prickly silence grows, expands, fills the space. Squeezes her out of it. She disappears.

chapter

nine

“ARE WE DOING THIS, OR WHAT?”

I look up from the pile of rope I am splicing on Panga’s tiny folding table. Bird leans against the counter in Panga’s galley and lifts an eyebrow.

“Doing what?”

She smiles. “You know.”

I narrow my eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do…” She drops her gaze and nudges the floor with her toe. “The thing I asked you to do…”

Heat kindles under my skin. I sit back and fold my arms. “That? You want to do that?”

She shrinks against the counter, shrugging. “Maybe…”

“You want to do what?”

“Come on—” She looks up. “You know.”

“Say the words.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Say the words, or I’m not going to do it. What do you want me to do?”

She huffs, blushing furiously, and looks at the floor again. “I want you to tie me down.”

The heat under my skin blazes. “What am I going to use to do it?” Her eyes linger on the pile of rope on the table in front of me. “This?” I pick up a thick length of coarse, red rope and pull it taut between my hands. “You want me to use this?”

She nods. I get up, a bulge already straining at the front of my pants, and slowly cross the cabin. I feel the heat radiating off her skin as I close the distance between us and put the rope around the back of her neck. I pull her against my chest so that I can smell the cinnamon tea scent of her hair. Feel the points of her nipples through the soft, thin fabric of her shirt.

“Look at me.”

She does.

“Do you want to know what I do to girls who—”

I wake to the ping of an incoming message and gasp at the ceiling, my heart beating through my chest, wisps of dream evaporating in a blaze of mid-morning light, and a massive boner sticking out of my shorts.

I’m having dreams about Bird again. I can’t be having dreams about Bird again. Rolling over, I sit up and tap open the message. It’s Dominie. I’m late. Shit shit shit.

There isn’t time to eat, or to deal with what’s happening in my shorts, so I dress, shove my slate into a pack, and sprint up the hill for headquarters. Running only seems to make the shorts situation worse, and I spend a good fifteen minutes pacing up and down outside the building when I arrive, waiting for it to sort itself out.

Dominie, Johnny, and Paradi are sitting around the table in the meeting room. Johnny taps his brow and checks a watch I can’t see.

“I seem to remember you being late once before. I don’t think even Howsley was late regularly when she worked here.”

“Well Bird wasn’t learning combat, practicing teleportation and infiltrating a terrorist organization when she worked here, was she?” I snap.

Johnny’s eyebrows lift. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, did we, Inge Ginsberg?”

“Alright—” Dominie picks up her slate and eyes Johnny over her spex. “He’s here.” She gestures to pull something up on her biochip and swipes through the slate. “Anyone have anything new to report?”

A needle of anxiety creeps up my spine. I keep my eyes on my hands and say, “I saw Bird again.”

Paradi clasps her hands on the table. “Where?”

“She came to Panga. She wanted to talk.”

“How did she seem?” says Dominie. “What was her mental state?”

“Not great. We talked about what happened at Azimuth. She was distressed.”

“Did she seem unstable?”

“Yes. Very. It sounds like she didn’t mean for Azimuth Hall to go down like it did. Like she wasn’t really in control of anything. She could have stopped it, maybe. She seemed to really regret that it happened. She seemed…contrite, I guess.”

“Contrition is not innocence,” says Johnny sharply. He has his arms folded and is watching me.

“I know.”

Dominie is bent over her slate, vigorously inputting everything I’m saying. “Were you able to learn anything about where the Exiters may be hiding?”

“No, but…” I hesitate. Something in me doesn’t want to tell her what happened yesterday. I’m not sure why. Because of what Bird said about Zenith? Because she nearly kissed me? Because I nearly let her? I keep my eyes on my hands. “I think I went there.”

Dominie whips her head up from her slate. “You saw it?”

“I’m not sure. It was confusing. I grabbed Bird as she was jumping and we ended up in this weird tunnel. There were a lot of Nabla Omegas spray-painted on the walls. I asked Bird if this was where she’d been and she said yes. But she wouldn’t tell me where it was, or what it was.”

“A tunnel?” Dominie narrows her eyes.

“I couldn’t see much. But yeah, I think so.”

“Grike, maybe?”

I shake my head. “It didn’t seem like that. But maybe? It could have been.”

“Did you see anyone else? Neb or Kcaj?”

“No. She seemed pretty adamant that no one see me.”

“But there were other people there?”

“That’s what it seemed like. She didn’t want me there, we were only there for a few minutes. There were some doors and other tunnels, I think, connecting to where we were. But apart from that, I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was in this dimension?”

I shrug, shaking my head. Dominie turns her attention back to her slate, her fingers flying through the air. “This is good. Good progress. When can you arrange to meet her again?”

“I don’t know. She said she would message me.”

Dominie blinks and adjusts her spex and I sense impatience. Paradi seems to sense it too, because she says, quickly, “That’s good. Don’t push it; play it carefully. Let her come to you.”

Clearing her throat, Dominie returns her attention to her slate. On the other side of the table, Johnny is picking at the corner of his slate again, scowling. Paradi observes me seriously.

“This is good work. Well done.”

I look at the table. It doesn’t feel like good work. It feels like deceiving a person who needs help, not outsmarting a dangerous criminal. It feels worse than I thought it would. I didn’t think talking to Bird would feel like that. I thought it would make me more certain that we’re doing the right thing.

I can feel Paradi watching me, like she can see every thought going through my head. When I look up, she says, quietly, “Bird isn’t the endgame, remember. We need her to get to Neb and Kcaj. Don’t lose sight of the mission.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you sure?” Dominie’s eyes narrow.

When I don’t reply, Paradi says, “You know, there’s a version of this that plays out not so badly for Bird. If you could get her to cooperate…if you could get her to come in…”

Johnny’s head snaps up. “Are you serious? You’re going to give her a deal? After what she did?”

“From what Sargo’s saying, it sounds like she may not have done much of anything. Which doesn’t preclude her from guilt, but, as I said, the most important thing is and has always been finding and stopping the Exiters. Kcaj and Neb. They are the targets. The goal of this operation is not to excessively punish Bird.”

“How do we know she’s even telling the truth?” says Johnny.

“We have no reason to suspect she’s lying,” Dominie replies. “And it makes sense that she wouldn’t have been the one to orchestrate that attack. Honestly, I’ve been wondering myself what her role in this whole thing is.”

“Yeah, and why she’s even involved.” Johnny is glaring at me. “Did you guys talk about that? Did you ask her why she wants to help a criminal organization blow up buildings and kill people she used to work with?”

I stare back at him. “It didn’t come up.”

That’s a lie. I know exactly why she’s doing it: she doesn’t trust Zenith. But Johnny’s cold, angry glare is hardening something inside me, and I don’t want to tell him anything when he’s throwing Bird under the bus and aggressively pushing me like this.

“We may not ever understand Bird’s motivations for doing what she's done,” says Paradi. “But at the end of the day, it may not matter. She’s a lever for us to pull, that’s all. I know this is difficult because of our previous relationships with her, but we have to try and keep things in perspective. We have to try and remain detached.”

She pushes back her chair and gets up from the table. I can’t help but be kind of awed by her unwavering resolve. I don’t know how she does it. She buried her sister a month ago and now she’s willing to offer the girl partially responsible for that death a plea bargain. She somehow handles it all with a kind of quiet composure I’ve never seen anyone demonstrate under any circumstance. I’ve never even seen her cry.

There’s no way this person is the incompetent stooge Bird seems to think she is. There’s no way she’s forgotten what we fought for on Z-Day, or that she’s running Zenith into the ground, or that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. If anything, she’s the only person I know right now who does seem to know what she’s doing. She feels like the only person holding her shit together at all.

Paradi pushes her chair under the table and surveys us all from behind it. “Let’s adjourn here. For now, we wait. Sargo, keep us abreast of any contact from Bird. Dominie, I assume you’ll investigate this location she took him to?”

“It’s already in motion,” says Dominie. “I’m taking a team to Grike to see what we can dig up.”

“Great. Keep me updated.” Paradi sweeps around us and heads for the door. Dominie rises, absorbed in her slate, and follows her. Johnny folds his arms and glares at me across the table.

We don’t say a word to each other as we walk from the meeting room to the gym. When we get there, Johnny goes directly to the heavy bag hanging in the corner, pulls a roll of white elastic off a shelf beside it, and starts wrapping up his hands. I kick off my shoes and go to the mat by the mirror to warm up.

By the time I’m halfway through sit-ups, the racket Johnny is making on the punching bag is so intense that I can’t hear myself think. He’s attacking it with a viciousness I haven’t seen him use since he tried to kick down the door to that cell we were locked in in Brume Two. I keep my eyes on the ceiling and try to ignore him, but in the corner of my eye is a flurry of violent pummeling as he beats the bag with both fists and sometimes a foot. I can’t hear my own breathing over the rattle of the thunder he is raining down. A volley of thumps and cracks and hard, heavy breathing. Grunting. Occasional swearing.

I come to the top of a sit up and stop. “Are you going to do that all morning?”

He pretends he hasn’t heard me. Doesn’t even break his rhythm. He is frighteningly fast. Shoulders and fists and fierce concentration. The muscles in his back flexing and rippling. The tattoo around his arm twisting. Sweat starting to bead down the back of his—

Nope.

I put my eyes back on the ceiling and continue my sit ups.

As I finish the warm up, Johnny seems to come to some kind of covenant with the bag. He delivers one final blow, then wraps both arms around it as it swings back at him and hangs there, breathing hard at the floor. I watch him in the mirror until he straightens up and turns around. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, but he looks away and retreats to the corner to find a towel.

“Feel better?”

He ignores me, toweling his hair. When he’s done, he balls the towel up and tosses it into the corner—I’m beginning to recognize this as the way he disposes of most things—and walks back to the punching bag. “Let’s go. We need to get started.”

I get to my feet. “We’re not starting with QMTP?”

He says nothing and throws me a roll of knuckle wrap. Catching it one-handed, I keep my eyes on him as I start to unwind it. “We’re not speaking, either?”

He just indicates where I should stand on the other side of the bag. Restraining a sigh, I go where he tells me to, wrapping my hands as I go. When I finish, he squares up with the bag between us and grabs each side to hold it steady.

“Intervals. Thirty seconds on, thirty seconds rest. When you’re resting you’re holding the bag for me. Start with jab crosses.”

“Shouldn’t we be wearing gloves for this?”

He taps his temple and gestures in the air, and a clock on the wall opposite me lights up with a thirty second countdown. “Ready?”

Before I can respond, the clock on the wall blinks and the countdown starts. I step back, glaring at Johnny, set my stance, and throw my first punch.

“Slow.” Johnny leans on the bag to take the impact. “You’re already behind.”

I put my eyes in front of me and throw two more. Pop pop. The weight of the bag against my fists feels good. The resistance against my arm. I throw two more, harder.

“So slow,” says Johnny again. “Come on, Nancy Wake.”

I set my jaw and pop out four more, faster, but the speed means I compromise accuracy and my last blow glances off the bag, jerking it sideways. Johnny, hanging onto it, tuts and shakes his head.

“This is a joke, right? You’re trying to make me laugh.”

Johnny trash-talking me during training is nothing new. He does it pretty much every session—he seems to think it’s motivating. Sometimes it is. But there’s an acidity to it today that sets my teeth on edge. I put my head down and deliver six more blows, landing the last one as the countdown ends and a timer rings through the training room. I’ve barely reset my stance and grabbed the bag before Johnny is pummeling it from the other side, every hit hammering through the bag directly into my chest. I wrap my arms around it and lean on it with all my weight to hold it steady. I can feel my teeth rattling.

The timer goes off and Johnny steps back, panting. “Again.”

“Kind of feels like maybe we should have a conversation—”

“Again.”

I grit my teeth. Fine. If this is how he wants to do this, then I guess this is how we’ll do this. I shove the bag back at him so it catches him off-guard and he has to step backward to catch it. As he does, I throw my first push, following the momentum of the bag through to knock it into him even harder. He throws his weight against it and braces, stopping it dead.

“Nice try. Again.”

I slam my mouth shut and send two hard body shots into the bag, wishing the goddamn bag would just disappear so I could send them directly into Johnny’s ribs. “Do you want to tell me why you’re acting like a big, sulky baby?”

“Do you want to tell me why you’re acting like poor Howsley is innocent and we should all stop bullying her?”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything like that.”

“Yeah, you didn’t really have to.” The timer goes off and he shoves the bag at me before I have time to catch my breath. It hits me hard in the chest and I barely manage to get my arms around it before he’s raining down blows on the other side.

“Do you wanna talk about how you’re throwing a stupid little tantrum because I talked to my girlfriend?” I grunt. “Because, I don’t know if you remember, but that’s the thing you and Dominie and Paradi literally asked me to come here and do. You remember? The jobs we’re all supposed to be doing.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the bag. “So she is still your girlfriend.”

I bark out a laugh and shake my head. “Unbelievable.”

“You think she cares what happens to you?”

“Yeah. I think she does.”

He scoffs and switches to uppercuts. The blows land even harder, shaking my whole body. “She’s manipulating you.”

“Well, you would know, right?”

“Are you serious, Paz?” He actually stops and steps back. “Look at your history. She lied to you for months, snuck around behind your back working with them, staged a kidnapping and made you part of her alibi!” He shakes his head and goes back to the bag. “She doesn’t care about you. She’s a sociopath.”

“She’s not a sociopath. She’s struggling.”

The timer goes off as he rolls his eyes and drops his hands to his knees to catch his breath. “Right. So she’s broken and you want to fix her. Because that’s what you do.”

I push the bag into him, hard. It hits him in the shoulder and he staggers sideways. “Are we talking about what we do, now? Why don’t we talk about what a bullying asshole you are? Why don’t we talke about how you went behind Paradi’s back to get a new chip installed so you could worm your way back onto this team, because you’re such an egomaniac you can’t handle the fact that Dominie does your job better than you ever did and we would all be fine without you.”

His eyes flash. In a move so fast I’m not sure if he ran at me or teleported, he slams into my chest and takes me to the ground. The wind explodes out of me, and as I try to roll out from under him he gets one forearm around the back of my neck and the other under my thigh, locks his hand to his wrist and rolls me until I’m pinned on my back with my knee against my ear.

“Take that back,” he growls.

With his weight forcing my twisted body into the mat I can’t get enough air into my lungs to take back anything. I feel like ligaments in the back of my leg are stretching beyond repair. He leans into me until I feel my chest collapsing, until I’m sure a rib is going to crack, then releases me and rolls to his feet. I sprawl on my back, gasping. “You have problems, you know that? You have serious anger issues.”

He waves a hand over his shoulder as he walks away.

Fury consumes me. Three weeks of training and trash-talk and bullying and constant belittling coalesce into a visceral paroxysm of rage, and I scramble up and throw myself at him.

I think I must have teleported, because suddenly my arm is around his neck and then we are on the floor again. Except this time, we’re really fighting. Breath rasping, hands scrabbling, tearing at each other’s shirts until I manage to get on top of him, get a knee on either side of his chest, and get two hits into his face.

Blood erupts from his nose. He swings back, landing his fist in my eye, and the world goes violently white and sparkly as he shoves me off him. But this time, as he comes after me and tries to roll me again, I remember how he taught me to counter. I get my arm between us and bridge my hips so he can’t get me flat on my back, then twist sideways and teleport.

I’m already putting my fists up as I stagger to my feet and wheel around to face him. He gets up too, blood pouring from his nose onto the front of his shirt, which is ripped around the collar where I almost pulled it off him. He doesn’t put up his fists—instead he puts the heel of his hand against his nose and glares at me.

“Well, you learned something. Congratulations.”

My chest is heaving and my whole body is shaking with rage. I drop my fists. Johnny curses and puts his hand down. Blood drips between his feet as we stare at each other. I can feel my eye already swelling shut.

“I didn’t go behind Paradi’s back because I wanted to be back on the team,” he says.

I catch a breath, my head still ringing. The world keeps showing me black and white spots and I’m not sure if I just heard what he said correctly. “What?”

“I did it because no one else here was going to be able to teach you to fight like that in three weeks.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Because I don’t want you to die a gruesome and preventable death at the hands of terrorists, Paz!” he yells. “Because there isn’t anyone else that could have trained you so you would actually be safe. Because Kcaj Berkley is a maniac and if you actually go through with this and end up in a hole with the Exiters, no one is going to be able to protect you. Certainly not Howsley. Maybe not even me.”

The air seems to ring in the wake of his words, and I close my eyes as they bounce around my head like metal shards in a windstorm. When I open them again, Johnny has his knuckle under his nose and is sending his brutal glare through the floor.

I wait for him to look at me. But he doesn’t. And the longer he stands there, avoiding my eyes, the angrier I become. So he forced his way onto this team and spent three weeks beating the shit out of me because, what, he cares about me? What am I supposed to do with that? If this is what Johnny caring about someone looks like, then I’d rather he put that on someone else.

I square my shoulders and stand up straight. “This is messed up. I’m not doing this anymore.”

He looks up. But this time, it’s my turn to storm out of the room.

chapter

ten

THE BLOOD IS POUNDING in my ears as I stalk down the hallway away from the gym. Rounding the last corner before the door to the outside, I run into Dominie coming the other way. She bounces off me, dropping her slate, and as it clatters to the floor, a shard of stone chips off the corner and skitters across the tile.

“Gods dammit!” She stoops to pick it up and presses her thumbnail into the crack, scowling. “What are you—” Her eyes go wide as they turn up to mine. “Your face.”

“It’s fine.” I try to step around her but she stops me with a hand in the center of my chest.

“Did Johnny do this?”

“Don’t worry. It was an equal opportunity beating.”

She sighs a long, hard, irritated sigh and drops her hand. “What is going on with you guys? I swear to gods, if I have to give anyone another dressing down, I’m gonna seriously start reconsidering my career path. I took this assignment to bring down Exiters, not herd man-babies.”

“Nothing is going on. He’s just an asshole. We don’t get along.”

She tucks her slate under one arm and pinches her eyes behind her spex. “I knew this was a mistake. Paradi wanted to give him another chance and I knew it wasn’t a good idea. I think it’s his history with the Anonymity. It’s not like they had a human resources department.”

“Does Zenith have a human resources department?”

She sighs and adjusts her spex. “It’s extremely understaffed. Gods, this is like—” Her breath catches. She drops her hand very suddenly and looks at me again. “This is like Stavra all over again.”

The hair on the back of my neck rises. “What is like Stavra all over again?”

“Whatever is going on between you and Johnny.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Johnny.”

“Uh huh.” Her eyes are boring into mine with a new and very intense kind of scrutiny. “Because if there was…and it was affecting the mission…it would be extremely unprofessional not to tell me about it. And dangerous.”

The insides of my stomach feel like they’re trying to crawl into my chest. I hold her gaze as steadily as I can and say, firmly, “There’s nothing going on between me and Johnny.”

A long, silent moment passes while her eyes continue to scour mine. Then she says, “Okay. Well, I’ll talk to him.” She steps around me. “Where are you going?”

“Home. I need a break. I’ll come back tomorrow morning.”

“When you do, see that you’re ready to work. This can’t happen again.”

She turns briskly and marches down the corridor. I blow a long breath at the ceiling.

The sun is sparkling off the bay, baking the docks and filling the air with the scent of warm wood as I make my way back through the harbor to Panga. I open all the hatches to let the fresh breeze and warmth in, then stand in the galley with my arms folded, glaring at the floor and wondering what I’m going to do with myself all day. My eye is throbbing and I’m sure it looks terrible, but I’m too angry to ice it. Let it look terrible. Let it be a neon arrow pointing to all the reasons why me and Johnny being anything but colleagues is a bad idea. In fact, honestly, we probably shouldn’t even be colleagues.

I sink onto the starboard sofa and lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying there when a ping snaps me out of my thoughts. I tap open the message.

>>> HEY

Bird. A tiny knot ties at the center of my chest. I gesture to reply.

>>> HEY

>>> WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

>>> NOTHING. I hesitate, then send, WHY?

A long moment goes by. Then

>>> I DON’T KNOW. JUST WANTED TO SAY HELLO, I GUESS.

The knot tightens. I sit up and stare at the words for a long time before I send,

>>> HOW ARE YOU DOING?

>>> FINE, she replies.

>>> THAT’S A LIE.

>>> OH IS THAT SO? HOW ARE YOU SO SURE?

>>> I’VE BEEN USING IT TOO.

>>> MM

Nothing happens for a long time. Outside, the water laps against the hull. Somewhere far away, a Salt dog barks. Bird types. Deletes. Types again. Deletes. Then nothing. I watch the cursor blinking. Finally, she sends

>>> I GUESS I WAS HOPING WE COULD HANG OUT AGAIN

I sigh.

>>> I DON’T THINK NOW IS A GOOD TIME

>>> I CAN BRING SHANNY…

>>> AND DO WHAT?

>>> I DON’T KNOW.

More melancholy silence. I stare up through the open hatch at the blue sky outside. I shouldn’t tell her it’s not a good time; I don’t know when she might try to contact me again. Dominie would say it would be a missed opportunity not to engage. That we might lose her.

>>> OKAY…I GUESS YOU COULD COME HERE AGAIN

>>> YEAH?

>>> YEAH. JUST GIVE ME TEN—

She’s standing in the middle of the cabin with Shanny under one arm and I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Jesus. You can’t just do that.”

She doesn’t appear to have heard me. She’s staring at my face. “What happened to your eye?”

“Oh. I, uh—got mugged.”

“You got mugged?” She puts Shanny on the floor and kneels in front of me. Her hands touch my knees and the air heats and seems to suck in all around us very suddenly. She quickly lifts her hands and sits back. “Mugged by who?”

“I don’t know. An Exiter, maybe?”

Her brow knits, like she doesn’t think that sounds right, and I feel a spike of panic. Then she says, “Huh. Someone I don’t know, maybe.”

“Maybe.”

“Because I told Kcaj again after last time to make sure no one comes after you. And he made it pretty clear to people. And when Kcaj makes something clear—”

“It’s fine.” My pulse is starting to accelerate. I don’t know why I said it was an Exiter. “It might not have been an Exiter. I don’t know.”

Her eyes search my face. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s fine.”

“Did you ice it?”

“No.”

Again, her brow knits, like that doesn’t sound right either. Because she knows usually I would. “Do you want help?”

“It’s fine.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re right. You are using that word a lot.” She gets up and goes to the icebox, opens it and rummages around. Pulls out a bag of ice and wraps it in a towel. Comes back and holds it out to me.

I sigh and take it. Shanny hops up beside me, puts both paws on my leg, and shoves his nose into my face, investigating the ice pack as I put it to my eye.

“Yes, Buddy. That’s very helpful, thank you.”

Bird sits opposite me on the other sofa, studying me. “Where were you?”

I scramble around inside my head, looking for a lie. “At the grocer’s over by Fisherman’s Bridge.”

“Why were you all the way over there?”

“Because it’s the only place that’s still open.”

“Oh.” She goes quiet for a moment, watching me, then, “What have you been up to? Teaching?”

“No,” I reply, relieved that I don’t have to lie about that. “Everyone pretty much stopped coming.”

“Because of the lockdown?”

“Yes.”

She goes quiet again. “I didn’t realize they would do that. Shut down the whole city. I guess I don’t think about it because I can still jump wherever I want. But you’re kind of trapped.”

I’m not trapped. I jumped to the hardware store in the middle of the night two days ago and then all the way out to the Kingfisher with Savage’s stupid part. But I can’t tell her that. I flick my eyes away because I’m afraid if she keeps looking at them while I lie to her, she’ll see. She must interpret that as something else, because she says, “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Another lie. I turn my gaze up through the main hatch again and watch the black silhouette of a gull wheel across the sky. On the other side of the cabin, Bird shifts in her seat. In my peripheral vision, I can see her chewing her nail and looking unhappily at the floor. Suddenly, her head comes up.

“Hey…”

I look at her.

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

“What?”

Her face is lighting up with the familiar, devious light that I recognize as the beginnings of a Howsley scheme. “Let’s go somewhere!”

“I don’t know what you mean. Where?”

“Anywhere. I could take you.”

My stomach dips with nervous apprehension. “I don’t know.”

“Like…for a change of pace? I just—feel really bad. I wish Zenith hadn’t locked everything down.”

“Blipping me around the city isn’t going to change that.”

“No…” She chews her nail. “But it might be fun? We don’t have to stay in the city. Actually, it would be better if we didn’t.” Her eyes light up. “We could go to Île Tor!”

I lower the ice pack from my face. “I can’t leave Brume. Zenith will track my chip.”

“Let’s take it offline. We still have that interfacing unit don’t we?”

We do still have that unit.

“They’re cracking down on people going offline. Anyone who does it is assumed to be an Exiter now.”

“Just tell them it was a—” Her face splits into a wicked grin. “A blip.”

A feeling of queasy excitement steals under my skin. This is not a good idea. This is a hairbrained Howsley scheme and I’m letting myself get pulled in. Like I always did. At least when I made stupid decisions involving Bird before, I had a good excuse. I was in love with her. I couldn’t help it.

But it would be nice to get out of this miserable thirty-five-foot prison cell. It would be nice to think about something other than Exiters and Johnny and the mission for a day. And Zenith probably wouldn’t punish me for taking my chip offline, especially if I told Dominie and Paradi that I did it to get closer to Bird.

And I did always want to see Île Tor.

I set the ice pack on the table and look at her. A small line between her brows belies the anxiety under her excited smile as she scans my face. Like she’s looking for something that used to be there and trying not to betray how badly she wants to find it.

In the back of my head, I hear Johnny.

She’s manipulating you.

I sigh and spread my hands. “Alright. Yeah. Let’s go.”

_____________________

The island of Île Tor fades out of the void as a wash of pearl and green and turquoise. An expanse of blinding white sand stretches before me like snow. Beyond it, a blue-green lagoon so exceptionally bright it looks unreal. Like neon. Like the water is lit and glowing from beneath. The air is warm and smells like sweet flowers, and a breeze is rippling the tall trees that line the edge of the water.

Bird sets Shanny down and he bolts off across the beach at such a reckless pace that he ends up tangling his own feet, trips, and slides full pelt into a rock at the edge of a dense jungle that spills onto the sand. From somewhere up the foliage comes a series of deep, guttural howls.

“What the hell was that?”

“Monos.” Bird points up into the trees. I step closer to get a better look, but she stops me with a hand on my arm. “You don’t want to get too close to the trees.”

“Why not?”

She lifts up one hand with the fingers spread wide. “Spiders.”

We take off our shoes and walk along the beach, away from the cliffs toward a ridge of black volcanic rock that juts into the water. Wordlessly, Bird starts to climb.

As she gets a toehold with her second foot and reaches over her head to pull herself up, a new message alert pings into my head. I tap it open.

>>> WHERE ARE YOU?

Dominie. As covertly as I can, I send a reply.

>>> ÎLE TOR. LONG STORY. I’M WITH BIRD. I’M FINE.

>>> THANK GODS. YOUR CHIP WENT OFFLINE. WE THOUGHT SOMETHING HAPPENED.

>>> SOMETHING DID HAPPEN. I’M MAKING PROGRESS.

>>> GREAT. UPDATE WHEN YOU CAN.

I swipe the message closed and scramble up after Bird. The rock is sharp and hurts my palms and bare feet, but it feels good to climb—to be outside in the sun and the breeze after so many weeks of being confined to Panga or stuck in that gym. Shanny scrambles up beside us as we reach the top, and we balance on the narrow ridge, breathing hard and looking down into the lagoon on the other side. A disparate assortment of sailboats are anchored in the lee of the cove, all of them shabby and tiny—except for one. A massive metal warship, half of it charred with burn marks, lurks at the far end of the bay. I can just make out the small figures of its crew, flaking a pair of parachute sails on the bow.

My brow lifts. “Is that the Valkyrie?”

“Mhm.” Bird puts her hand over her face and squints at it.

I haven’t thought about Mojave Stark and that hideous metal boat since the night she chased Bird and I down after we first fled Brume last year. I thought we were going to die that night. It feels like so long ago now—when Mojave Stark was the most evil person I had ever met. I hadn’t gotten to know Axioma Nation at that point. I didn’t know about Kcaj Berkley.

We climb down the other side of the ridge to another beach and Bird rolls up her pants and walks down to the water. Shanny trots behind her, and as I watch them go I get such an abrupt and overwhelming pain in my chest I have to turn away and look somewhere else.

“You should come in,” she calls over her shoulder, “otherwise you’ll think I’m lying about how warm it is.”

I cuff my pants and follow her. We walk ankle deep along the water’s edge until we get to the end of the beach, then turn around and walk back to the black ridge of rock. We don’t say anything, and even though I know we have a lot we need to talk about, it feels good. It’s nice to walk next to someone and not worry about what to say.

When we’ve climbed back over the ridge and are standing on the beach by the lagoon on the other side, Bird stretches her arms wide and inhales a deep, long breath. She tilts back her head and sighs at the sky. She looks at me. “So what do you think?”

“It’s nice.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Nice. Yeah, it’s nice. It’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen.”

“Sure, okay.”

She smiles. “Well, I’m glad you’re finally seeing it.”

“Me too. I did always want to come here. So thanks.”

Her gaze catches on mine, and some slight shift in the air seems to turn the world just enough for a small, shimmering spark to jump between us. It’s been a long time since I saw her smile. I forgot what a beautiful smile it is.

The sound of an electric motor breaks the moment. A small skiff is heading for the beach. Bird puts her hand over her brow and squints at the incoming boat. Totally unconcerned. I suppose when you’ve gotten used to teleporting out of danger in the blink of an eye, you start not to worry about things like Reckoners catching you on beaches anymore.

The skiff bumps to a halt in the sand and two figures hop over the sides and start dragging it up the beach. They’re far enough away that I can’t see who they are, but the way Bird steps around me and approaches them, I assume they must be people she knows. Suddenly, though, she stops. Freezes and then looks back at me like she made a mistake and badly wants to be somewhere else. As I get closer and the shapes of the two figures become familiar my stomach sinks. It’s Fetch and Locuaz. I forgot they were out here, waiting out the lockdown in Pocosín.

Fetch, pulling the skiff up out of the tide, is facing the other way and doesn’t see us. But Locuaz is staring at Bird like she’s some kind of ghastly apparition. Her gaze turns to me, and the look on her face tells me Fetch hasn’t explained to her what I’m doing with Zenith. Why I would be hanging out with Bird. The last time Locuaz saw Bird was the day of Electra’s funeral, when Fetch, Johnny, and Dominie basically told Bird to get lost. To Locuaz, running into me and Bird together on Île Tor must be like running into a sandcat and a jackrat on a date on the moon.

“What are you doing here?” Locuaz says.

Fetch’s head snaps around. She takes in me, then Bird, then glances at Locuaz. Shanny blasts past me, beelining for Fetch, and skids to a halt at her feet, wobbling his tail. She finishes securing the skiff, then wipes her hands together and eyes Bird. “Kidnapping people now, are we?”

Bird pulls herself up taller and spits back, “No. I would have thought you of all people would know what a kidnapping looks like.”

“You know, I thought it was weird when you didn’t thank me for risking my life to rescue you from the Exiters in Brume Three,” says Fetch. “But I guess it makes total sense when you realize you were working with those assholes all along.”

Locauz’s deeply worried gaze turns to me. “Are you okay, Mijo? Why are you here with her?”

My brain scrambles to come up with something plausible to explain myself. But I can’t think of a lie. So I just go for a version of the truth. “We’re talking.”

“Blink twice if you need help,” says Fetch.

“I’m fine. We’re talking.”

Locuaz nods slowly and looks at Bird. “Okay.”

Fetch clears her throat. She turns back to the skiff and pulls out two packs, hitches one onto her shoulder and hands the other to Locuaz. Locuaz takes it without removing her troubled gaze from Bird’s face.

“Have you seen Yote?” says Bird.

Locuaz continues staring at her for a long moment as though she isn't going to answer, then nods, tightly.

“How is she? She won’t return any of my messages.”

Locuaz swings her pack around her shoulders and tightens the straps. “She’s fine.” She looks up at Bird again. “I would not expect anyone to return your messages after what you did.”

Bird flinches.

“And you can stop sending them to me too.” Locuaz adjusts her pack. “I’m not going to return them either.” She gives me a final anxious look, then turns and walks off down the beach toward the cliffs. Bird watches her go, her eyes rimmed with tears, then whirls around and stalks away in the opposite direction.

Fetch folds her arms. When the two of them are out of earshot, she says, “So is this part of infiltrating the Exiters? Lunch date on Île Tor? Sounds nice.”

“I don’t need an evaluation, thank you. Why didn’t you tell Locuaz what I was doing?”

She sighs. “She’s having a hard time processing everything. I didn’t want to upset her more. She would be worried about you.”

“You should tell her.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Her gaze sticks on my bruised eye. “How are things going with Johnny?”

“They’re not.”

“And how are things going with Bird?”

“I’m doing what they asked me to do.”

“Right.” She unfolds her arms. “Well, I guess you know her best.”

“Yeah. I do.” I step around her to follow Bird, but she catches my elbow in a startlingly tight grip. I look down and find those Little Sister eyes peering frankly up at me. Seeing everything. Evaluating. Not buying my bullshit.

“Just…be careful.”

I try to disengage my arm. “I am.”

She squeezes my elbow and lets it go. “Savage told me you got that part out to him. Thank you.”

I restrain a scoff and shake my head. “Apparently now he’s in my debt. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

“It is.” She nods seriously. “He’s a scumbag, but he’s a good person to have in your pocket.”

“I guess it's better to have him in your pocket than to be in his.”

“Exactly.” She steps back, adjusting her pack, and looks down the beach after Locuaz. “I should get after her. It was good to see you.”

I frown, because I never thought I’d say these words to Fetch. “Yeah. It was good to see you too.”

chapter

eleven

BIRD IS SITTING in the sand with her knees pulled up to her chest when I catch up to her. She’s staring out at the Salt and as I sit down next to her she drags the back of her arm across her face and turns away. I sit in silence while she sniffs and wipes her eyes and tries to pretend she hasn’t been crying.

“What was that?” she says finally. “Between you and Fetch.”

“Nothing. Just catching up.”

“What do you and Fetch have to catch up about?”

“Uh—we went on a super dangerous rescue mission into Brume Three together looking for you?”

“Oh.” She sniffs. “Right.”

I glance over my shoulder to where Fetch and Locuaz are climbing over the black ridge at the other end of the beach. “Did you know she’s scared of heights?”

Bird’s head snaps around. Her face, still wet and puffy with tears, lights up. “What?”

“Yeah. She’s never climbed a mast.”

“That can’t be true.”

“Swear to God. I had to coach her down a ladder in Brume Three.”

The corners of Bird’s mouth twitch into a smile as she watches Fetch and Locuaz climbing over the ridge of black rock at the other end of the beach. It doesn’t feel great to sell Fetch out, but it does feel good to see Bird smile again. She watches them disappear over the top of the ridge and the smile fades. “They’re never going to be my friends again.”

“I mean, I don’t think Fetch was ever really your friend, was she?”

“I guess not. Locuaz though.” She gets that look like she's about to cry again and turns away.

“You know…” I shift. “It might not be impossible to fix some of the things. If you came to Zenith and told them what you told me. About how it wasn’t you that planned Azimuth Hall. If you helped them catch Neb and Kcaj. Paradi said she could make you a deal. People might forgive you.”

She sniffs and wipes her face again, and shakes her head. “Zenith aren’t going to catch Kcaj.”

I frown at her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s slippery. He poisoned the water in Zhīliú ten years ago. Ten years, and he’s still at large. He killed thousands of people, and where has he been? They didn’t catch him then.”

I turn my gaze back out to the Salt. “Remember when Mojave Stark was the scariest person we’d ever met?”

She laughs bitterly. “Yeah. She’s nothing compared to Kcaj.”

“So why are you working with him? I don’t understand.”

“I told you. It’s not about him. There are so many other people involved. And a lot of them are pretty reasonable. A lot of them—even the ones in hiding with us—don’t necessarily agree with things Kcaj has done. Some of them don’t even go to rallies or anything. They just don’t know where else to go. They’re…scared and desperate and looking for a future and they don’t think Zenith is it.”

“And they think Kcaj is?”

“I don’t know. It might be Neb they think they’re following. He’s very persuasive. Charming. A lot of people join after they talk to him.”

I fold my arms and look at the Salt, jealousy heating the back of my neck. “Is that why you joined?”

I can feel her eyes on the side of my face. Seeing exactly what I'm asking. “No,” she says. “I believe in the cause. And as scary as he is, I believe in Kcaj. He’s very smart. And motivated. And connected to a lot of resources. Scary, for sure, but—” She hesitates. “I think maybe that was partly why I didn’t tell anyone about the bomb. Because if he found out I did and came after me—”

“Would he do that?”

“I don’t know.”

Suddenly, my heart is beating fast. “That seems really dangerous. Like, you shouldn’t be involved with someone like that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a little late now, isn't it?” She wraps her arms around her knees and stares at the water for a long time. Then says, “You remember that night, before it happened. When we had sex and it was—not good.”

Oh God. I shut my eyes and try to push it away. But it won’t go. I had almost managed to convince myself that I’d forgotten that happened. That I did that.

“I guess I was wondering,” she continues, “if maybe it was weird because of Johnny.”

My heart shoots into the back of my throat. “What? No. No, I don’t think that had anything to do with it.”

“Are you sure?” She squints at me.

I can’t look at her. “I just screwed up, okay? I got carried away because we had been talking about trying new things, and I got confused. I’m so, so sorry. I thought you liked it. You came.”

She frowns. “I didn’t.”

“What? No, you did.”

“Well, you would know better than me, right?”

She folds her arms. I feel like I want to argue, but even I can see how insane that would be. I stare at her, shaking my head. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I don’t think it was completely your fault—”

“No, it was, please don’t—”

“Just—can you listen?” She sighs and picks up a handful of sand. “Look, I was in a very weird headspace that night. In case that’s not obvious by now. I think—I think I did like it. At first. I was into it. I wanted you to do it. And then I got in my head about Kcaj and the whole situation and I…changed my mind. But I was too—” She exhales sharply and tosses down the sand. “I felt bad about changing my mind right in the middle of it. I didn’t want to upset you. I guess I thought you would be mad.”

“I wouldn’t have been mad.”

“Yeah. But you were so into it. And I didn’t want to ruin it for you. So I figured I would just wait for it to be over and it would be fine. But it hurt, and then afterwards I felt so mad at myself for doing that. And I was mad at you for not knowing I wanted to stop, but, like—that’s not fair. I know that’s not fair. How would you have known? I should have told you to stop. I was angry that I didn’t say anything. And I took it out on you.”

I stare at her. “Wait for it to be over?”

She looks away, shrugging.

“Please tell me you don’t feel like you have to do that all the time.”

“I don’t.”

I feel sick. I feel like I can’t breathe. “I should have known you weren’t into it.”

She scoffs. “How? With your psychic dick?”

“I don’t know.” I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “I feel like I should have known. I was in a very weird place that night too.”

“Because of Johnny.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

She goes very quiet, and the air between us becomes fragile. Finally, she says, “How is he?”

I watch the edge of the Salt lapping the sand and try to figure out a way to answer that. Finally, I go with, “He’s fine.”

“That’s a lie.”

“He’s…an asshole.”

“But you still like him.”

I look at her sharply. “I’m not sure.”

She nods slowly, picking up a handful of sand. “Just so you know—it wasn’t that you were kissing him that freaked me out that night. Like, I mean, it was a shock. But I don’t…like I don’t want you to think that I thought it was weird or gross or bad or wrong or anything. It wasn’t that you were kissing a dude. It was just that you were kissing…someone else. And I’m sorry that I reacted how I did. I mean—not sorry, you were kissing someone else, but—I don’t know. How do I explain this?”

I shrug and look at my hands.

“I guess I’m trying to say that I can maybe understand why it happened. I guess it was probably a very intense moment. I didn’t know you were dealing with all that. And if you still like Johnny and you have to keep…figuring that out…then I guess I understand that too.”

I keep my eyes down. I never thought about that night from her perspective. After she blew up Zenith headquarters, all I could think about was Electra. I didn’t think about how it probably feels to get sexually assaulted by the person you love and then ten minutes later see them kissing someone else. What I did to her with Johnny is a thousand times worse than what she did with Savage. And now she’s trying to be open-minded? Telling me she understands?

Either Johnny’s right and she’s an evil mastermind, or she’s really really trying to make things right. Who is manipulating who here? I don’t know anymore.

She tips my chin up with one finger and searches my eyes. “Do you still like me?”

I hold her gaze. In spite of everything, I feel that small scrap of connection still shimmering between us. Like the last ribbon of a shredded flag, clinging to its stanchion, weathering the storm.

“I think so.”

I expect her to deflect—to get embarrassed and look away, like she usually does when we look at each other like this—but she doesn’t. She keeps her eyes on mine and leans very carefully and deliberately toward me. Everything disappears except her eyes and the beating of my heart like a drum against my throat, and I find myself sitting perfectly still and not breathing as she presses her lips carefully and deliberately to mine.

She keeps her eyes open. I know because I do too. They are profoundly, impossibly blue. Like the color of the Salt out here, and I can see all of the Salt’s raw, turbulent uncertainty in them. I can see her peeking cautiously into me, like she’s trying to see if this is okay. But I don’t know if it is or not. I think I just miss her. Her lips are soft and familiar and she smells like home and cinnamon tea. I don’t mean to do it, but I put one hand around her waist and pull her closer, and when she sighs and closes her eyes, I feel like I can breathe again.

When she pulls away, she is smiling. She opens her eyes and gives me that same careful look. “Was that okay?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She reaches up to touch my hair. Carefully, like a person touching something they’re not sure they’re supposed to touch. Her eyes travel around my face as though she’s studying a favorite painting she hasn’t seen in a long time, and the knot in my chest comes back. It feels nice to have someone look at you like that.

Then her smile turns wicked. A devious Howsley scheme coalesces behind those eyes and she says, “We should go skinny-dipping.”

I almost laugh out loud. “I don’t think so.”

“Not a good idea?”

“Absolutely not. And I’m offended that you think I wouldn’t notice such a transparent attempt to get into my pants.”

She shrugs. “Your loss. I’m really good at skinny-dipping.”

“Oh yeah? How good?”

Her eyes spark. The devious smile widens. “Very good.”

Heat prickles in the space between us. This is dangerous ground. I can feel the air closing in around me, my skin tightening against it as the world seems to disappear and everything except those eyes vanishes.

She lets the smile linger as she slowly sits back, tugging up the bottom of her shirt and pulling it over her head. My breath catches as it comes off and she tosses it aside. Underneath, she is naked. I try not to let it, but my gaze drops to her breasts, and I can feel her watching me devour them with my eyes. They look good. They look really, really good.

She gets to her feet and holds out her hand.

I look up. “Someone will see us.”

She rolls her eyes. “No one will see us. Everyone is anchored on the other side of the ridge.”

“What about Fetch and Locuaz?”

“We’ll swim out to a spot I know. They won’t see us from the shore.”

“What about Shanny?”

“What about Shanny? He’s not going anywhere. Is he going to be mad about being on the beach a while longer?”

When I don’t take her hand, she steps back and begins unbuttoning her pants. I watch with a bone-dry mouth and pounding heart as she slides them off into the sand. My eyes stick on the Nabla Omega tattooed on her bicep, and I take a long, hard breath, and put them somewhere else.

She kicks her pants aside and looks back at me over her shoulder. Then, like a person jumping into cold water before they can change their mind, she whips off her underwear, throws it at me, and runs down the beach toward the Salt.

Fuck, I shouldn’t do this. This is a terrible idea.

Clawing off my shirt and tripping out of my pants, I sprint after her.

I catch her at the edge of the Salt and grab her around the waist. She shrieks as I heft her over my shoulder and wade out into the warm, clear water. When it’s nearly up to my chest, I stop.

“Don’t throw me in,” she says.

“Throw you in?”

“Don’t throw me in!”

“You want me to throw you in—”

“No!”

She screams again as I swing her off my shoulder and toss her backwards into the water. She disappears and then emerges, gasping, with her hair stuck all over her face. “I said don’t throw me in!”

“Ohhh. Sorry, I must have misheard you.”

She lunges and shoves me so hard in the chest that I stumble backwards and go under too. The water closes over my head like a soft, cool blanket. It feels good. Cleansing. I stay under for a while with my eyes closed, listening to the hum of my own head. The thump of my heart in my ears. Feeling the press of the Salt.

When I come up, she has swum a little way out and is watching me with only her eyes above the water. She lifts her mouth above the surface and says, “Shake your hair.”

“Shake my hair?”

“Mhm.”

I do. She smirks, then kicks off and glides away backwards.

We swim toward the cliffs at the opposite end of the beach. Where the bottom of the cliffs touches the water, Bird slips into a crevice in the wall and disappears. When I follow her, I find a shelf of rock that reveals, when I climb out of the water and over it, a tiny cove with a turquoise pool at the center, surrounded on all sides by steep, smooth stone. At the back of the cove, a waterfall tumbles into the pool. Bird is standing in the middle of it, the water just above her chest.

“What do you think? Pretty good cave, right?”

I shrug. “I think my cave was better. It had magic bugs in it.”

“They weren’t magic.”

Her eyes drift down my naked body and my blood heats. I slip into the water and wade out to her, splashes ringing off the stone walls around us. As I reach her, I sense her breath disappear, and a moment hangs between us as we stand nearly chest to chest, looking into each other’s eyes.

“I missed you,” she says.

That pain in my chest comes back like a scimitar slicing me open. I grab her by the waist and pull her close and kiss her. Not carefully, like before—not deliberately. I kiss her like I missed her too, with all the pent-up need I’ve been pushing down for weeks. With the memory of every dream I’ve had about her roaring in my blood. Her mouth is soft and supple and Jesus it feels so good to have my tongue inside it. I slide my hand into the back of her hair and pull her head back to go deeper, to taste more of her sweet, familiar, irresistible flavor.

Her hands come to my hips and pull me tighter against her. I slide my thigh between hers, our skin slick and cool in the water, and feel her push herself against it. She slips one hand between us and cups my balls. My cock strains.

“I need you against the wall,” I groan.

“Mmm.” She smiles. “Already?”

With her hand around my balls, I wade her backwards toward the waterfall, nipping and biting and kissing until I feel cool, fresh water pounding the top of my head. She ducks her face against my shoulder as I walk her through it. On the other side is a tiny, dark nook, filled with rippling reflected light and roaring sound. I slide my hands under her ass and lift her against slick, mossy stone, and as I move to pin her with my hips, she reaches under the water and slips me inside.

“Oh—Jesus—” I choke, and look at her, because I wasn’t expecting that. She just holds my gaze and wraps her legs around me, using them to pull me closer. Our eyes lock as my cock slowly sinks into her and when it hits its deepest, fullest point, I grab her hand and pin it to the stone by her head and stare into her eyes as I slide out and in again.

“You’re fucking beautiful.”

Her eyes rim with sharp, sudden tears. She leans forward and kisses me, harder, and I twine my fingers through hers as I push into her again.

I drag kisses down the edge of her jaw; her skin is wet and salty and when I press my tongue flat against the hollow below her ear she shudders. I do it again, driving into her harder, deeper, drunk on the feeling of having her like this.

“You like that,” I say in her ear. It’s a statement, not a question, and she whimpers, because I’m right.

As I let go of her hand she is already arching, lifting her chest to meet me because she already knows where I’m going. I cup her breast and thumb her nipple as I grind into her again, and she bows harder. I do it again, turning my eyes up to her face to see the way her eyes flutter closed, the way her head tilts back to expose the column of her throat, the way one hand lifts to her soaking hair and then hovers there, because she doesn’t know what to do with it, and even though I’ve seen it a hundred times before, it nearly undoes me.

“God, I missed these.” I push into her again, squeezing her breast so I can feel just how hard she is. “I really fucking missed these.”

She moans, and that sound drives me so close to the edge I have to pull back, pull out, try to gain some control. Everything is salt and wet skin and crashing water and her smell like a scent mark all over me.

“Don’t,” she pleads, “don’t stop.”

“Fuck—” I brace my hand on the stone to keep myself back. “I’m close.”

She reaches behind me and pulls me into her. “Don’t stop.”

I keep my eyes on hers as I bury myself all the way in her and she moans. Long and loud—the type of noise I would normally try and stifle for the sake of the neighbors. Here, I don’t have to do that. Here, with no one around, I can just look right into her face while those ungodly sounds come out of her. Release is already surging up inside me. I can’t stop it. Not when she shouts and I feel her clamp around me with her whole core. Not when her legs go tight around my waist and she digs her fingers into my shoulders and screams my fucking name like it’s burning through her soul. Every single thought flies out of my head. I grab her hand and lace my fingers through hers and brace against the wall and we come together, our eyes still locked, our shouts ricocheting off the water and all around the cave.

I try to keep hold of her, but everything is too wet. She slips out of my arms and under the water and emerges sputtering, choking with laughter and shoving the hair out of her face. I get my arm around her and haul her to her feet and kiss her again.

We sit in the cove behind the waterfall for a long time with our fingers laced together, watching the hypnotic tumble of the water. Then we swim back to the beach and pull our clothes on over wet, sandy skin and spend a while hunting for Shanny. We find him halfway into digging what looks like it’s going to be a very impressive hole in the sand, and I scoop him up and tuck him under my arm. Bird takes my hand again, and I stand for a moment taking in the view, trying to cement this sparkling, chimerical place into my memory. I feel like I can’t quite be sure that any of this actually happened.

“We can come back,” says Bird.

When we get back to Panga, the air has cooled and the sun is sliding into the horizon. We sit in the cockpit to watch it disappear, then Bird picks up Shanny.

“I guess I’d better go.”

The knot in my chest that has been tying, untying, and re-tying itself all day, tightens. I don’t know if I can sit here and watch her disappear again, knowing that she’s going back to that grimy, unsettling place. That she’s going back to an organization run by a guy who might come after her. As she stands, I reach out and catch her hand.

“Don’t.”

She sighs. “I have to.”

“Why? Stay here. You could go back tomorrow.”

“There’s a curfew. Technically, not even a curfew—technically no one’s supposed to go out at all. But, you know, I get away with it because I’m important.”

“Okay, well, tell them you were doing something important.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Please—” She pulls her hand out of mine. “I just have to go.”

The next words come out of my mouth before I realize I’ve even thought them. “Okay. Then I’ll go with you.”

She freezes. “What?”

I feel as stunned as she looks by what I’ve just said. I stare back at her with my mouth open, the full weight of what I’m doing breaking over me as I repeat, “Take me with you.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” The wheels in my head are beginning to turn. Some notion that I’m making progress. That Dominie would approve of this. But honestly, that notion is vague. I don’t care about infiltrating the Exiters in this moment. I care about Bird.

Her eyes are probing mine with mild suspicion. “Because it’s dangerous.”

“Too dangerous for me but not for you?”

“Yes! I can teleport. And I have immunity; they need me. Kcaj is scary but he has a good side. I’m on his good side.”

“I don’t care.” Jesus, I’m about to say exactly what Dominie and Paradi told me to say, and I don’t even know if I’m lying. I stand up. “I want to keep you safe.”

“I don’t need you to keep me safe. I’m keeping me safe. And if you come with me, I’m just going to end up keeping you safe, too.”

“Okay. Then take me so I can keep Shanny safe.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious. If it’s so dangerous, you should leave him here. And if you’re not going to do that, then take me so I can take care of him.”

She twists her mouth and looks down at Shanny.

“You won’t end up looking out for me. I’m an adult. I can look out for myself.”

“So you’re just going to abandon all your principles?” she demands. “All your arguments about how blowing up buildings isn’t the solution, and I’m not God, and the Exiters are wrong, and you can’t support chaos, and—”

“Yes.” I nod. “Yes. I’m going to abandon all my principles.”

She shakes her head, staring at me.

“Let’s be honest, Howsley: pit against you, my principles were never really all that steadfast to begin with.”

A small, surprised light comes into her eyes. She smiles.

“What?”

“You called me Howsley.”

I frown. “Yes?”

She shrugs. “You haven’t in a while. You usually don’t, when you’re mad. You call me Bird.”

“Do I?” My frown deepens. I think back through the last few weeks. I’ve certainly heard her referred to as Howsley by Johnny and Dominie. Have I been calling her Bird?

She sighs and shifts Shanny against her chest. “They’re going to ask you what you’re doing there. Why you want to join.”

My heart skips. “Is that a yes?”

“I don’t know.” She chews her cheek. “What would you tell them?”

“Same thing everyone does. That I don’t trust Zenith and I’m looking for a way out.”

“They’re going to grill you on it. Because you’re connected to me, and to Zenith, and they know about Z-Day and what we did.”

“Okay.” I rub the top of my head and look around, like I might find an answer in Panga’s cockpit. Or in the Salt or sky. My eye lands on that cloud, still squatting on the horizon, purple in the just-completed sunset. “I’ll tell them about the cloud. That I don’t like the way it looks.” She squints at it. “It’s actually not a lie. There are plenty of things I’ve noticed out on the Salt recently that I don’t like. The air temperature. The number of sunny days we’ve had. We haven’t had fog.”

Bird is chewing her cheek, Shanny still clutched against her chest. Her eyes are distant, but focused, like she’s thinking through something very complicated, weighing all the parts. I can see her remembering how she asked me to come with her the night of Azimuth Hall. I can see her worrying about Shanny. Questioning my motives. Feeling guilty about Electra. Feeling lonely. Finally, she turns. She holds Shanny out to me.

“Fine,” she says. “Come with me.”

chapter

twelve

THE GRIMY TILED corridor Bird brought me to two days ago emerges from the void, and I’m greeted by the sinister vision of the graffitied Nabla Omega, black and red, dripping down the wall in front of me like an omen.

My eyes adjust as more symbols and posters emerge from the light. The air is cool. The light spilling out of the caged light bulbs on the walls is stark. The walls are marred with water stains and graffiti, and the concrete floor is cracked in places. Bird taps her brow to check the time and turns to me. “I have to take you to leadership, so we’re going to have to walk right through Clapham.”

“Clapham?”

“The communal area. It’s like a big mess hall. It shouldn’t be too crowded right now because everyone should be prepping for dinner, I hope.”

I set Shanny on the floor and he trots off down the corridor like he knows exactly where he’s going. He stops to sniff a water stain, then looks over his shoulder at us, waiting. I look to Bird to lead the way, but she doesn’t. She’s chewing her nail and anxiously watching me.

“People are going to notice you, and they’re going to stare. Just walk with me and keep your eyes forward and act like you’re supposed to be here.”

“Is this going to be okay?”

“It should be fine. Just…since we went into hiding the only person allowed to bring in new people is Neb. So it’s unorthodox and it’s going to attract attention.”

“Do we have to walk through the middle of everything? If you need to talk to leadership, can’t we just jump to wherever Kcaj and Neb are?”

She shakes her head. “They don’t like that. Leadership doesn't want me popping into Home Office at random when they might be discussing something sensitive. And people don’t like it when I just appear out of nowhere in the middle of Clapham or the dorms. A lot of them are kind of freaked out by the whole teleporting thing. If I’m coming in I’m supposed to jump here first and walk in. And anyway,” she turns and starts to follow Shanny, “Kcaj and Neb aren’t here.”

I follow her down the corridor. “Where are they?”

“I can’t tell you that. But they don’t come here much. I’m going to take you before the deputies, which is like the second level in the chain of command.”

At the end of the corridor is an abrupt drop, and I find myself staring down a long, narrow escalator. The bottom of it is so far below us that it’s lost to darkness. It isn’t running. I come to a halt. I’ve never seen an escalator before.

“Where are we?”

Bird steps onto the top step and starts to descend, her footsteps echoing off the tiled, arched ceiling. “I can’t tell you that either.”

Shanny bounces down the steps ahead of us as we climb down into the narrowing blackness. The walls on either side of me are plastered with faded, peeling, and disintegrating posters. More Zenith aphorisms: Climb into your future! Doing the most good for the most people.

At the bottom of the escalator we turn right and climb over a turnstile. Metal gates at hip-height, that I assume at one point opened and closed automatically. There are card readers beside each one. We turn another corner and the space opens up and suddenly, I understand where we are.

It’s an underground EV station.

We’re standing on the platform where the trains would stop. It’s obvious it hasn’t been used for that purpose for a long time—in fact, an old EV is pulled halfway into the station, its end disappearing down the covered tracks to our right, doors hanging open, covered in graffiti and looking as though it hasn’t moved in decades. I look for signage—a station name, some written language, some indication of where we are, but it looks as though anything identifying has been spray-painted over. Apparently, the Exiters don’t even want the people hiding here to know where they are. Grike had an underground EV system at one point. Did it ever come back online after the pandemic? I can’t remember.

A couple of people are sitting at a folding wooden table in the corner of the platform, playing cards. They regard us with open suspicion as Bird crosses the platform, squats at the edge, and hops over the side onto the tracks. She turns to grab Shanny and I stand on the edge of the platform, looking down at her. “Where are we going?”

“Into the tunnel. It’s how we get to the shelters.”

“This is an EV station, right?”

“Yes.”

“Is this Grike? Are we underground?”

She shoots me a look, and I’m pretty sure she’s about to tell me I can’t tell you that again, but instead she says, “Yes, we’re underground. We call this the Station. That’s all I’m going to tell you. Please stop asking.”

We squeeze into the tunnel next to the defunct train and sidle along between it and the wall. The tunnel isn’t long—I can see light at the other end as we step into it. Sounds of life creep from the other end. Voices.

The platform at the other end is busier—people hanging around, leaning against walls or sitting in groups on blankets and cardboard on the floor. As Bird and I emerge from the tunnel and climb onto the platform, the murmur of chatter ripples into silence. I keep my eyes on Bird as she takes me to a tiled corridor that leads away from the platform. Around the corner, we are thrown into a wide, open space that looks like it was once a food court, arranged with rows of neatly aligned tables. It’s busy. Many of the tables are occupied.

I try to ignore the stares and suspicious glances landing on me as we weave through the rows of tables, and breathe a little easier as we step into another corridor on the other side of the hall and leave the probing eyes behind.

Bird walks quietly. I pick up my pace to come alongside her and we walk side by side in silence. “A lot of people here don’t like me,” she says finally.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Some of them are freaked out by the teleporting. But I think a lot of them just see me as kind of separate. I’m not really one of them, and I’m not really one of leadership. I’m not charming like Neb, and I’m not scary like Kcaj.” She sighs. “And let’s be honest: people have never really liked me, have they? I didn’t have any friends at Azimuth.”

“Didn’t you?”

She frowns sideways at me. “Why do you think I was always hanging around after class, helping you with Panga?”

“I guess I thought you liked me?”

“Oh, yeah, that too I guess. But honestly? I just didn’t have anyone else.”

“Oh.” I can feel my heart sinking. “I didn’t know that.”

She looks at me suddenly. “That came out wrong.”

“It’s fine.”

“See, this is why people don’t like me. I’m an asshole. Or it’s autism. Take your pick: to most people, they’re the same thing anyway.”

“You’re not an asshole. You’re—” I frown. I feel like I’ve been telling Bird she isn’t an asshole since the day we met. You’re not an asshole, you’re salty. You’re not an asshole, I’m the asshole. Honestly, though? I put my hands in my pockets. “Yeah, you know what? You are kind of an asshole.”

She nods quietly at the floor. “Anyway, people seem to like Shanny, so stick with him and you’ll probably be fine.”

We come to an imposing metal door and Bird stops. “This is Home Office. Someone from leadership should be in here.”

“Okay…” My pulse ticks up. “What’s the plan, exactly?”

She shrugs and puts her palm on a scanner by the door. “I’m just going to go in there and tell them I’m recruiting you, I guess. I don’t know what else to do.”

I hang back as the door slides open and Bird steps through it. On the other side is a shabby office containing a single desk and a couple of filing cabinets, a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. A woman, hunched over a slate on the desk, glances up as Bird steps through, then returns to her slate.

“What do you want, Howsley?”

“I’ve brought a recruit. His name is Sargo Paz. He recently decided he wants to join the cause and needs to be initiated.”

The woman looks up again, sharply this time, her eyes narrowing. “We aren’t taking recruits unless they’re inducted by Neb. Is this authorized?”

“Not…exactly.”

The woman’s eyes flip to me. “Get out of the hall and close the door.”

I step across the threshold and the door slides shut behind me. She stands and comes around to the front of the desk. I recognize her: she’s the big, broad-shouldered, woman with frizzy hair who used to stand on the fountain in front of Zenith screaming about the children. The one who led the march up to the gates the day those two guys chased me down and Johnny shot one of them in the knee. She has two empty gun holsters strapped around her enormous chest. She folds her arms across them and glares at Bird.

“You brought a chipped civilian here?”

“I already deactivated his geolocation module. Zenith doesn’t know where he is.”

“Just because you have special dispensation from Kcaj, doesn’t mean you can flounce around here doing whatever you want, Howsley.” The woman glares at me. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Initiate him, I guess?”

“Obviously I can’t do that. Not without authorization from Neb.”

Bird sighs impatiently. “Can’t you authorize him? I thought Neb left you in charge.”

“It’s not a question of what I can do, Howsley. It’s a question of what I choose to do.”

“Maybe I’ll just message Neb,” Bird shoots back, “and let him know how difficult you’re making this for me.”

“I think we both know you have no intention of doing that. In fact, I’m willing to bet the reason you brought him now is because you knew Neb wouldn’t be here.”

Bird stares the woman down. “Well then maybe I’ll just tell Neb about the darts you’ve been smuggling in, instead. I’m sure he’d be interested to hear about that major security breach.”

A long moment passes while the woman glares at Bird. Finally, she flicks her eyes to me. “What’s his angle?”

“He doesn’t have an angle,” says Bird. “He’s here for the same reason everyone else is. He doesn’t believe Zenith is doing a good job and he wants a better alternative.”

The woman eyes me. “That true?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

She says nothing, and her eyebrows twitch up as she continues to watch me, like she’s waiting for me to elaborate.

“I’ve been watching the cloud. The one that never moves. Uh—in Brume. I don’t know if you know…about that? I spend a lot of time on the Salt. I guess I see other things too.”

“He’s a sailor,” says Bird. “He understands the things that are changing better than most people.”

“A sailor and good friends with the Nations.” She looks at me. “Isn’t that right? I know your name.”

“He grew up with them.” Bird looks at me. “But—”

“I’m not talking to you, Howsley.” The woman’s eyes narrow on mine.

I dig through my head, looking for a lie. “Yes. I do have ties to the Nations. But since Z-Day I’ve been worried they aren’t making the right decisions. I don’t think they have civilians’ best interests at heart anymore.”

“And the fact that one of them was killed in the Azimuth Hall bombing? That’s no skin off your nose.”

My stomach turns over. I fist my hands inside my pockets. “No Ma’am.”

She eyes me a moment longer, then, without breaking my gaze, addresses Bird. “Leave us.”

Bird hesitates. “Why?”

“Do you want me to initiate him or not, Howsley?” says the woman impatiently. “Stop questioning me and get out.”

Bird hovers, looking nervous, then nods and quickly exits through the door. The woman hasn’t removed her eyes from my face. When the door closes, she says, “Why are you really here?”

“I’m worried about the cloud—”

She makes a dismissive noise. “No. Try again.”

I hold her gaze as the room shrinks around me, searching her face for an indication of what she might be looking for. That she suspects I’m working with Zenith. That she somehow already knows. I don’t have another lie prepared. So I decide to go with the truth.

“I’m worried about Bird.”

Her face remains expressionless.

I shrug, feeling helpless. “I guess that’s it. I don’t think she’s doing well. I want to be here so I can keep an eye on her.”

“And your friend who died at Azimuth Hall?”

“What about her?”

“You’re not upset about Howsley’s involvement in that?”

“I am.”

“But not upset enough to want her punished.”

I hesitate. “I don’t know, Ma’am.”

“You’re not seeking revenge.”

“Revenge?” My eyebrows shoot up. Revenge is a strong word. Revenge is not a word I’ve ever thought about in connection to this situation. Justice, maybe. But I don’t think I'm seeking revenge. I shake my head. “No Ma’am.”

She smiles. A shrewd, grim, slightly unsettling smile. “You’re a polite young man, aren’t you?”

The muscles in my jaw tense. “Yes. Ma’am.”

She unfolds her arms and returns to the other side of the desk. Kicks out the chair and sits. “Go to Belsize for initiation. Then go to Stockwell and have them issue you a bunk. Report to Clapham tomorrow at 0600 for work assignment.” She picks up her slate and returns her attention to it. “Howsley can show you where.”

I’m so stunned that I don’t move until her impatient gaze flicks up to mine again and she says, briskly, “Out!”

Bird is waiting in the corridor outside. I follow her back to the busy mess hall. The word Clapham is spray-painted in big red and black block letters on the far wall, with a Nabla Omega at either end.

“This is the communal area,” says Bird, “and where we serve meals.”

“How many people are here?”

“Total? A few hundred.”

Something bumps into me from behind and I step sideways as three children run past us, no taller than waist-height, shrieking and shoving each other. I frown as they sprint by. “There are kids here?”

“A few.” Bird dodges them as they come back the other way. “Most of the people you see here are general population—they don’t have leadership clearance or have much to do with organizing. Many of them have never even attended a rally.”

“So what are they doing here?”

“Families of people who are involved. People who don’t feel like they have anywhere else to go, or who aren’t safe because of their association with the organization—especially since Azimuth Hall. They know Zenith is looking for anyone linked.”

“And all these people are fine with the fact that they have to be in hiding because you and Kcaj blew up a school and killed someone?”

She drops her eyes. “Well, like I said. A lot of people here don’t like me.”

We pass a long metal counter under an open window that looks into a kitchen, like a restaurant lunch counter. In the kitchen, about twenty people or so are busy preparing food. A woman with her hair tied up in a bandanna stirs a massive metal pot of some kind of stew.

“Everyone gets a work assignment,” says Bird. “Usually it’s cleaning or food prep. We rotate every couple of weeks. You’ll probably start in the kitchen.”

“I don’t understand. I thought this place was dangerous. These people don’t seem dangerous.”

“These people aren’t,” says Bird. “But these people aren’t the only ones here.”

We turn into another tiled corridor and walk along it until we reach another heavy metal door. On the wall next to it, the word Belsize is spray-painted, the now-familiar Nabla Omega at either end. A prickling of recognition niggles at me. Belsize. Where do I know that word from?

Bird puts her palm on the scanner and it slides open to reveal another shabby office with a doctor’s examination table covered in a white sheet at the center of it. A lamp is crooked over the table and on the wall to my right is a short row of cabinets, their doors labeled with medical supply names and their surfaces arranged with a box of latex gloves and jar of cotton swabs.

A grizzled old man with a bar through his nose and so many tattoos on his arms and face that I can’t see his skin is sitting on a stool on the other side of the room, reading from a slate. He looks up as we step into the room.

“New initiation,” says Bird.

The old man frowns. “Thought we weren’t doing new initiations.”

“It was authorized.”

“By who?”

“Bigwig.”

He eyes me, then sets aside the slate and gets slowly to his feet, joints cracking. He motions at the examination table, crosses to the cabinets, and begins pulling on a pair of latex gloves. I glance at Bird.

“Physical exam,” she says. “And you’ll get a tattoo.”

I feel my eyebrows shoot into my hairline. “A tattoo?”

“The Nabla Omega.” She tugs her jacket open and shrugs the top of her shoulder out of her shirt collar. The edge of the symbol peeks out at the top of her bicep. “Like mine. Remember?”

A familiar frustrated feeling creeps through me. How could she have failed to tell me that this was part of the initiation?

The old man finishes snapping on the gloves and opens a cabinet labeled Needles. He pulls out a metal box, flips it open and rummages through its contents. Bird lifts her eyebrows at me and again motions to the table. With a slightly sick feeling, I cross to it. A flogging Exiters tattoo? The mark of the people who killed my best friend, permanently etched into my skin?

Bird retreats to the stool in the corner while I shed my jacket and sit on the table. The old man finishes preparing his instruments, hangs a stethoscope around his neck, and brings the box over. He sets it on the table’s corner while he probes my neck and abdomen with his fingers, places the stethoscope against my chest, looks into my eyes and ears, and down my throat. He nods, shrugs, gives Bird a weary thumbs-up, then opens the box and pulls out a tattoo gun.

“Roll up your sleeve.”

I glare through the opposite wall while he burns the symbol into my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, but I can feel angry tears pricking the backs of my eyes. This is not what I signed up for. This is a betrayal.

Twenty agonizing minutes crawl by, then he wipes away the last of the blood and ink, tapes a white gauze patch over the area, and gives me another thumbs-up. “Welcome to the cause.”

I roll my sleeve back down and put my jacket on as quickly as possible. I don’t want to see it. I don’t ever want to have to look at it.

Bird is quiet as she leads me back through the corridor toward Clapham. Her gaze is on the floor, her hands in her pockets. I’m sure my resentment is evident in my silence and rigid posture. I don’t try to hide it. She knows why I’m angry.

On the other side of Clapham, we take another corridor to a platform labeled Goodge. Again, Bird crosses the platform and hops down onto the tracks. We turn right into the tunnel and walk along it. This one is lit with a random assortment of string lights and colored bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and the walls are lined with makeshift wooden bunks, stacked three high on either side like shelves. The bunks are made up with blankets and pillows that look as though they were brought from people’s homes. Personal items—clothes, packs, slates, pairs of shoes—are laid out on them or tucked underneath. Many of the bunks are empty but some are occupied by people lying with their backs to me, others reading, talking. The low murmur of chatter fills the air, which is stale, warm, and smells of sleeping people.

“This is the main dormitory,” says Bird. “There are two more—Stockwell and Chancery—but those are smaller. If we can’t find you a bunk in here, you’ll probably end up in Stockwell.”

“What about you? Where do you sleep?”

She shoots me a furtive smile. “Why?”

I don’t return the smile. “Just getting the lay of the land.”

“I’m in Chancery. Most of leadership sleeps there—apart from Neb and Kcaj, obviously. I can show you where it is.”

We walk all the way to the end of the tunnel, where a woman tells us there are no bunks available and directs us to Stockwell. Bird leads me out through the other end, past another platform, and into the next tunnel. Another long dormitory, quiet, with fewer people in it and visibly empty bunks. We talk to a man who grumbles that I should have brought my own bedding, then hands me a thin bedroll and a threadbare blanket and tells me he’s out of pillows. I find a top bunk and set my bedding on it.

Bird and I stand there looking at the bunk as the weight of what I’m doing begins to settle on me. Am I really going to sleep here? On this miserable wooden board under that ratty old blanket?

I turn to Bird. “If I’m going to stay here I need to go back to Panga and get some things.”

She shifts her feet and looks away. “I—’m not sure you can. No one is allowed to leave.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry—I—I totally spaced, we should have grabbed your stuff before we came. But I can go back to Panga for you. I’ll pick up whatever you want.”

I drag one hand down my face and restrain a frustrated sigh. “You spaced?”

“I’m really sorry.”

“So I’m trapped here.”

“I’m sure I can sneak you out if you want to go somewhere. But not, like, right away. Maybe in a few days? You should get onboarded first. Follow the rules, at least for a while. Make sure people trust you.”

“Jesus Christ, Bird. This would have been really nice to know before you brought me here.” She flinches. “Yes. Bird. We are no longer on Howsley terms.”

“I mean…” She picks at her nails. “I did mention that no one is supposed to leave.”

I stare at her, my mind racing, as the full realization of what this means dawns on me. I won’t be able to check in at Zenith. I won’t be able to continue training. Will I even be able to go to the UD hearing? It’s in a few days. What happens if I don’t go? Do they reschedule? Try me anyway? Send a team of interdimensional peace force officers after me?

She spaced?

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. It’s not her fault. I spaced too. I’ve been letting my feelings get twisted and confused. What happened on Île Tor was a mistake. I have to remember why I really came here. I didn’t come because I care about Bird. I came here to spy for Zenith.

chapter

thirteen

BIRD IS CALLED AWAY to work on something and I’m left standing with Shanny, staring at the bare plank of wood with the dismal gray blanket, sleeping pad, and bed sheet folded at the center of it. Words like Communism and prison camp surface in my head and disappear. Shanny trots off down the tunnel to sniff a pair of shoes neatly lined up at the foot of someone else’s bunk, and I sigh and set about making the bed.

When it’s done, I stand with my arms folded, looking up and down the dorm. It’s quiet, nearly empty. A few people are napping. Others are laid out or sitting on their bunks, reading from slates. A few covert glances my way are enough to make me wary of approaching anyone, so I take my cue from my new roommates and climb up onto the bunk. I need to get a message to someone at Zenith.

On a bottom bunk on the opposite side of the tunnel, an older man with a head of shaggy gray-brown hair and a shadow of stubble on his thin cheeks is sitting with one leg tucked under him and the other stretched so his foot hangs over the edge of the bed. Something about his face is eerily familiar, which adds to the unsettled feeling I get as our eyes meet and I realize he’s watching me.

I lift a hand in salutation. “Hey.”

He returns the gesture with a nod.

“Do you know…can we send messages down here?”

“You can try,” he says, “but nothing will get out.”

“How do they manage that?”

He shrugs. “Some clever thing way beyond me. Kcaj, you know. Bright guy.”

“Right.”

He watches me with narrow eyes. “I thought we weren’t bringing in anyone new.”

The back of my neck prickles and I refrain from shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “It was authorized.”

“Sure. It would have to be. What’s your name?”

“Sargo. Paz.”

“I’m Marly.” He eyes me a moment longer, then returns his attention to a slate in his lap. I lean against the wall behind me and try to think. I can’t get a message to Dominie, and my geolocation module is offline so they’ll have no idea where I am. Could I jump out? Seems risky—if they’re blocking outgoing messages it’s a good bet they’d pick up a biochip jump. And since the only people who are supposed to be able to do that are Bird and Kcaj, it would be pretty suspicious if one suddenly initiated from the new guy’s chip. I’ll have to get Bird to take me with her when she goes to Panga to get my things. Get a message to Dominie then. I assume if Bird initiates the jump, it won’t register on my chip—a bold assumption, considering I don’t actually know how QMTP works, but I don’t have much choice other than to hope I’m right.

“Recruit or Relative?” says Marly.

I look up. “What?”

“Are you a Recruit or a Relative,” he repeats. “Fighting for the cause or just here because someone you know is?”

“Oh. Uh—the second, I guess.”

“Relative, then. Saw you were with Howsley. She dragged you down here?”

“She’s my girlfriend. I guess I came to—protect her. You know her?”

“Everyone knows her.” He clicks his tongue at Shanny, who is trotting back from his exploration down the tunnel. “Right Shan?” Shanny wags his tail and the guy chuckles.

“What about you?” I ask. “Are you a Relative?”

He shakes his head. “Recruit. Been here since the beginning. Well, not here—” he gestures around, “this place didn’t always exist. But with the cause.”

“How long have you been here?”

He tilts his chin up to the ceiling. “About six months?”

“You haven’t left in six months?”

“I’ve left a couple times. For rallies, raids. Things like that. It’s all gotta be authorized.”

“Do you know where we are?”

He shakes his head. “Nobody does. Except Neb and Kcaj. And Howsley. Maybe some others in Home Office.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

He shrugs. “What must be done shall be done. It bothers some. The Relatives, mostly. But Recruits know the ends justify the means.”

“How did you get here?”

“Howsley brought most of us. Jumped us here. Been moving us in drips and drabs. Of course, after Azimuth Hall, there was a big influx. That’s when the Relatives started coming in. A lot more families and people who don’t really know what it’s all about.”

Somewhere at the end of the tunnel, a bell rings. Marly sets his slate aside.

“That’s dinner.”

He untucks his leg and shifts to the edge of his bed, and as he gets carefully to his feet, my stomach turns over. One of his knees is bandaged, and he favors that leg, not setting his foot down or putting any weight on it. He picks up a walking stick leaning against the bunk and looks up at me, and suddenly I know where I’ve seen his face before.

This is the guy Johnny shot in the leg that day at the rally. One of the two who chased me down and could have killed me if Johnny hadn’t intervened. A wave of cold panic washes through me and my mind careens through a list of possible ways the next ten seconds might go. If he hasn’t recognized me, all I have to do is keep my head down and maybe move bunks so he doesn’t have a chance to start wondering where he’s seen me. If he has recognized me, there’s every chance that this whole thing is already flogged; that he’ll report me to Bird or that woman with the hair, or worse, Kcaj, and I’ll be…what? Dead? Dismembered? Questioned, at the very least.

His eyebrows tick up and he tilts his head slightly, and I realize I’ve been staring at him for too long without saying something. “Coming?”

“Yes.” I snap myself together and hop down off the bunk. “Yep.”

Shanny and I follow him back through our dormitory, then back through Goodge, and along the corridor back to Clapham. It’s busier than it was when Bird and I walked through earlier—the tables packed and the din of chatter and dinner plates bouncing off the tiled walls. Marly joins the end of a long line that snakes around the perimeter of the hall and I get in behind him. The air smells vaguely spicy and I realize I’m starving. I woke up late and didn’t eat this morning before I went to Zenith. Jesus, was that only this morning?

We shuffle slowly around the edge of the room until we come to the long window and metal lunch counter. I pick up a tray and am served a large spoonful of green veg and a bread roll, directly onto the tray. The last stop at the end of the counter is the woman in the bandana, who is serving some kind of red stew from an enormous metal pot. She holds up a ladle full of the stuff and looks at me.

“Bowl?”

“Oh—” I look around, realizing that everyone else has some kind of bowl or dish on their tray. “Where do I get one?”

“You bring it from home,” says Marly, and holds out his own chipped blue and white bowl for a scoop. The grumbling in my stomach intensifies as the woman ladles a spoonful of stew into his dish. So not only do I have no pillow, no change of clothes, and no real bedding to sleep under, but I also don’t get to eat. Because Bird spaced.

Suspicious eyes track me through the rows of tables as I follow Marly away from the window. He artfully balances his tray in one hand while simultaneously managing his cane with the other, and checks over his shoulder to make sure I’m still with him until we arrive at a table on the other side of the hall. Again, my blood runs cold. Seated at the table is the other guy who chased me down at the rally—a massive, brutish looking guy with a bald head, graying beard, and tattoos on his hands. Next to him sits a petite older blonde woman with blue streaks in her hair, a nose ring, and a faded leather jacket. Marly topples to a seat at the bench opposite them and gestures for me to sit.

I hesitate. I’d rather not sit right next to the guy who tried to kick me to death, but if I don’t sit now, after following him all the way over here, it’s going to look extremely suspicious. Marly leans his cane against the table as I slide in next to him, keeping my eyes on my tray and praying to gods that the guy on the other side of the table hasn’t clocked who I am.

“This is Sargo Paz,” Marly is saying as Shanny hops up next to me. “He’s just a Relative, but we’re gonna bring him around.” He claps me on the shoulder and I jolt. “Right?”

The guy across the table is studying me. I drop my gaze and pick up the bread roll. “What do you mean bring me around?”

“To the cause.” Marly produces a spoon from inside his coat and sets it beside his bowl. “Turn you into a Recruit. Gotta say, I’m surprised you’re not recruited already, your girlfriend being who she is.”

“Who’s your girlfriend?” says the blonde woman. Marly answers for me.

“Howsley.”

“Oh.” The woman sighs. “Too bad. The good ones are always taken.”

I snap my gaze up to catch her winking at me, and feel my face go bright red. The bald guy glares at her, then turns his gaze to me as I break the roll open and take a bite. “Guess that must be where I know you from. Picture of you with Howsley or something.”

I choke down the dry bread and drop my eyes again. “Guess so.”

“I thought he was familiar,” says Marly, picking up his spoon. “Figured I’d seen you somewhere in Brume.”

“Are you from Brume?” says the woman.

I nod, my mouth full of bread.

“Same,” says the big bald guy.

Marly gestures with his spoon. “This is Langdon and Dutch. Langdon’s ex-Anonymity. But he was never part of that faction that all lost their heads and overthrew Axioma on Z-Day. ”

“Oh.” I nod, keeping my eyes down.

“I’ve heard your name,” says Langdon. “Carried Howsley out of headquarters on Z-Day covered in her blood.”

My pulse spikes. “Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Is it true?”

I swallow, nodding.

Dutch winks at me again. “Cute and a hero.”

Marly is quiet, scooping up stew with his spoon. He chews thoughtfully and says, “So you thought it was right, stopping Axioma’s plan?”

“I…thought it was wrong that she was testing dangerous software on kids. I thought it was wrong that she was planning to release it to the general public without knowing exactly what it would do.” I risk a glance at Langdon. “Do you not agree?”

Langdon shrugs, tearing a chunk from his roll and looking at his plate. “I think the end would have justified the means. What must be done shall be done.”

Marly points his spoon at me. “And let me guess: now you're one of those who thinks Axioma’s daughters taking over after Z-Day was a good thing. You think the Nation girls are doing good work and have legitimate reasons for hoarding their magic teleportation tech.”

A sliver of pain goes through my chest. “There’s only one Nation girl now. Electra was killed the night of Azimuth Hall.”

“Too bad.” Langdon dips his roll into his stew. “We should have got them both.”

The three of them return to their food. I finish all the veg on my tray and split my roll with Shanny, then, feeling unnerved and ready to remove myself from this table of people who may or may not want to kill me, I stand and excuse myself.

“Aw.” Dutch pouts. “We didn’t even get acquainted yet.”

“Flog’s sake, woman,” grumbles Langdon, as I give her a weak smile and walk away, “you are my wife.”

I deposit my tray at the counter, where I am reminded to report at 0600 tomorrow for work assignment, and head back to Stockwell with Shanny at my heels.

I stand with folded arms in front of my bunk, wondering whether it would be better to strip it and move to another bunk out of Marly’s immediate vicinity, or whether doing so would just make him suspicious. Ultimately, I decide the latter, and instead of stripping the bunk I climb up into it with Shanny, lie on my back with my hands folded on my chest, and stare at the ceiling until I fall into a fitful and very unrested sleep.

____________________

I wake to an internal alarm on my biochip in the absolute dark. Momentarily disoriented, I blink frantically against the infinite, suffocating blackness. This isn’t my bed. The air is stale and has a distinctly underground smell. Where am I?

Next to me, Shanny stretches his paws and sighs, and I remember. I’m with Shanny. In the Exiters’ hideout. I check the time. 0530. Time to report to Clapham for work assignment. Struggling to my elbows, I rub my eyes as they begin to adjust to the dark. Across the tunnel, I make out Marly’s shape climbing out of his bunk. I wait until he makes it ungracefully to his feet and picks up his cane, then hop down behind him and set Shanny on the floor. We make our way to Clapham through the dark and silent dormitories.

In the kitchen, I’m given an apron and a pair of latex gloves and assigned to a station next to Marly. Breakfast will be served in an hour, and all this veg needs to be chopped and steamed by ten minutes before. Marly snaps on his gloves and picks up a knife from a rack by the sink while I stare, open-mouthed, at the stacks of wooden crates before me.

“All of this?”

“Half.” He hobbles back to his station and sets the cane against the counter. “Enough for two hundred people. Give or take.”

“Where does this all come from?”

“We have a setup just outside Pocosín. A few greenhouses Zenith doesn’t know about. Howsley jumps people in and out to them to bring stuff back here. And I think some of the Relatives are working on getting something going down here. Hydroponic, soilless, you know. I don’t really understand it; that’s way above my pay-grade.”

“How long are you planning to stay here?”

He shrugs and begins to chop. “Long as it takes.”

Clapham slowly comes to life around us as we work, and by the time breakfast is served at 0800, the hall is full of people again. I gratefully take my break and perch on the edge of a wooden crate to eat a tray of veg and shovel down a few eggs. Marly hobbles over as I’m tipping the scraps onto the floor for Shanny.

“Up you get. Round two.”

“Round two?”

“That was only half of them. Now we do it all again.”

By the time we finish two servings of breakfast and cleanup, it is 1200 and I’m starving again. A new crew has taken over the kitchen and is working on preparing lunch while the morning crew cleans up breakfast. I’m impressed by the efficiency, and by the way everyone seems to just get on with the work. Shanny is beloved by everyone and Marly is helpful, pointing out shortcuts and helping me find things, introducing me to people and explaining that I’m a “Relative on the way to Recruit.”

By the time I break for lunch and sink to a seat on a bench next to Marly in the main hall, I’m starting to wonder where all these dangerous people Bird talked about are. Then Langdon appears, and I remember. He regards me coldly as he takes a seat across from me, releasing his arm from around Dutch’s shoulders only when it is absolutely necessary to do so. Dutch keeps her eyes on her plate and says nothing while we eat.

I’m released from the kitchen at 1600 and told to return at the same time tomorrow morning. I’m starting to worry about getting a message to Dominie—if nothing else, I need to let her know I’m trapped here and don’t know how I’m going to make it to the UD hearing. A day has already slipped by and the date of the trial is closing in. I set out to track down Bird. I need to convince her to take me back to Panga, and I need to convince her to do it soon.

I find her halfway up the escalator we came down yesterday, coming the other way as I climb up. We stop a few steps apart and stand awkwardly, like two acquaintances who run into each other out of context and don’t know what to say. Or like two people who recently had sex for the first time after one of them blew up a school and became a terrorist.

“Where were you?” I ask. “I didn’t see you at dinner or breakfast.”

“I can’t tell you that.” I restrain a sigh, and she shifts. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here. I guess it’s not any better than being under lockdown.”

“No, it’s actually much worse than being under lockdown. I haven’t even seen you since yesterday.”

“Well, I did tell you not to come.”

I open my mouth to argue and shut it again. She’s right. This was my decision. And I didn’t just come for her. I came to spy for Zenith.

“I can probably sneak you out in a few days,” she says. “We could go back to Île Tor...”

“I’d rather go back to Panga and get my things. And I’d rather go tonight.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You’re supposed to be following the rules. Keeping a low profile.”

Nerves prickle my neck. Technically she’s right. If we get caught sneaking out I could be in serious trouble. People are already suspicious that I’m here. But I need to get a message to Dominie. And I’m done being the guy who always follows the rules. I fold my arms. “If leadership has a problem with me leaving, what difference does it make if I go now or two days from now?”

“I don’t know…”

I can see her wavering, so I push a little harder. “You know, it does feel like I was misled about some things when you brought me here. Like not being able to leave. And getting tattooed.”

She flinches. “I am sorry about the tattoo. I know that probably…hurts.”

“Was that also something you spaced about?”

“Yes.” She looks at me earnestly. “A lot was happening in that moment—you asking to come here. I wasn’t—”

“Thinking.”

“Right.”

Silence settles between us. That same impenetrable silence I felt when she came back from Brume Three and was acting weird because she was hiding her involvement with the Exiters. The silence of two people not telling each other everything. Only this time, I’m the one hiding things. Finally, she says, “You’re right. I’m sorry. We’ll go get your things.”

At 0100 we meet at the top of the escalator. The whole Station is dark and silent, and Bird chews her nails as we walk side by side to the entry tunnel where she first brought me in. She’s wearing her gray beanie. Like we’re back in Brume, sneaking out of Blenny’s house to escape the Anonymity. She takes my hand as we come to the end and stand in front of the spray-painted Nabla Omega. “We need to be quick. Do you know what you need?”

My nerves are jangling. I haven’t even thought about what I need from Panga—I’ve been focused on getting in touch with Dominie. I nod absently. “Yes.”

“Okay.” She picks up Shanny, who I tried and failed to leave behind in Stockwell dorm, and tucks him under her arm. “Ready?”

We materialize in Panga’s galley and she sets down Shanny and looks around. “What’s first?”

What’s first is I need to get this message out without her seeing. But doing anything covertly in a thirty-five-foot space with only two rooms is nearly impossible. I direct her toward the sleeping quarters in the bow. “Bed stuff.”

She nods and I hang back in the galley and watch until she and Shanny are just out of sight around the corner. There’s no door to close between us, so I just keep my eyes on the doorway while I tap open Messenger and compose a few lines as quickly as I can.

>>> CHECKING IN. I’M FINE. WITH BIRD. SHE TOOK ME TO WHERE THEY’RE HIDING. CAN’T SEND MESSAGES AND NO ONE CAN LEAVE. DON’T KNOW HOW I’M GETTING TO THE UD HEARING AT THIS POINT. NOT SURE WHEN I CAN UPDATE NEXT.

I’m not expecting a reply—I’m sure Dominie’s asleep—so I set about finding what I need to take back to the Station. I pull open a utensil drawer with trembling hands and root around in it, not really sure what I’m looking for. I can’t remember what I came for. Just need to do something to look busy. A message pings into my head and I jump and drop a wooden spoon.

>>> GODS. OKAY. ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE SAFE?

>>> SO FAR. SOME SEEM DANGEROUS BUT MANY DON’T. THEY’RE HIGHLY ORGANIZED.

>>> CAN YOU TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT WHERE THEY ARE?

>>> NOT MUCH. SOME KIND OF UNDERGROUND EV STATION. IDENTIFYING LANGUAGE HAS BEEN PAINTED OVER. NOT EVEN SURE IF IT’S IN THIS PARALLEL. THEY HAVE MADE UP NAMES FOR THINGS: CLAPHAM. STOCKWELL. BELSIZE—

Shit. I’ve already forgotten the rest of the names.

>>> SOMETHING WITH A G.

>>> CLAPHAM RINGS A BELL.

>>> I THOUGHT SO TOO.

Bird’s voice from the sleeping quarters jars me. “Do you want me to grab some clothes?”

“Yes,” I call back. Another message from Dominie comes through.

>>> I’LL LOOK INTO IT. AS FOR THE UD HEARING…LET ME TALK TO PARADI. BUT IT’S UNLIKELY WE CAN RESCHEDULE. I WONDER: CAN YOU TALK TO BIRD? SHE ALREADY KNOWS YOU HAVE TO GO TO THAT, IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS MISSION. I DON’T THINK YOU NEED TO HIDE IT FROM HER. SHE MAY BE ABLE TO GET YOU PERMISSION TO LEAVE. SHE HAS SWAY WITH LEADERSHIP, NO?

I frown at the text. It’s true: Bird does already know about the hearing. She called me an inter-dimensional terrorist. In fact, if I remember correctly, she thought it was pretty sexy. And that whole thing happened in Brume Two, before we even rescued her. There’s no reason she would connect it to what I’m doing for Zenith now. I tap my temple to reply.

>>> GOOD POINT. I’LL SEE WHAT I—

“What are you doing?”

I jolt and turn around. Bird is standing in the doorway to the berth with an armful of clothes, watching me.

“Nothing.” I turn back to the drawer. “Grabbing some stuff for meals.”

“Were you sending a message?”

I shake my head, rummaging through the drawer. I can feel her eyes on the back of my neck as I pull things out one at a time and look at them. This is the wrong drawer. Baking stuff. Nothing in here I would have any reason to take with me. No reason for me to be going through it. Still, I pretend to contemplate each useless item I pull out, as though I’m seriously deciding whether or not I need an egg beater for the revolution.

“Who were you sending a message to?” says Bird.

“No one. I wasn’t sending a message.”

She’s quiet for a long minute. Then says, “Why are you lying?”

My heart seems to seize. I set down the egg beater and close my eyes, thinking. When I turn around, she’s watching me with raised eyebrows and her lips in a hard line. I take a breath.

“I was sending a message to Paradi. I’m supposed to go to that hearing at the United Dimensions. I don’t know how I’m going to get there now that I’m trapped at the Station.”

She stares at me for what feels like an eternity while the air crawls over my skin. Then she says, “Shit. I forgot about that. Why didn’t you say something?”

I manage to stop all the breath from whooshing out of my lungs as relief pours through me. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think any of this through either.”

She dumps the pile of clothes on the starboard sofa and puts her hands on her hips, chewing her cheek. “When is it?”

“Few days.”

“Well…” She scratches under the edge of her beanie. “I might be able to get you out.”

“Get me permission to leave?”

She narrows her eyes. “Maybe. Or sneak you out. It’s one day?”

“Maybe two. I might need to go to Zenith to meet with Paradi first.”

She looks at me hard for another long moment. Then says, “Okay. We can figure it out.” She gathers up the armful of clothes and stuffs them into her pack. “Do you have everything you need here?”

I look around the galley. I haven’t actually picked up anything useful yet. I grab a bowl and a couple of forks and shove them into my pack, grab my slate off the nav station, and we both bundle up the blanket and pillow from the bed and jump back to the Station. Bird doesn’t say anything as we carry everything back down the escalator, Shanny trotting ahead of us, and I try to get covert glimpses of her face to see what she’s thinking. But she’s oddly inscrutable.

At the bottom of the escalator, we turn right and climb over the turnstile, cross the platform and climb onto the tracks. We’re halfway along the tunnel with the abandoned EV in it when we hear voices. Bird stops and I nearly run into her. She puts up her hand and motions for me to be quiet.

“—trust him,” someone is saying in a low voice. “How do we know he isn’t working with them?”

“We don’t,” says another voice. “But right now we don’t have a lot to go on.”

“Something familiar about him,” says the first voice. My skin prickles. I recognize that voice. I heard it all day today when I was working in the kitchen. Bird and I hang back in the dark of the tunnel as Marly and Langdon cross the next platform, heading for Stockwell.

“Don’t get hung up on it,” says Marly. “It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

They climb down onto the tracks ahead of us and disappear into the next tunnel. My heart beats in my ears as I watch them go. Something familiar about him.

When the sound of their steps and Marly’s cane have completely faded, Bird motions me forward.

“What was that?” she whispers as we creep out of the dark.

“I don’t know.”

“They shouldn’t be walking around the Station after lights out.”

“Technically we shouldn’t be walking around the Station after lights out either. So maybe let’s just be grateful they didn’t see us and forget about it.”

She squints down the tunnel they just disappeared down. “Do you think they were talking about you?”

My stomach jolts. “I don’t know—why would you think that?”

“I mean, people have been. You’re the only new person who’s come in for a while and everyone knows Neb isn’t around. I wonder why they thought you looked familiar though.”

I shrug and try to look nonplussed, even though my insides are climbing all over each other. “Maybe they’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Maybe.” She contemplates the tunnel, then turns and holds up the bedding she’s carrying. “You can get this from here?”

“Yes.” I take the bundle from her, glad to be changing the subject. “Thanks. For taking me to get this. And for helping with the UD thing. I know it’s sketchy.”

She bobs her head and gives me a cautious smile. “It was kind of fun. Felt like old times.”

A needle of guilt slips through me. She looks genuinely happy, and I wish it wasn’t because I’m lying to her. I bob my head too, and as we stand there looking at each other, I get the sudden and overwhelming sense that she might be about to try and kiss me again. Or maybe I’m getting the sense that I should try and kiss her? Why would I do that? Because I feel guilty? That’s not a good reason to kiss someone. Because I care about her? That’s a good reason, but it feels like a lie. I’m not here for that. Île Tor was a mistake. I’m here to spy for Zenith.

Shanny looks up at us from the floor, wobbling his tail. After a few prickly moments, Bird steps back, tucking her hands into her pockets.

“Well…I have to get back to Chancery, I guess.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She shrugs, not moving. “Well. Goodnight…”

“Goodnight.”

Her eyes flicker with disappointment. She purses her lips and nods. I watch her climb up onto the platform and cross to the corridor that will take her back to the leadership dorm. Shanny snorts and looks at me.

“Don’t look at me,” I tell him. “Next time, why don’t you decide if it’s a good idea to kiss her or not.”

chapter

fourteen

BIGWIG SUMMONS me to the office the next morning. I’m in the kitchen, working the first shift with Marly when the summons comes, and he gives me a quizzical look as the girl who brought it delivers it.

“Why?” I ask, setting down my knife and pulling off my gloves.

The girl shrugs. “I’m just the messenger.”

I follow her through the tiled corridors to the heavy metal door of Home Office and pace anxiously up and down the corridor outside as she goes in to report that I’ve arrived. Ten minutes go by, and by the time the door opens to let me in, I’m so convinced that Bigwig is about to punish me because Bird and I went to Panga last night that I nearly bump into the person exiting the office ahead of me in my anxiety to get through the door.

“Watch it!” she says. And then, “Oh. Hey.”

It’s Bird. I step back, blinking. “What are you doing here?”

She gives me a small, conspiratorial smile. “We may not have to sneak you out for the hearing after all. I pulled some strings.”

“What strings?”

“Paz!” Bigwig’s impatient bark snaps through me like a thunder clap. “Get in here.”

“Don’t worry.” Bird puts a hand on my arm as I step around her through the door. “Everything’s fine.”

Bigwig contemplates me from the other side of her desk as the door slides shut behind me. The girl who summoned me here sits at a smaller desk in the corner, her head bent over a slate.

“Howsley says you need authorization to leave.”

“Uh—yeah. Yes, Ma’am.”

She lifts her eyebrows at my Ma’am, and inputs something into a slate on the desk in front of her. “Said you’re going before some court because you screwed something up for Zenith.”

“...yes,” I say carefully. “That’s the gist of it.”

“Mm.” She lifts her gaze again and studies me. “Alright. You’re to leave and re-enter with Howsley and check in with me before you go and when you return. Two days. No more. That clear?”

I’m so stunned that I stand for a moment with my mouth open before I say. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She returns her attention to the slate. “Dismissed.”

Bird is leaning against the wall in the corridor outside, waiting for me. She falls in step beside me as I head back to the kitchen. “All good?”

“How did you get her to agree to that?”

She grins. “Bigwig is an idealist. And she really hates Zenith. Anyone she sees as causing problems for them is pretty much A-Okay in her book.”

“So you told her I screwed up an important Zenith mission and suddenly I’m in her good books?”

“Not quite…I also threatened to tell Neb about the prohibited gambling she’s been running out of Goodge. But telling her you made life difficult for Paradi definitely won you points. I figured it might make people around here a little more receptive to you.”

Bird jumps me to Panga at 0530 the next morning. Bigwig gave me leave for two days, so I’ll go to Zenith today to be schooled by Paradi and her team of lawyers on what to say. Spend the night on Panga tonight and go to the UD tomorrow. My stomach is twisting into nervous, unsettled knots. I’ve been so caught up in getting close to Bird and infiltrating the Exiters that I haven’t even had time to think about the hearing. Suddenly, it’s here, and I’m literally about to face trial for lying to a government and escaping prison in another dimension. What happens if they sentence me? I probably don’t even come back here. I probably never even see Bird again.

Bird looks as anxious as I feel and watches me over my shoulder as I stand at the mirror in the head, struggling to tie my tie with trembling fingers.

“Don’t be nervous,” she says. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Or I’m about to be sentenced as an interdimensional terrorist.”

She chews her nail, her eyes fixed on my tie. “No, you’re not. Do you need help with that?”

I peer down my nose at the inscrutable knot I’ve been twisting. “Why is this so hard?”

“Let me see.”

She takes me by the shoulder and pulls me around and I angle my head back to look down at her as she fiddles with it. “I thought you liked me as an interdimensional terrorist. I thought you thought it was sexy.”

She rolls her eyes. “In theory, maybe. In reality, I’d much rather you were just a sailing teacher. Or a regular terrorist, like me.”

“I’m sure you’re right and it’ll be fine. Paradi has a whole team of lawyers to school me on what to say.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself.

She sets her lips into a hard line. “And you trust them? Zenith’s lawyers?”

“I do. I know you’ve decided that Paradi is the new devil, but she does at least have her shit together.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s just better at hiding how much she’s falling apart.” She finishes tying the tie, adjusts my collar and steps back. Her brow is knitted and her mouth twisted as she examines her handiwork. “I did my best. I don’t actually know how to tie one of these either.”

I look at the knot in the mirror. It’s crooked and doesn’t look quite right, but it’s close enough. “It’s great. Thanks.”

She smooths the shoulders of my suit jacket and a moment of tension snaps between us as our eyes meet. Her face goes pink and she stands on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “Anyway. Good luck.”

My skin still prickles where Bird’s lips touched it as I trek up the hill toward Azimuth campus and headquarters. It feels kind of good—it was nice talking to her, making jokes. Tying my tie. But another part of me feels queasy. Because I’ve just remembered that I’m about to see Johnny for the first time since we beat the shit out of each other and my heart is doing confused, nervous backflips.

When he isn’t at the briefing that day, I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. Paradi and Dominie aren’t there either. I sit around a conference table with some men and women I’ve never seen before while they explain to me what I’m supposed to say. Which, as far as I can tell, is as little as possible. They’ll question me, Dominie, and Johnny separately, and we’re all to stick to the story the lawyers provide us with. My story is basically the truth, which is a relief: I don’t work for Zenith and I had nothing to do with the decision to lie to the High Council, or with the escape from prison in Brume Two.

“Both of those disastrous lapses in judgment can be attributed to Johnny,” says a gray-haired woman at the far end of the table, inputting something into her slate.

I shift on my seat. “He only lied to the High Council to try and stop them overreacting to the possible threat posed by the Exiters. I screwed that up by not following orders and staying quiet. And I don’t know if I would call escaping prison a lapse in judgment. He saved my life. We would have been executed.”

She eyes me over the top of her spex. “Both of those decisions were made by Johnny,” she repeats. “You had nothing to do with it.”

“The UD and the Brume Two High Council know we’ve demoted Johnny,” says a man opposite me. “Paradi has already smoothed much of this over with the relevant parties via various backchannels. This trial is really a formality. The UD is more interested in making sure we’ve contained the Exiters than they are about what happened in Brume Two.”

“But we haven’t contained the Exiters.”

“That is not something you need to answer to the UD for. Paradi will handle that.”

I head back to Panga after the meeting to make dinner and get some sleep, but I lie awake for a long time.

____________________

I put on the same suit the next morning and do my best to tie a decent knot in my tie. Dominie, Johnny, and one of the lawyers are waiting for me at the launchpad. Even though Johnny and I have upgraded chips, it was decided yesterday that we would use the launchpad along with everyone else. Paradi doesn’t want to telegraph the fact that Johnny and I have expanded QMTP capabilities when the UD is already on edge about our dimension allowing terrorists to infiltrate other Parallels.

“Where is Paradi?” I ask when I arrive. Dominie exchanges a brief look with Johnny and says nothing.

Johnny is all sharp angles in a crisp charcoal suit and black tie. I keep my eyes on the ground as we file into the tiny elevator that houses the launchpad and stand shoulder to shoulder with him, a wash of his citrusy cologne settling around me. The lawyer speaks all of our names and our intended destination, and as the prickle of QMTP begins under my skin, Johnny’s eyes meet mine in the mirrored elevator wall.

“Nice suit,” he mouths.

When we come out the other side of the jump, we’re in a large, busy foyer. A massive, high-ceilinged space, brightly lit, the footsteps of smartly-dressed people passing back and forth ringing off a marble floor. They walk briskly in twos and threes, carrying briefcases, comparing notes, arguing. At the center of the room is a huge, sparkling fountain. As we step out of the launchpad and cross the space, I have to dodge and sidestep people to avoid being run down. A man’s face as I duck around him makes me do a double take.

“That dude only had one eye.”

Johnny looks over his shoulder. “What?”

“One eye. But like…right in the middle of his face. Like a cyclops.”

“He’s a Copepod,” says Dominie, shouldering between us and pulling ahead. “From Brume C1-475. Did you even read the brief?”

Johnny shoots me a look. “When would he have had time to do that?”

Dominie sighs impatiently. I watch the guy disappear into the crowd and turn to her. “What’s a Copepod?”

“He’s from a dimension much farther away from ours on the spectrum than Brume Two or Brume Three.”

“Brume C1…”

“C1-475. Yes.”

“Why are all the Parallels named Brume? Do they all have the same cities? Was it just coincidence?”

Dominie looks at me like I’ve just asked the world’s most unsustainably stupid question. “Obviously they’re not all named Brume. That’s just what we call them. I have no idea what they call themselves, if anything at all. We refer to ourselves as Brume One to the United Dimensions, and that’s how they refer to us.”

“And some of the other Parallels have cyclopses in them?”

“Copepods. And yes—some of the dimensions are extremely dissimilar to ours. The life there has evolved very differently.”

“Like that guy.” Johnny angles his head toward a figure coming the other way and I almost stop dead in my tracks. The thing might best be described as a rolling collection of light-filled shapes—an ever-changing assortment of edges that seems to fluidly shift from an almost human configuration, to an arrangement more reminiscent of a Salt dog.

“Don’t stare!” Dominie hisses. “Gods, you guys are a flogging liability.”

We follow the lawyer down a series of corridors to a hexagonal glass door that opens into a large waiting room. As we step across the threshold and the door swings shut behind me, my anxiety returns. The lawyer indicates a row of chairs along the wall, and I sit between Johnny and Dominie while she crosses to an intake desk in the corner and speaks to the woman sitting behind it in a low voice.

Johnny folds his arms and sits back in this chair, crossing his ankles and putting his eyes on the floor. Dominie, however, pulls a slate from a bag on her shoulder and turns to me, tapping her temple and leaning forward with alert, business-like energy.

“Okay. What else can you tell me about where the Exiters are hiding?”

I blink. “Uh…I don’t know. We’re doing this now?”

“This might be the only chance I have to see you. I need to know everything.”

“Okay, well…” I scratch behind my head. “Honestly, there’s not much more than what I already told you. It’s an EV station. The names of the rooms—oh, I remembered the last one, that starts with a G. It’s—”

“Goodge,” she says.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I did some research. The names are taken from the deep level shelters that Londoners hid in during the Blitz, way back in the nineteen forties, during World War Two. They built bomb shelters in the underground stations below the city to shelter citizens during German attacks.”

“Oh.” I frown. “Do you think…?”

“That the Exiters are hiding in London? No. Impossible. London has been underwater for a century. More likely they’ve just used the names.” She swipes through a few pages on her slate. “Can you tell me anything else about it? Identifying features? Building materials?”

I shut my eyes and slowly recount everything I’ve noticed about the Station. Tiled walls, lights in cages. Water stains. The Nabla Omega spray-painted on every available surface, peeling Zenith posters—

“Wait.” She puts a hand up to stop me, frowning. “There are Zenith posters on the walls?”

I nod. “All the usual slogans, you know.”

“Holy shit.” Her mouth drops open. She stares at me like I’ve just told her I walked here across water. “Holy shit. Are you sure?”

I stare back at her, wary. “Yes?”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Apparently not…”

“It means they’re in this dimension. Well, not this dimension,” she gestures at the UD waiting room, “our dimension. Brume One. Zenith only exists in our Parallel, as far as I know.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods emphatically, but then says, “I mean, no, not a hundred percent. But of every Parallel we’ve explored so far, not a single one has had a governing body called Zenith. And the slogans, I mean…those are pretty specific. That means it’s likely that wherever they’re hiding, it’s in our Parallel. In a City with a strong Zenith presence and an underground EV system.” She picks up her slate again. “Zhīliú, maybe. Grike. Wow, that really narrows it down.” She inputs something into her chip, then says, “What about Kcaj and Neb Berkely? Have you seen them?”

“No. I’m pretty sure they aren’t there. This other woman, Bigwig—you know that one with the frizzy hair that used to lead the rallies outside headquarters? She’s been left in charge, I think.”

The lawyer comes back from the desk in the corner and beckons to Dominie. Dominie nods and holds up a finger. She inputs this into her chip, taps her temple to shut the chip off, and shoves her slate back into her bag. She stands and looks at me. “Okay. I gotta go in. Nice work, Paz.”

She hurries after the lawyer and disappears through a door on the other side of the room. The air becomes still and quiet again. Johnny shifts in his seat, uncrossing and re-crossing his arms.

“Looks like you’re on your way to becoming the new favorite.”

I bite back a flicker of irritation. “Yeah, well I haven’t lied to any interdimensional governments yet, have I?”

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“You know what I don’t understand?” I turn to him. “What I can’t figure out—what makes no sense to me, whatsoever—is why you did that. Not just lying to the High Council, I mean, that was stupid, but I can see why you did it. But why not just tell me what you were planning to do? Dominie and Stavra were clearly in on it. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to have everyone on the team on board with the plan? Instead of keeping me in the dark?”

He looks at the floor and says nothing for a long time. Then, finally, “Yes. It would. I made the wrong call. It was a mistake.”

“Then why?”

“Because I was trying to get you removed from the team.” He shifts again, avoiding my eyes. “I figured if I kept you in the dark I could wait for you to screw up and the Nation girls would see they’d made a mistake by assigning you to the mission. I didn’t expect you to screw up that majorly. I didn’t expect you to disobey a direct order and start shooting your mouth off in front of the High Council. Everyone told me you were the guy who follows the rules even when no one’s looking. I figured you’d be a pushover.”

I stare at him with my brows creased and my mouth open. “You jeopardized the entire mission because you wanted me off the team?”

“You were an untrained civilian! You had no business being there. The Nation girls weren’t listening to me because you’re such a good buddy of theirs, so I had to figure something out.”

“They almost executed us. They—” I catch myself before I say killed Stavra, but it doesn’t matter. His name passes silently between us. Johnny made the call that got him killed. I don’t know if that had ever quite sunk in for me before. I can’t imagine what that must feel like.

Johnny looks at the floor. “Anyway, it’s all coming out now, isn’t it? Paradi’s hanging it all on me, you and Dominie will walk, and we’ll all get exactly what we deserve.”

“Wait…” My pulse starts to accelerate. “Hanging it all on you? What does that mean? What do you think they’re going to do to you?”

He shrugs. “I have literally no idea. But it’s not going to be a slap on the wrist and an hour on the naughty step, that’s for sure.”

I turn my gaze forward again and sit back in my chair, my head starting to spin. I didn’t fully grasp what it meant yesterday when Paradi’s lawyer told me Johnny was responsible for everything. I didn’t realize we were walking because he wasn’t. I hadn’t considered how the United Dimensions might punish him. Will he be allowed to return to our Parallel? Will he even come back out of that room? Will I ever see him again?

He tilts his head toward me. “You’ve gone very quiet.”

“I’m just…I just—” I swallow. “I just had the thought that this might be the last time I ever see you.”

He looks at me. Then turns his eyes forward again and folds his arms. For a long time, we just sit there. Then he says, “How’s your eye?”

“It’s fine,” I croak. “How’s your nose?”

“Broken.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yup.” He uncrosses and re-crosses his legs. “Not the first time, though. I won’t press charges.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. Actually made me kind of proud.” He shifts. “And I’m sorry too. I was acting like an ass that day. And…on other days.”

I say nothing. I won’t deny that.

“Look…” He shifts again. Looks at his hand and mumbles. “When we first met, I thought you were straight. You still have a girlfriend. A girlfriend you have been tasked with getting close to, and who you clearly have very complicated feelings about. So forgive me for being guarded. I have been burned by confused straight boys before.”

“Guarded? I mean, there’s guarded, and then there’s beating the shit out of me.”

The door on the other side of the room opens and Dominie steps out of it. She nods briskly to Johnny, then turns on her heel and marches out of the room. Johnny draws a deep breath and gets to his feet.

“I guess that’s me.”

“Wait—” My pulse is beating very fast in the side of my neck. He can’t leave now. He can’t leave and possibly never come back now. We’re in the middle of the first actual conversation we’ve ever had.

He turns and looks down at me. “See you on the other side, Mata Hari.”

“Will you?”

He spreads his palms. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

I catch his arm as he walks away, but when he turns back to me, all I can manage to say is, “Who is Mata Hari?”

He smiles. “I’ll tell you on the other side.”

chapter

fifteen

THE DOOR CLOSES behind him and I’m alone, except for the woman sitting behind her desk on the other side of the room. I sit back in the chair and tuck my hands into my pockets to keep them still. Put my eyes on the floor and try to think of something other than me going to prison, or Johnny going to prison, or all of us going to prison.

I sit there for a long time. By the time the door opens again and a woman steps out and beckons me through, my insides are crawling all over each other and I feel like I’m starting to understand why Bird spends so much time chewing her nails. I need something to do with my hands.

I stand up and stare at the woman. “What happened to Johnny?”

“I’m not authorized to tell you that.”

“He didn’t come out. Dominie came out. Why didn’t he come out?”

“Please just step into the room, Mr. Paz.”

Jesus. Is he gone? Is he seriously just flogging…gone?

On the other side of the door is a narrow room with no windows and a single long table at the center of it. At the far end of the table sit a man and a woman in formal robes. Behind them, at a small desk in the corner, a young woman in a crisply trimmed suit is busily typing into some kind of glass device. The lawyer sits halfway down the table. The woman who opened the door for me motions to a seat. The young woman at the desk speaks as I sit.

“State your name for the record.”

“Sargo Paz.”

A robed man at the far end of the table sits forward. “Mr. Paz, we hope to keep this brief. First, can you please take me through the events that transpired during your visit to the dimension your people call Brume Two on the date that your people call April Fourth, twenty-one-ninety-four.”

I glance at the lawyer, who nods. “We—me and Johnny and Dominie and Stavra—went to request their help in locating Bird Howsley, who we believed had been abducted by a group of radicals.”

“The group you call The Exiters.” The robed woman consults a device.

“Yes.”

“But you attempted to mislead the Brume Two High Council about the Exiters’ involvement in the situation, did you not?”

“Yes—I mean, no.” I look at the lawyer again. “I didn’t. It was Johnny.”

She taps something into her device. “Continue.”

“Uh—they took us into custody. Stavra tried to escape and they shot him.”

“Who shot him? Specifics, please.”

“Prison guards. The ones who had apprehended us. Johnny and I were put in a cell.”

“A cell from which you escaped.”

“...yes.”

“Can you explain why you evaded capture instead of awaiting trial?”

“They were going to execute us.”

“What evidence did you have of this?”

I look at the lawyer. “Well—I…they shot Stavra.”

“I am aware.” The woman looks up from her device. “But what evidence did you have that the Brume Two High Council intended to execute you?”

“Objection,” says the lawyer. “How is this relevant?”

“I’m simply trying to ascertain how Mr. Paz came to the understanding that the Brume Two High Council intended to execute him and Johnny Abomination.” She turns to me again. “What evidence did you have, at that time, that they intended to do this?”

I shake my head. “None.”

The woman types something into her device. “And when you made the decision to escape—”

“Objection,” says the lawyer again. “Mr. Paz did not make that decision.”

The woman looks up. “Is that true Mr. Paz?”

I look at my hands. “Yes. It was Johnny.”

The man on the woman’s left clears his throat. “When you went back to your dimension, you were barred from returning to Brume Two, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Did you continue your search for Miss Howsley?”

“Yes.”

“Did you enter any other dimensions in order to do so?”

I look at the lawyer. I wasn’t expecting questions like this. The lawyer nods. “Yes,” I say. “We went to one other. We call it Brume Three.”

“And did you find her?”

“Yes.”

“And did you find the Exiters?”

“This line of questioning is beyond Mr. Paz’s purview,” says the lawyer. “He is not an employee of Zenith and has not been involved in matters regarding the Exiters. He has no knowledge of their movements.”

The back of my neck prickles because that, technically, is a lie.

The robed man confers quietly with the woman next to him, then says, “Mr. Paz, at this time, are you aware of how Zenith’s handling of the Exiters matter is progressing?”

I glance at the lawyer again.

“Objection,” says the lawyer, her tone becoming impatient. “Mr. Paz is not involved with Zenith or the Exiters.”

“This is a matter of interdimensional security,” says the man. “Mr. Paz, answer the question.”

I stare at him. Paradi told me I wouldn’t have to answer questions like this, and I have no idea what to say. Do I just tell them the truth? What are they looking for? Information about the Exiters’ location? Are they worried because we haven’t caught them yet? Do they think I know more than I’m telling them?

“I don’t know.”

The man looks sharply at me over his spex. “Do you have any information about the Exiters or their intentions?”

“Objection,” says the lawyer again.

“Overruled.”

How am I supposed to answer this without knowing what Paradi’s already told them? What information do I even have about the Exiters? I don’t know what their intentions are. I don’t even know where they are. Except what I told Dominie earlier. Do I tell them that? Do I pretend not to know anything? Do I lie to an interdimensional organization?

I take a deep breath and put my hands in my pockets. “All I know is that they’re in our dimension.”

The man who asked the question narrows his eyes. “Repeat that please.”

“All I know is that they’re in our dimension. I think. I guess I don’t know.”

The man confers with the woman again in a hushed, hurried voice, then turns to the young woman at the desk in the corner as though to confirm that she recorded it. Then he turns to me.

“What leads you to believe this?”

“Dominie, I guess. Something she said.”

“Which was what?”

“She thinks they’re hiding in a dimension where Zenith also exists.”

“When did she tell you this?”

“Just now. Literally outside, in the waiting room.”

The woman nods to the man next to her, who returns the gesture and gets to his feet. She turns to me again. “Okay, Mr. Paz. That will be all.”

“What?”

The lawyer stands, shaking her head, picks up her slate from the desk in front of her and tucks it into a briefcase.

I find myself stumbling to my feet. “That’s it? We’re done?”

“Yes.” The woman nods over my shoulder and I hear the door open behind me. She offers me a brief, tidy smile. “Thank you, Mr. Paz. You are free to go.”

The lawyer steps past me and strides out of the room.

“What about Johnny? Where is he?”

The woman doesn’t answer as she and the men exit through a door on the other side of the room. When I turn around, the woman who brought me in indicates the door.

Johnny is sitting in the waiting room.

He looks up as I stumble across the threshold. He looks shaken and slightly confused. The door slams shut behind me and I stand trembling in front of it. “What the hell just happened? Where did you come from?”

“They had some follow-up questions for me.” He stands, frowning. “But it’s…fine.”

“It’s fine?”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head, looking perplexed. “They just let me go. It was weird.”

“They let me go too. I think Paradi was right: I think they were more concerned with the Exiters than with us. They asked me a lot of questions about them.”

“Yeah, me too. What did they ask you?”

“Wanted to know if I had information.”

“What did you tell them?”

I glance over his shoulder. The waiting room is empty, but I don’t like the idea of talking about this here. “Should we go? Where’s Dominie?”

“She went back. Had some pressing thing to get to at Zenith.”

“She left us? I was still in there.”

“I think she figured you’d be fine.”

“Yeah, well I almost wasn’t. Paradi told me I wouldn’t have to answer questions like that. Where is she? Why wasn’t she here?”

“I don’t know. But hey—” He blows out a breath and extends his hand. “We’re done. It’s over. We made it.”

I shake his hand, frowning. “Did you wait for me?”

He smiles. “I did.” A rush of warmth surges to my chest. He lets go of my hand and gestures over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

We make our way back to the launchpad and jump back to Zenith. As we land on the launchpad on the other side, a message from Dominie pings through.

>>> REPORT BACK TO HQ FOR DEBRIEF PLEASE

Johnny sighs. “And here I thought we were getting the afternoon off to celebrate.”

____________________

Dominie and the lawyer are waiting for us at the usual meeting table, and as soon as I step into the room, I can feel that something is wrong. The lawyer looks furious and Dominie is pacing.

Johnny halts in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

“They screwed us,” says the lawyer. Dominie gestures impatiently at the table and Johnny and I take seats next to each other. “They locked us down.”

“Locked us down?”

Dominie taps her temple and throws up a projection over the table. It’s a text file—some kind of official-looking document printed on fancy letterhead. The words United Dimensions Consulate near the top.

“They erected a quantum detection perimeter around us to stop anyone teleporting out of this Parallel. They quarantined us.”

I’m trying to scan through the document, but she swipes it away before I can get much except the words radical group, threat to other dimensions, and safety of the multiverse.

“What do you mean quarantined?” says Johnny.

Dominie kicks a chair out from under the table and drops into it. “To keep the Exiters contained to this Parallel. To prevent them becoming a threat to other dimensions. Anyone caught jumping from Brume One to another Parallel will be apprehended by the UD.”

“Paradi specifically met with people to stop them from doing this,” says the lawyer. “She told them we weren’t certain about the Exiters’ location and that we needed access to other Parallels to continue hunting them. That if they locked us down, they would be severely impeding our efforts to bring them in.”

My stomach sinks. Suddenly I understand what the commission was doing when they grilled me about the Exiters. They were trying to figure out if they were in our Parallel. So they could trap them here. And I told them they were. I did this. This is my fault.

I shut my eyes. “I think I—”

Dominie slams her hand on the table. “Gods dammit, this is my fault. I told them what Paz and I talked about in the waiting room. That we thought they were hiding here. I thought it would help alleviate concerns about the Exiters being a threat to other Parallels.”

The lawyer is rubbing her temples and glaring at the table. “What were you going to say, Paz?”

I clap my mouth shut and shake my head. “Nothing.”

She sighs. “It wasn’t your fault, Dominie. The whole thing was a farce. The commission told Paradi they weren’t planning to question any of you about the Exiters. They had no intention of upholding that. I’m sure they’ve been planning to lock us down for a while. They were just looking for an excuse to do it.”

Johnny folds his arms and sits back in his chair. “Can we take a second here? I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing. I mean—if we think the Exiters are in this dimension and we don’t want them getting out, as far as I can tell, the UD just did us a favor. Anyone caught jumping out of Brume One will be apprehended. They’re doing our job for us. If the Exiters try to leave, the UD will catch them.”

Dominie shakes her head impatiently. “Except not all the Exiters are here, are they? We still have no idea where Neb and Kcaj are. We have teams in other Parallels right now, looking for them.”

“Those teams will need to be called back,” says the lawyer. She sighs heavily and gets to her feet. “I suppose I’ll meet with Paradi for a debrief.”

“Where is Paradi?” I repeat, for what feels like the fifth time that day.

“She’s been attending to a personal matter,” says the lawyer.

“Today?”

The lawyer eyes me. “Her movements are not your concern.”

Dominie sighs. “I’ll start bringing the teams in. Paz, you’d better get back to the Station. We need any information you can get out of Howsley about where Neb and Kcaj might be or when they’re returning to this Parallel.”

I frown. “Bird has been jumping me in and out of the Station. How am I supposed to get back now?”

“The perimeter is only established to catch people leaving this Parallel and landing in another,” says Dominie. “Jumping between places here should be fine. The UD has no say in how we operate within our own dimension, they only handle interdimensional conflict. It’s all in that document. Bird should be able to jump you back to the Station just fine.”

The lawyer sweeps around the table and disappears through the door. Dominie taps her temple and follows, absorbed in her slate. In the ringing silence that settles in their wake, Johnny folds his arms and eyes me across the table.

“I feel like I need a drink.”

I scoff and shake my head. “Yeah. Right.” Pushing out my chair, I get to my feet.

Johnny doesn’t move. “I’m serious. Let’s go.”

“I have to go back to Panga so Bird can pick me up and take me back to the Station.”

“It’s barely noon. Howsley doesn’t know how long the hearing was.” He gets to his feet. “I, for one, would like to celebrate not ending up in an interdimensional gulag. Let’s get a drink.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Do you want to go back to the Station?”

I hesitate. And work in the kitchen all day? Not really.

“Are you the guy who follows the rules even when no one’s looking, or are you the maverick who goes rogue and shoots off his mouth in front of the High Council?”

I bristle. “What about the lockdown? Aren’t we all supposed to be scrambling to find Neb and Kcaj?”

He waves a hand. “It’s a couple of hours. What’s changed? We didn’t know where they were this morning, and we still don’t know where they are now. Plus, you and Dominie figured out that the majority of the Exiters are hiding here, and the UD just set up a very helpful trap for us. As far as I’m concerned, we’re doing better than we ever have been.”

I frown as he steps around me and heads for the door. He has a point. And it is only noon. And I have been breaking all kinds of rules lately.

His voice echoes back to me from the corridor outside. “Come on, Noor Inayat Khan. Time’s a-wasting.”

Shoving my chair back under the table, I hurry after him. “What is with these stupid nicknames?”

He turns a quizzical expression to me as I pull up alongside him. “What stupid nicknames?”

I roll my eyes. “Mata Hari? Inge Ginsberg? Noor Ina—Indi—”

“Noor Inayat Khan.” He smiles a smug little smile. “You know, I don’t think I’m gonna tell you.”

“Come on…”

“I’m kind of enjoying you not knowing. Besides, that information is easily researched on the Net.”

Restraining a frustrated sigh, I tap my brow to pull up the Net, but he grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away from my face.

“Don’t do it now. We’re in the middle of a conversation.”

The firm grip of his fingers around my wrist ignites all the skin on my arm and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I twist out of his grasp. “Fine. Where are we going?”

He shoulders open the door to the outside and steps through it to hold it open for me. “My place.”

I hesitate at the threshold. “Where is that?”

“Other side of the harbor. Above the Flats.”

“You live in the Flats? That’s sketchy.”

“You live on a boat, Paz. I don’t think you’re in any position to be judging other people’s housing situations. And I said above the Flats.”

I step past him, through a cloud of wood and citrus cologne. “Lots of people in Brume live on their boats.”

“Yeah, lots of degenerates.” He lets the door close behind me, then catches my arm as I turn toward Azimuth’s main gate. “Where are you going?”

“Uh…I thought to your place?”

“We’re not walking, Genius. We can teleport now.”

And he shatters us into light and reassembles us across the void.

The room that renders around me is small and sparse. A white living room with a wood floor and a large black leather couch at the center of it. A dining table with a single chair pulled up to it in the corner. Absolutely nothing decorative. No personal items lying about, except for a rack of hand weights against one wall with a gym mat rolled up and propped next to them. To my right is an open doorway that leads to a kitchen, and on the other side of the room another door that looks like it leads outside.

Feeling suddenly nervous and very much like I don’t know what to do with my hands, I put them in my pockets and send my gaze around the room while Johnny disappears through the door to the kitchen. I hear him opening cupboards and clinking cups.

“You live here by yourself?” I call.

“Yep.”

“It’s very…clean.”

He appears in the kitchen door with a tall, brown, unmarked bottle and two coffee mugs. “I don’t like a lot of clutter.”

“Or a lot of anything, it looks like.”

“Very funny.” He crosses to the door on the other side of the room, tucks the bottle under his arm to unlock it, and throws it open. A wash of sunlight fills the room, and when I follow him through the door, I find myself standing on a flat, shabby rooftop, with a few other flat, shabby rooftops between us and the beach just below, and the masts of boats in the harbor visible to the right. The fog is winnowing away through the buildings and the midday sun is just starting to sparkle off the deep blue water of the bay. On the horizon, that cloud still squats, but today it’s white and fluffy and looks somehow less imposing.

“Oh. Whoa. Nice view.”

Johnny crosses to the edge of the roof and sits with his feet hanging over the side. “It’s the important things, Paz.”

I sit next to him and scan the harbor, and spot Panga’s unmistakable green mast. “You can see Panga from here.”

He nods. “I know.”

“So you’ve been spying on me?”

He keeps his eyes down as he sets the two mugs on the roof next to us, uncorks the bottle, and pours a tiny amount into each. “Keeping watch.”

I squint into the mug he hands to me and sniff. “What is it? Grog?”

He makes a face. “Grog is for Reckoners and libertines. This happens to be a well-aged scotch.” He holds up his mug and I clink mine against it. “To us not being convicted as interdimensional terrorists.”

I take a sip. It’s sharp and smokey and has a distinctly medicinal edge—it tastes like antiseptic gel smells. I scrunch my face.

He shakes his head. “Christ, Paz. Just drink it.”

We sip in silence and watch the fog slowly burning off the water. The scotch grows on me. It warms the center of my chest and makes my head feel lighter. Emptier. Like the clamor of all the anxieties that have been rolling around in there is muffling. It’s been a long time since that stuff went quiet.

I set the mug down and lean back on my hands. “So is your last name actually Abomination?”

He looks at me in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Someone on the High Council said it when they were interrogating me in Brume Two. And someone mentioned it at the hearing today. It’s not true, though?”

“It is.”

“Your name—your real name—is Johnny Abomination?”

“Yup.”

“Your last name—on your birth certificate? One of your parents’ names?”

“Obviously not. That would be insane. I changed it when I joined the Anonymity.”

“Oh.” A light goes on in my head. “So it’s a code name. Like Paradi was Ladybird. Howsley’s brother was Rooster.”

“Not quite. I also had a codename, but that was different. I just changed my name when I joined because…” He sniffs and shrugs, deflecting his gaze. “I don’t know. New life. New identity. I changed my middle name too.”

“To what?”

“Danger.”

I stare at him. “No.”

He nods seriously. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“So I could say “Danger is my middle name.” Obviously.”

“Your legal name…is Johnny Danger Abomination.”

“Jonathon.”

“What are you, a spy for idiots? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He makes a dismissive noise. “No it isn’t.”

“I don’t believe you. Can you prove this? Is there somewhere this is written down?”

He taps his brow and slides two fingers through the air to me to initiate a file transfer. I receive it and open the file on my chip. It’s his ID card—what the peace force looks at when they scan his retinas to check his authorization to enter Zenith.

>>> NAME: JONATHON DANGER ABOMINATION

>>> ID NO.: 468714

>>> EMPLOYER: ZENITH BIOTECH

>>> BIRTHPLACE: ALLUVIUM

>>> AGE: 25

I swipe it closed. “You’re twenty five?”

“Uh huh.”

“Shouldn’t you be more mature by now?”

He rolls his eyes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two.”

“Aw.” He leans in and nudges me with his shoulder. “A baby.”

Heat erupts into my face, and all the skin on my shoulder, where our arms are touching through our suit jackets, prickles. “So what is your real name?”

“Ah.” He pulls away and sips his drink. “See, if I told you that, Josephine Baker, I’d have to kill you.”

“Very funny.”

“No, like, actually.”

“Oh.”

“I’m kidding.” He leans back on his hands and crosses his ankles. “But I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Fine. What did you do before you joined the Anonymity?”

He shakes his head. “Not gonna tell you that either.”

“Fine. You were born in Alluvium?”

“Mhm.”

“I guess I always figured you were from Zhīliú.”

“My family was. My grandfather went out to Alluvium during the boom to buy up cheap property and build hotels.”

“So he was rich.”

Johnny laughs bitterly. “So I’m told. The pandemic shut that whole thing down. He went bankrupt. And then died.”

“You were born right before the pandemic? How did you and your parents survive?”

He sips his drink again. “My mom didn’t.”

He doesn’t offer anything more, so I turn my gaze back out to the bay and don’t push it. Silence creeps between us. I drum my fingers on the roof next to me and dig through my head for a way to fill it, but before I can, he says, “I like your suit, by the way. Very spruce.”

My stomach wobbles and I reach for my mug for something to do with my hands. “Thanks.”

He stops the mug as I lift it to my mouth, pries it out of my fingers and sets it aside. He shifts to fully face me, reaches up and tugs on my tie. “Except for this. What is going on here, Paz?”

“Yeah, I guess I don’t really know how to tie it.”

“And you call yourself a sailor.” He starts to loosen it. “This is the worst knot I’ve ever seen.”

He unties the knot completely, adjusts the way the tie sits under my collar, then slowly and methodically re-ties it. I watch his face as he works. His eyes very focused, his fingers at my throat very sure. The smell of his cologne and the closeness of his face to mine making my skin feel tight—like the humming, nervous energy inside me is looking for a way out. When he finishes, he doesn’t let go right away. He turns his eyes back up to mine, gently pulls on my tie and brings my mouth to his.

As our lips touch, all that buzzing, anxious energy rushes up inside me. I almost pull away, but he tightens his grip and doesn’t let me, and as the kiss deepens I close my eyes and let him guide me.

Kissing him is nothing like kissing Bird; it’s bigger and scarier and I feel like I don’t have control of what’s happening. Like I’m letting myself be pulled underwater by a powerful current and trusting him to keep me somewhere near the surface and not to let me drown.

He leans in, bracing his free hand on the roof beside my hip, the hand on my tie holding me still as his mouth becomes more insistent. My heart is beating so hard I feel it in my whole body—in my hands and feet. It’s all I can feel: my heart and his lips.

I find myself lifting a hand, hesitantly, like I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it, which is weird because I’ve never felt unsure about that before. I wrap it around the back of his neck and pull him closer. He makes a small noise in his throat and the hand at my tie releases, flattens against my chest, presses me backward.

He rolls halfway onto me, one knee between mine and his weight on my hip as he pushes me to my elbows and then onto my back. Blood is roaring in my ears. My heart is going crazy fast. I part my lips because I feel like I can’t breathe and he immediately pushes his tongue in. I gasp in surprise and my palm comes to the front of his shoulder and he stops.

He pulls back, one hand still on my chest. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah—” I swallow and try to get a breath, but can’t. “I just—”

“We can stop. Any time.”

“No, I—” He shifts his weight and I manage to pull some air into my lungs. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod. His eyes burn into me as he carefully lowers his mouth and touches it to mine so gently that it takes my breath away all over again.

“Okay, well you don’t have to be that careful…”

He smiles against me, and pushes harder, sinking to one elbow, settling his weight onto me. I slide my hands into his hair, and the strands are like silk between my fingers. I part my lips and let his tongue in, and he groans and goes hard against my hip.

Holy shit.

Deep inside me, a fire lights. A big, hot, smoldering fire. It rockets through my blood in a way I’ve never felt before. My skin ignites, and as he pushes that hardness against me, I feel myself get hard too.

He drags his hand down my chest, pushing open my suit jacket, untucking my shirt so he can touch me underneath it. I shiver as his bare fingers graze my ribs, stomach, the hair below my belly button. They slide over the front of my pants and I suck in a breath, breaking from his lips, tilting my head back, overwhelmed by the heat in my body.

“Still okay?” he says. I nod, speechless, staring at the sky. “You have to tell me if you want to stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

He cups the bulge in my pants and I pulse against his palm. The fire is roaring inside me now, so hot and loud I can barely think straight. I want his hand around me. I want to feel him on me, skin to skin.

He flips open my button and tugs down my zipper. I curl my fingertips against the rooftop as he slides his hand inside my pants. When his fingers close around me, a half-choked sound that I don’t mean to make slips out of me.

“You feel good in my hand, Paz,” he says, his voice rough and low, and he throbs against my hip. The feel of it turns me liquid inside. Jesus, that’s hot. He pulls me free and looks down between us. “You look good in my hand, too.”

I shut my eyes and throw my arm across my face as he strokes me. I can’t breathe.

“How do you like it?” he says, and does it again, a little harder, squeezing tighter. The answer sticks in my throat. Like that. I like it exactly like that.

I don’t have to answer him. It’s like he already knows. He takes another pass the same way—the same world-bendingly perfect way—and I groan. I feel him sit up so he can pull my arm away from my face with his other hand. He pins my wrist to the ground and looks down into my eyes.

“Like that?”

“Yeah.”

He holds my gaze as he strokes me, then bends to kiss me again. I moan as our lips touch, stretching up to meet him, feeling for him with my free hand, fumbling with the front of his pants, my fingers shaking.

He unpins my wrist and stops my hand; pulls it away. “Just let me do this.”

“You don’t want—? I can—”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure—”

He winks. “You’ll get me next time.”

I fall back against the roof, staring at him. He shoves my pants all the way open and hooks his fingers into the top of my boxers. I lift my hips so he can pull them down and get me all the way out. He unbuttons the bottom of my shirt and pushes it open. His hand trails across my stomach.

“You are a very beautiful boy, Paz. Are you aware of that?” He lowers himself to one elbow beside me and wraps his hand around me again. “And this is a very beautiful cock.”

When he strokes me this time, I moan. I’m aching as he finds a rhythm, every pass torturously good, the speed and pressure so exactly what I need that I feel like his hands were made for this purpose and this purpose alone.

My hips arc as he starts to move faster, that fire burning hotter, brighter, all-consuming. I close my eyes. I can’t think. I can’t feel anything but his hand around my cock. Every stroke stoking that fire. Every beat pushing me higher, edging me closer, until the end is barreling toward me and I can’t even breathe to find the words to tell him.

I snap my eyes open and find his face. His eyes are on me. “Are you gonna come?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “Oh fuck—”

He sits up, freeing his other hand, cups my balls, and squeezes. I go off in his hand like a bomb has detonated inside me. The shockwave rips through me like wildfire. I bow off the roof and Johnny swears under his breath and keeps going as I spurt and shudder, spilling all over him, not caring where it goes—not aware of anything but the mind-blowing rapture of being totally undone by this beautiful man and his perfect fucking hands.

He stops just before the pleasure tips into overwhelming pain, slowing and softening his grip, but keeps his hand around me until I am empty and gasping at the sky. He holds me like that until my chest stops heaving, until my blood stops roaring and the world stops spinning. Until I find my way back to the roof and remember where I am.

He carefully unwraps his fingers and bends to kiss me. “I’ll be right back.”

I struggle to my elbows as he rolls to his feet and disappears. “Shit, my suit—”

“You’re fine.” He reappears, drying his hands on a towel. Sits beside me and gently wipes my stomach. “I wasn’t going to let you make a mess of that impeccable suit.”

He balls up the towel and sets it aside as I shimmy my pants back up and button them. I sit up and button up the bottom of my shirt, the top half still buttoned, the tie still tight around my neck. I pull the collar up and adjust it, lay it back down again. I straighten my suit jacket. I push the hair out of my face and blow a long breath at the sky.

“Jesus. What happened to guarded?”

He chuckles and tips my face down to his with his finger. “Well you can’t be too guarded.” His eyes travel around my face, and I see in them a flicker of uncertainty as he says, “How was that?”

“It was…a lot of things.”

“Good?”

“Yes. So fucking good.”

He smiles and turns back to the view. Picks up my mug from where I left it at the edge of the roof and puts his arm around my shoulders as he hands it back to me.

“Stick with me, Paz,” he says. “We’ll have you drinking scotch and tying your own tie in no time.”

chapter

sixteen

THE FOLLOWING morning I’m back in the kitchen at the Station, working side by side with Marly and lost in thought.

Bird and I didn’t say much to each other when she brought me back last night. She asked about the trial and I told her we all walked. When I told her about the perimeter the UD set up her face paled. She grabbed me hard by the elbow.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Dominie was super pissed.”

“Shit.” She chewed her cheek. “Shit. That’s bad.” She looked at me again. “You’re sure it’s only people going out?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Okay.” She nodded, still chewing her cheek, her eyes calculating something.

“What are you thinking?”

She flicked her eyes back up to mine and shook her head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Thanks for letting me know.”

As she hurried away toward Home Office, I realized with a sinking feeling that I had just blown any chance Zenith had of letting the UD do their job for them. No way any Exiters will be jumping in and out of this dimension now that Bigwig and the rest of leadership know they’ll be apprehended by the UD. I’m sure Neb and Kcaj already know.

“Something on your mind?”

Marly is watching me from the station next to mine. I snap myself out of my thoughts and shake my head. “Nothing important.”

He keeps his eyes on me a moment longer, then returns to his food prep. “Where were you last two days?”

“I had some business to take care of in Brume. It was authorized by Bigwig.”

“Unusual. She doesn’t let anyone leave. Especially not a new Recruit who hasn’t proven his commitment to the cause.”

“I’m not a Recruit,” I remind him.

He keeps his eyes on his work. “Relatives are even less likely to get approval for something like that. Can’t be sure if we can trust them when they’re only here cause someone dragged them into it. I suppose that’s the benefit of sleeping with Howsley though, isn’t it? Special treatment.”

“I’m not sleeping with Howsley.”

“Mhm.”

“I sleep in the bunk next to yours. Do you not think you would have noticed?”

“Right. But where were you last two days?”

I scowl at my knife. “Definitely not doing that.”

A shout goes up outside the kitchen, and the murmur of excited chatter begins to bubble through from the mess hall. Marly sets down his knife. “What’s going on out there?”

I shrug. “No idea.”

Suddenly, the door bursts open and a guy I recognize from the Goodge dormitory falls through it.

“Rain!”

No one in the kitchen moves. A couple of people exchange confused looks. The guy from Goodge beams around at all of us. “Rain!” he says again. And he turns and bolts back through the door. I turn to Marly, who is standing with his hands on his hips, frowning after the man. He shrugs and shakes his head. “Guess we’d better go see what it’s about.”

Clapham mess hall is packed, the rumble of voices deafening. Marly hobbles to a nearby cluster of people and pulls someone aside.

“It’s raining,” the man tells us, “in Brume. Real rain.”

“How do you know?” Marly asks.

“Someone heard from a friend there. It’s happening right now.”

Marly frowns. “Who heard from a friend? How’d they get a message in?”

The man hesitates, his brow knitting. “I guess I don’t know. Someone in leadership, maybe.” He grins. “Anyway, it’s rain.”

Marly nods and pats him on the shoulder. I scan the sea of faces, looking for Bird. A woman I’ve never seen before steps in front of me and grabs my hand. She shakes it vigorously in both of hers.

“Praise gods.”

“Sure.”

She grabs my face between her hands and kisses my cheek, then lets me go and disappears into the crowd. Marly frowns after her. “I don’t like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rain in Brume? For the first time in a hundred years? You think the gods made that happen?”

“You think it’s Zenith? That cloud maybe?”

“Could be.”

“That’s a good thing though, right?”

He leans on his cane. “I don’t know. If it is Zenith, you can bet there’s more to it than what we’re seeing.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe you’re wrong about Zenith. Maybe they are doing good work.”

He scoffs.

“You don’t think it’s a sign that things are changing?”

“For the better?” He shakes his head darkly. “No.”

Langdon emerges from the crowd with Dutch on his arm, and pulls Marly away without even acknowledging my presence. Dutch gives me a cautious smile as they shoulder between people and disappear, and I’m left standing alone in the crowd. Again I look for Bird, but it’s so busy I eventually give up and make my way back to the kitchen.

I pick up a few more bits and pieces throughout the day as I prepare breakfast and lunch. The crowd in Clapham dissipates, but the excitement of the morning pervades. No one’s sure exactly who first heard about the rain. Many of the Relatives I talk to seem excited at the prospect that Zenith has made some kind of breakthrough. Recruits are cagey: they don’t seem to want to say one way or the other whether anything happened at all. By dinner, word has spread throughout the entire Station, and the hall is a chaotic roar of misinformation, hazarded guesses, and arguments. A fist fight breaks out in the food line and has to be broken up by Bigwig and a few others. I take my tray to a table where Marly, Langdon and Dutch are sitting, and keep my head down while I eat.

We’re halfway through the meal when Dutch drops her fork with a clatter, points over my head and says, “Holy shit. Neb.”

I turn and follow her gaze. Sure enough, the slick blonde hair, glowing tan and shiny white teeth of Neb Berkeley are making their way across Clapham toward a table in the corner, surrounded by Bigwig and a couple of men I recognize from leadership. Right behind them is Bird, chewing her thumbnail with her eyes on the floor, and right behind her, Kcaj.

He’s even more grizzly in person than he was in that picture I saw at Zenith two weeks ago. It must have been an old photo—there’s significantly more gray in his shaggy black hair and beard, and his face is thinner, more weathered. He’s big, too—bigger than I remember from that night at Azimuth Hall. He keeps his eyes up and forward, and the cold, unfriendly severity of his glare makes his unapproachability palpable from all the way across the room. Neb, on the other hand, is shaking hands. Clapping people on shoulders. Flashing those teeth. If someone handed him a baby, I’m sure he wouldn’t hesitate to kiss it.

At the table, they stop, and Neb turns to the room, which has fallen completely silent. He smiles around at the assembled faces and says, “Sorry to interrupt, folks. Please, don’t mind us.”

The group pulls up chairs around the table and sit, putting their heads together, and I swallow down a flicker of indignation when Bird tucks herself in right next to Neb. The murmur of uncertain conversation picks up around the room, and I turn my eyes back to my food.

“What do you suppose they’re doing here?” says Dutch.

“Something to do with whatever’s going on in Brume,” says Langdon. “Come to set the record straight, maybe.”

“You think they jumped in from wherever they’ve been hiding just to talk about that? Seems awfully risky.”

“It’s big news,” says Marly. “It’s certainly causing a lot of unrest.”

I push my veg around with my fork and keep my eyes down. Dutch is right: it does seem awfully risky. Particularly when I told Bird last night about the UD perimeter. If Neb and Kcaj are here, that means they’re stuck. So whatever they’re here to do, it must be important.

We finish eating about ten minutes later and I’m about to get up and excuse myself when I sense the room falling silent again and look up. Neb has gotten to his feet and stands with his hands folded in front of him, smiling and waiting for the room to come to order. When it does, he says, “Thank you, folks. If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow a brief moment of your time. I’m sure you’ve all heard by now about the incident in Brume.”

A low rumble of chatter begins and he clasps his hands and waits for it to quiet.

“I’m sure you all have questions,” he continues, “which I am here, in part, to answer. First of all: what you heard is true. This morning, at 0806, there was rain in Brume.” The rumble of talk begins again, louder, and this time, he holds up a hand to silence it. “However, I’m afraid that isn’t the only news.”

The hall goes quiet. I can feel everyone around me holding their breath.

“In addition to rain in Brume, there was also rain in Alluvium. Unfortunately, the rain in Alluvium was not so benign. Alluvium has never had acid rainfall before today. But this morning, the worst acid rainstorm in recorded history fell on the city, killing over two thousand people.”

Murmurs of alarm ripple through the hall. Dutch covers her mouth with her hand.

“Alluvium hasn’t had an acid rainfall to date,” continues Neb, “because Zenith has never tested their geoengineering solutions in Alluvium. The only place they have ever tested is Brume. According to our sources, this morning’s test was also only run in Brume—the resulting rainfall in Alluvium was a side-effect. We have reason to believe that Zenith was aware of this possible side-effect, and went ahead with the test regardless.”

“What does that mean?” someone yells.

More murmurs. People are now exchanging worried looks with each other. I look for Bird and find her sitting just behind Neb, chewing her nail and watching him with rapt attention.

“We have thought for some time,” Neb says, “that the solutions Zenith has been developing to address the climate situation could result in uneven outcomes for different geographical locations. This morning’s test proves our hypothesis was correct. Not only that, it proves that Zenith is unconcerned about these outcomes. We believe that Zenith intends to move forward with more of these tests, and ultimately to develop solutions that benefit cities where their presence is strongest—Brume, Qanat, Zhīliú—at the expense of cities like Alluvium and Pocosín, and probably the island of Île Tor.”

Around me, people are murmuring. Some look utterly horrified, but others, I notice, appear skeptical. In their faces a mirror of my own disbelief. I find myself shaking my head. I need to get a message to Johnny. I need to find out what’s going on.

“All of this is to say,” Neb raises his voice over the increasing rumble of alarmed chatter, “that anyone still clinging to the belief that Zenith has your best interests at heart would be wise to let that fallacy go. There is no solution to this crisis that sees humanity remaining in this dimension. Our position is as it has been since Z-Day: Exit. There is no other way. What must be done, shall be done.”

“What must be done shall be done,” echoes a majority of people around the room. Others fold their arms and look around nervously.

Neb acknowledges the echo with a nod, and folds his hands again. “My brother and I take our commitment to this community very seriously. We know how much many of you have sacrificed to be here. We know that many of you have your doubts. We do not ask anything of you lightly. So it is with grave seriousness that I make my next request.”

The chatter subsides and the hall becomes still and silent again.

“We’re planning another offensive against Zenith. A vitally important operation that will begin to secure the future of this movement. We are asking for a few of our best and strongest Recruits to join us. This will be a dangerous assignment from which people may not return, so do not undertake it heedlessly. If you have any doubts about your commitment to the cause, we are not asking you to join. But if you, like us, want a better and brighter future for yourselves and your children, we ask you to join us on Chancery platform in fifteen minutes. Thank you.”

A roar of voices rises around me as he returns to his seat. People stand up from their tables, start to file out of the room. I peer through the sea of faces and shoulders to find Bird, but she’s disappeared.

“What do you think?” Langdon is leaning across the table and addressing Marly in a low voice. Marly shakes his head.

“They don’t want me on this one.” He gestures at his cane. “No good to anyone with this knee.”

Langdon lays a hand on his shoulder, then turns to me. “Looks like it’s you and me.”

My heart shudders. “What? No, I—I’m not…that’s not something I’m—”

“Time to get on board, Soldier. Unless you still think there’s some reason to support Zenith after what you just heard.”

I flick my eyes away from his and get to my feet. Lurch away from the table more quickly than I mean to, mumbling over my shoulder, “I need to talk to Bird.”

I force my way through the dissipating crowd toward the table where Neb and Kcaj still sit, chatting with Bigwig and a few other leaders. Bird is nowhere to be seen, so I duck into a corridor and head for her dorm in Chancery. I run into her coming the other way, chewing her thumbnail with her eyes on the floor, Shanny at her heels.

“Oh hey!” She looks up as I plant myself in front of her. “Did you hear Neb’s speech? Crazy right?”

“Yeah.” I shake my head. “I can’t…I don’t know what to think.”

“Still convinced Paradi and those guys are doing everything right?”

“I—I don’t know. You really trust that guy? You think Neb and Kcaj Berkley are telling the truth?”

“I do. Look, don’t have time to talk about this right now. I need to get to the platform.”

My blood chills. “You’re not going?”

“Of course I’m going. I’m one of their strongest Recruits.”

I grab her by the shoulders. I feel like I want to shake her. “He said people might not come back—”

She shrugs me off. “I’ll come back. I’m a flogging teleporter, Sargo. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you know what they’re planning? Where they’re going?”

Her eyes flick impatiently over my shoulder, to the small crowd gathering behind us on the platform. “They’re breaking into headquarters to steal a batch of the new biochip prototypes, like Kcaj has. The ones that let people jump like I do. Neb wants to start implanting them in people. Start making a move toward the Exit.”

“But you can’t Exit!” I hiss, pulling her aside to let someone pass. “The UD established a perimeter that won’t let anyone leave. What is the point of stealing biochips if you can’t go anywhere?”

“It’s a start,” she says emphatically. “Neb and Kcaj have a plan for the UD perimeter. They told me not to worry about it.”

“So they can get around the perimeter? They can jump out of this Parallel?”

“No. I don’t think so, not yet. But they will. Kcaj is a really smart guy. He’ll figure out a way around it eventually.”

“Why would they even come back knowing they couldn’t get out again? I told you about the perimeter last night—”

“They were already here. They were already planning this raid on headquarters. The geoengineering test just accelerated their timeline. We need to start moving now.” She tries to step around me again. “I really need to go.”

“Fine. Then I’ll go with you.”

“What?”

“I’ll go with you. To headquarters.”

She shakes her head. “No. Neb said people might not come back.”

“Oh, suddenly we’re worried about that?”

“Sargo—”

“People are still suspicious of me being here. This will prove I’m trustworthy. That I believe in the cause.”

“But you don’t believe in the cause.”

“They don’t need to know that.”

She huffs in exasperation and looks over my shoulder again. “They’re starting. I have to go.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

“Jesus Christ, fine.” She shoves past me and stalks toward the platform. “Let’s go then, Superman!”

A small group is gathered on the platform—I count Bigwig and Langdon among them, as well as a few others I recognize from the kitchen. Bird slips to the front and I tuck in behind her, my hands clenched into fists in my pockets. Langdon’s eyes slide to me as I take up my position.

Kcaj, facing everyone, is already speaking. The operation will go down tomorrow night, at 0200, under cover of darkness. Bird and Kcaj will jump people directly into three different locations within the headquarters building: the main lab, Paradi’s office on the top floor, and the below-ground vault. They aren’t sure where the chip prototypes are kept, so teams will need to sweep each area, and possibly the whole building. We’ll be split into pairs and each assigned a position.

“What about security?” someone asks from the back.

“Much of the peace force is occupied maintaining the lockdown in the city, but additional security was added at headquarters after the rally two weeks ago.”

At the mention of the rally, I’m almost certain that out of the corner of my eye, I see Langdon’s eyes flick to my face again. I keep my gaze forward.

“That’s why we’re keeping this crew lean, and making it clear that this is not a mission for fobbits,” continues Kcaj. “So if anyone thinks they might not have what it takes to contribute effectively here, we’ll pass no judgment if you quietly see yourself out.”

I glance covertly sideways and see others doing the same. I highly doubt that Kcaj actually means no judgment will be passed. Nobody leaves.

“You’ll split into teams of two,” says Kcaj. “Howsley and I will be on standby to jump people out when we’ve recovered what we’re there for, or to get as many out as possible if things go sideways. I recommend vests and guns if you have them. Meet here at 0145 tomorrow to deploy.” He takes one final, flinty look around the group. “That’s all.”

Bird turns to me with a grim, determined smile as the group begins to break up. “Still think you want to do this?”

I nod. “Partner up?”

“I can’t. I have to be available to jump people in and out. I’m partnering Kcaj.” Her eyes flit anxiously around my face. “I can give you my vest though. And try to stay nearby.”

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to find Langdon glowering at me. “Looks like you and me are finally gonna get to know each other, partner.”

chapter

seventeen

“POSITION?”

Langdon, flat against the wall, touches behind his left ear with one hand and holds his gun ready in the other. I touch behind my ear to hear the reply down the radio, from Bigwig, somewhere up on the top floor.

“Entering lab A now. Yardley and Gibbs will take labs B and C. Langon, are you and Paz in Nation’s office?”

“Affirmative,” says Langdon. “Is Howsley in with the next lot yet?”

“Just landed.” Bird’s voice joins Bigwig’s down the radio and my stomach does a queasy flip. “Depositing landing group B in the basement vault.”

“Is that everyone?”

“One more group to jump from the Station,” says Bird. “Kcaj is bringing them now.”

Langdon drops the hand from behind his ear and scans the room. We’re flat against the wall in the shadows just inside the door to Paradi’s office, where Bird dropped us less than a minute ago. Through the half-bombed-out wall on the opposite side of the room, an open wound in the side of the building, the blood red disk of the moon hangs in the dark sky. A makeshift barrier of caution tape and plywood has been nailed across the hole in the weeks since the bomb destroyed half of headquarters. Paradi’s glass desk stands untouched, dominating the space. We stand perfectly still while Langdon confirms the locations of the security cameras, which Kcaj and a few other Exiters have already hacked and loaded with pre-recorded footage. According to their intel, there should be one directly above us, and one on the wall to the right. Langdon indicates the one on the wall with a small incline of his head, and tilts his chin up to check the one above us.

He touches behind his ear. “Cameras as expected. Moving into the area now.”

“On the clock,” says Bigwig down the radio. “Twenty minutes and counting.”

Langdon beckons me with a single flick of his hand and we step away from the wall. He holsters his gun and looks around. “Get a look at this place. We really did a number on them.” He crosses to the destroyed wall and leans out, peering down over the edge. In the red moonlight coming in from outside, I can see him grinning. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” He turns. “Don’t just stand there, Paz. Get to the door and stand watch. Twenty minutes.”

He crosses back to Paradi’s desk, flings open one of the top drawers, and begins rummaging through it. I return to the door and put my ear against it, every sound of every movement amplified as I do. Every beat of my heart deafening in the pressing silence. The fall of each footstep. The rustle of my jacket. Bird’s bulletproof vest didn’t fit me, so I’m just in a regular black t-shirt, pants and a beanie. Black on black on black. For stealth. I try to imagine this outfit actually doing anything to help me should we run into the peace force.

“Stand down, men,” I imagine them saying. “He’s wearing black.”

Langdon shuts the top drawer of the desk and moves on to the next. I wonder if there’s any way he could possibly make any more noise. He bangs the next drawer shut and moves on. “You weren’t here for Azimuth Hall, were you?” he says.

I pull my ear away from the door. “What?”

“Azimuth Hall.” He gestures around the room with the gun while his other hand is still in the drawer. “The bomb.”

I return my ear to the door. “No. I wasn’t here for that.”

“Too bad. That was a great night. Got these guys properly scared; killed that Nation girl.” I grit my teeth as he shuts the drawer. “Too bad we only got the one. You weren’t here for the last rally either. When we breached the gate.”

“No.”

“When that bastard shot Marly.” He slams the next drawer shut. “Swear to God if I ever see that guy again.” He shakes his head, glaring into the next drawer. “No provocation. No reason for it. Right in the leg.”

“Really? No provocation?”

He looks at me sharply. “Yeah. none.”

I swallow. “I thought I heard you guys were beating someone up. An unarmed civilian.”

He holds my gaze for a long moment, then returns to rummaging through the drawer. “You heard wrong.”

On the other side of the door, a small pop sends a prickle of fear down the back of my neck. Faint. Distant. Could have been in the building. Could have been outside. Could have been my imagination.

“It oughta be me and Marly in here,” Langdon is saying. “This was our thing.”

I press my ear tighter against the door and shut my eyes, trying to hear.

“No reason for it at all.”

“Langdon, shut up.”

He looks up, scowling. “What—”

“Thought I heard something.”

“Something like what?”

“Shut the hell up, and I’ll tell you.”

He glares, but presses his lips into a hard line and listens too. For nearly a minute, there is nothing but the sound of my own breath amplified by the nearness of the door. Langdon’s quiet breathing across the room. Then, another pop. Closer now. Louder. Definitely in the building.

Langdon shuts the drawer and raises his gun. Creeps to the door and stands with his ear against it too. “Something going on out there.” Another pop, followed by two more, in quick succession. Langdon curses under his breath. “Guns. Get out there and see what’s happening.”

“Me? Are you serious?”

“I want to know if they’re on this floor. How much time we got before I have to call Howsley in to get us out.”

“I’m not going out there. I don’t even have a vest on.”

“Jesus Christ.” He cocks the gun. “Then get over to that desk and keep going through those drawers. Go through the whole room. Turn over everything. I’m gonna see what’s going on.”

“How are you even going to get out there? The door’s on a palm scanner, it’s only coded for a few handprints.”

He touches behind his ear. “Gates? I need a door opened on level two. The office, yeah.” Horrified, I gape as the door slides open. They can do that? Langdon flattens himself to the wall and peers around the corner. “Go through this room. I’ll be back.”

As he slips through the door, an alarm starts blaring, harsh and high-pitched, somewhere deep inside the building. In my ear, the radio crackles to life.

“Sargo?” Bird. I touch behind my ear to radio back.

“Here.”

“Where are you?”

“In the office. We heard shots. Langdon just went out.”

“Peace force are in the building. On the first floor. I’m evacuating that team. You probably have about five minutes until they make it to you.”

“Jesus, okay. What do I do?”

“Keep searching. We need that room turned over.”

“Are you serious? We need to get out of here.”

“Not yet. Keep going. I’ll pull you out before they reach you.”

“You have to be joking—”

“I gotta go. Keep going!” The line goes quiet. Swearing, I return to the desk and throw the drawer Langdon was looking through all the way open and drop to my knees to go through it. Some personal items that I assume belong to Paradi—rings, handkerchief, a slate. I lay them all on top of the desk, then slam the drawer shut and open the next. Footsteps come pounding down the corridor outside. My heart seizes and I duck behind the desk as a figure barges into the room, breathing hard. From my knees, I squint under the desk at the person’s shoes, my breath held, heart drumming in my ears. They walk to the left, then to the right. Stop. A voice says, “I’m in the office. It’s clear.”

I recognize that voice. “Johnny?”

The click of a gun arming. “Who’s here? Stand up so I can see you.”

Steeling myself, I stand. Johnny is standing in the middle of the room with a gun drawn and pointed directly at me. His face pales. He drops his hand.

“Paz, what the hell are you doing?”

“What are you doing?”

“Peace force got your tip-off.” He crosses the room and peers down over the edge of the destroyed wall. “They’re apprehending people. I got a call.”

“What tip-off?”

“Someone called in a break-in at headquarters. Suspected Exiters. I figured it was you.” I shake my head. He frowns. “What the hell?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t me. Where's Bird, is she okay?”

“I haven’t seen her.” He spins around. “Are you serious, being here? This is really dangerous.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Are you wearing a t-shirt? You don’t even have a vest on? What the hell are you thinking?”

“People at the Station are still pretty suspicious of me. I figured this would be a way to strengthen my cover.”

He glares at me, exhaling hard through his nose, then crosses the room again and peers around the door. “Is anyone else here?”

“One guy just went out to see what was going on. Listen—Neb and Kcaj are here. In this dimension. Kcaj is here, right now, in the building.”

He shakes his head. “He’s not. We saw him. He jumped out before we could get hands on him, I don’t think he’s coming back. How are you getting out of here? Peace force are on their way up.”

“Bird and Kcaj are supposed to jump us back to the Station.”

“Well, I’d say your chances of that happening just decreased by fifty percent. What are the Exiters doing here? What’s the target?”

“They’re stealing the new biochips—whatever prototypes or models are already made. Kcaj wants to start installing them into people so they can plan the Exit.”

He touches behind his ear. “Well they’re not gonna get far with the UD perimeter established.”

“Bird says it doesn’t matter. She says Kcaj will figure out a way around it.” He swears, crosses back to the open hole in the side of the building and looks down again. I track him with my eyes. “Do you know what happened in Brume yesterday? We heard there was rain.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“And in Alluvium?”

“Yes.”

I hesitate. “Neb and Kcaj seem pretty convinced Zenith are to blame. That it was a test gone wrong. Geoengineering or something.”

He frowns. “I don’t think so. I would have heard.”

“That’s what I thought. I mean, there’s no way…Paradi wouldn’t have covered it up, right?”

“What? No. No way. Are you really asking me that?”

“No. Maybe, I don’t know.”

He’s watching me carefully. “You’re not letting them get to you, are you? Tell me I don’t have to start worrying about your allegiances, Paz.”

“You don’t. I just—they seem so sure. And it seems like a major coincidence.”

A shadow appears in the doorway. The familiar form of bulky, bald-headed Langdon. He raises his gun and steps across the threshold. “Drop your weapon! Put your goddamn hands—” He stops dead, staring at Johnny. “Holy shit. You’re him. You’re the guy that shot Marly.”

A bolt of icy panic shoots down my spine. Johnny lifts his gun and trains it on Langdon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you don’t lower that weapon, I’m gonna be the guy that shot you.”

Langdon shakes his head, redoubling his grip around the gun. “You’re the flogging guy. You’re the one.” His eyes cut to me. “And you’re the guy he was protecting. I knew there was something about you.”

I put up my hands. “Langdon, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What is this?” Langdon’s voice rises. “You’re working for Zenith? Hm? Having a nice little chat with your friend here? I knew there was something about you! You’re on their side. You’re a spy—”

An ear-splitting bang snaps his head backward. His fingers go limp around the gun and it drops to the floor as his body crumples—a marionette on a string pulled too hard. Suddenly, my ears are screaming, and when Johnny grabs my shoulder and pulls me around to face him, his lips are moving but I can’t hear anything he’s saying.

“—back to the Station, okay?” he says eventually, as the ringing subsides and the room spins around me. “You need to find Howsley and get out of here.”

“You shot him.”

“Yep. Yes, I did, Paz. Are you listening to me? You need to get back to the Station.”

Footsteps are pounding down the corridor outside. The patter of gunshots. Deep in the building, an alarm is still blaring. I can’t tear my eyes away from Langdon’s body, in a heap on the floor, blood pooling around the back of his head.

Johnny shakes me. “He was gonna blow your cover, Paz. He was gonna shoot me. He was a threat. You need to get back to the Station. I need your eyes on Neb and Kcaj. Can you do that?”

“—yes. Yeah, I can do it.”

“Find Howsley. Don’t jump—they can’t see you jump on your own. Tell her the peace force shot your buddy. You got away. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Go now.” He shoves me at the door and I trip, stumble over Langdon’s body and lurch through it. I turn right, jamming my finger behind my left ear.

“Bird!”

Her voice crackles down the radio. “Where are you?”

“Outside Paradi’s office. They shot Langdon. Someone—someone shot Langdon.”

“I’m coming. Don’t move. Stay where you are.”

I pull up at the end of the corridor, where it Ts into the next. At the far end, a group of five peace officers are running toward me.

“Shit.” I spin and bolt back the other way. Jam my finger behind my ear again. “Going back to the office, I can’t get out—”

I slam into something soft and warm, hair in my face and hands clutching at my shoulders as we topple and land hard on the floor. Someone gasps underneath me and when I scramble off them, I see it’s Bird. Struggling to my feet, I reach down a hand and pull her up. She doubles over with one hand on her knees and waves the other at me. Behind me, I hear the peace force come around the corner. Looking over my shoulder, I see one raise a gun.

“Bird,” I reach blindly for her hand, “we really need to—”

chapter

eighteen

BIRD and I land on Chancery platform in a crush of shoulders, elbows, and raised voices. The crew that jumped into Brume headquarters is recollecting.They look confused, angry. I count two people sitting on the ground, nursing bullet wounds. Still gripping my hand, Bird forces her way to the front of the group. Kcaj and Neb are arguing in low voices.

“Langdon was shot,” she says, breathlessly. “Killed. I think I got everyone else out.”

Kcaj’s already grizzly face is a terrifying mask of fury. “Someone tipped them off. They knew we were coming.” His eyes pass over my face and my heart freezes, but they register no kind of recognition. “Two more were apprehended,” he says.

“Who?”

“Yardley and Bigwig.”

“Bigwig was caught?” Someone shoulders between me and Bird. Voices behind me raise in alarm. “Did they say Bigwig was apprehended? Did someone say Langdon was killed?”

Neb lifts a hand. “Calm down, please. Everyone just calm down. We knew this would be dangerous.”

“But they knew we were coming!” someone yells. “We didn’t sign on for that.”

Neb lifts a hand and waits for the shouting to subside. When it does, he says, in an unnervingly calm voice, “I understand that things didn't go as smoothly as we’d hoped they would. That was always a risk, and we appreciate your willingness to take that risk. Yes, there were casualties. We lost some people.” He pauses. “But it’s not all bad news.”

Kcaj unzips his jacket, digs into an inside pocket, and produces a small, vacuum-sealed bag. He lifts it over his head and shakes it between his fingers.

“My brother was able to locate the chips,” says Neb. “We got them.”

Bird gasps. Behind me, murmurs ripple through the crowd. Kcaj tucks the bag back into his jacket and folds his arms.

“As far as we are concerned,” Neb continues, “this mission was a success.”

“What about Bigwig?” someone says. “Are we going back for her? And Yardley?”

Neb glances at Kcaj. “That’s a matter we’ll need to discuss.”

“She could give away our location,” says someone else.

“Nobody is able to give away our location,” says Neb smoothly, “because nobody knows where we are. Not even Bigwig.”

“Howsley knows,” says someone behind me.

“Howsley is here with us, isn’t she?” Neb replies.

“Sometimes,” the voice responds. “Where does she disappear to all the time? Who tipped off Zenith?”

Bird spins around, looking furious. “Excuse me? Are you trying to imply that I’m responsible for this?”

“How do we know you aren’t spying for Zenith?”

Neb puts up a hand. “Howsley has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that her loyalty is to this movement. You’re correct that it appears we have a mole. But rest assured, it is not Howsley.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“They will be rooted out, and they will be brought to justice.”

The hair on the back of my neck lifts as murmurs of angry assent swell through the crowd. I tuck my hands into my pockets and clench them into fists, sweat prickling my palms. It wasn’t me. I wasn’t even the one who tipped off Zenith. But if people are already suspicious of me and now they’re questioning Bird…

Neb surveys the assembly with an expression of practiced neutrality. “Take pride in what we accomplished tonight. Return to your bunks. Take a day tomorrow, if you need it. My brother and I will discuss what to do about Bigwig and Yardley. Some of you may be tapped to help us find them.” Another murmur rumbles through the crowd. Neb smiles. “This was a success,” he says. “You should be proud.”

Bird and I walk side by side in silence back to Stockwell dorm. Shanny trots out as we reach the tunnel entrance, wobbling his tail. He goes about sniffing our shoes as Bird stops me with a hand on my arm. “You didn’t see who shot Langdon, did you?” she says.

I swallow and shake my head.

She nods, staring past me and chewing her cheek. “I just can’t believe someone on the inside would tip off Zenith. I thought we were tighter than that.” She falls quiet, her eyes still over my shoulder, calculating something, then she says, “I thought I saw Johnny.” She looks at me. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

My pulse spikes. I keep my eyes on her face. “What are you asking me?”

“I’m asking when you last talked to Johnny.”

“I don’t know when I last talked to him. A while ago. Not since I came here. Not for a long time before that.”

“So you didn’t see him at the UD hearing?”

Shit. I manage to keep my face expressionless as I say, “Oh, well…yeah, I did see him there.”

“But you didn’t talk.”

“No.”

“And you didn’t see him at headquarters tonight?”

“No.” I hold her gaze. “Do you want to tell me why you’re interrogating me?”

“I’m not—” Her eyes dart around my face. She sighs. “I’m not.”

“I came here for you.”

“I know.”

“I had nothing to do with what happened tonight.”

“Yeah.” She nods grimly, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Okay. Sorry.”

I step back, restraining the urge to blow out a breath to calm my racing pulse. We look at each other.

“I’m glad we’re on the same side again,” she says quietly. “I was miserable without you.”

___________________

I wake late the next morning and don’t get up right away. I lie on my bunk, staring at the ceiling and absent-mindedly scratching Shanny’s ears. Neb said to take the day if we needed to, and I have every intention of doing so.

By the time Shanny and I make our way to Clapham, the first breakfast serving has ended. I stand in line for food, then find Dutch and Marly at a table in the corner. Dutch has her pale hand on Marly’s arm and offers me a tired smile as I sit. She looks remarkably resilient for having just lost her husband.

Marly has his cane on the table next to him and is glaring through the floor with a thousand-yard stare that makes my skin crawl. Not the devastated look of a man who just lost a friend and can’t make sense of it—the fixated look of a man who just lost a friend and is working out how to make it even. I pick at my food, suddenly finding I have no appetite.

“Did you see what happened?” Dutch asks. I shake my head. “But you were his partner weren’t you?” she presses. “You didn’t see anything?”

“I wasn’t in the room when it happened.”

Marly stirs. Lifts his hard, angry eyes. “What kind of man abandons his partner in the middle of a mission?”

I meet his gaze. “He left me. Told me to stay behind while he went to check on something. I wasn’t there when it happened.”

Marly’s cold glare doesn’t leave mine as he says, “Wouldn’t have happened on my watch.”

I turn my eyes back down to my bowl.

“Now they’re saying there’s a mole.” His eyes still bore into the side of my face. “Someone tipped them off.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Didn’t say you did,” he says, evenly. “What makes you think I was implying that?”

My heart trips and a prickle of sweat beads on the back of my neck. Keeping my gaze on my food, I ignore his eyes and continue eating.

“We’re all on edge, is all,” says Dutch gently, squeezing Marly’s arm. “Upset. We aren’t all thinking straight.”

Marly’s eyes bore into me for another excruciating minute. Then he says, “Right,” and shifts his gaze back to the table.

I force down as much food as I can and excuse myself. Walk back through the corridors to Stockwell with my stomach twisting into knots. I need to get out of here. Marly is questioning me. Bird is questioning me. Neb is guaranteeing the mole will be rooted out and brought to justice. I didn’t even have anything to do with what happened last night, but I feel like every eye in the place is suddenly looking at me sideways.

I climb onto my bunk and lie with Shanny on my chest, breathing and trying to think. I could leave—jump back to Panga. Or go to Zenith headquarters. Today would be the day to do it, while I’m taking a day off and won’t be missed in the kitchen. Bird will figure I’ve gone eventually. She’ll come after me. She’ll suspect something. She’ll be devastated. Furious. Would she tell Neb and Kcaj how to find me? Could Zenith protect me if she did?

I lie there for what feels like hours, turning these questions over in my mind. The dorm is full today. A lot of people are not going to their work assignments—hanging out in their bunks instead. Talking in low voices. Whispered questions about what happened last night and who the mole could be. At some point, word goes around that they’re going to have a wake for Langdon. Not a funeral—a party. Tomorrow night. A celebration of his life and of the success of the mission, which was due in part, everyone seems convinced, to his sacrifice. It’s what he would have wanted. Someone goes to spread word around the Station. I stare at the ceiling and decide to leave.

Now. Today. While everyone is occupied with Langdon’s party. I’ll go back to Zenith and tell them I can’t do this anymore. They’ll protect me if anyone comes after me. They have the whole flogging peace force at their disposal. Maybe I’ll have to go into hiding, maybe I’ll have to leave Brume. Fine. I can’t think about that right now. I just have to get out.

I roll out of my bunk and walk casually out of the dorm, like I’m heading to the bathroom, Shanny trotting along behind me. I don’t even pause to consider grabbing my pack. Leave everything behind. I head through the corridors to the escalator. Up to the top of it where Bird always comes in and out. It’s quiet. A good place to jump from without being spotted.

The corridor is empty. I check over my shoulder—no one following me. With the back of my neck prickling, I scoop up Shanny and tuck him under my arm. If nothing else, at least I got Shanny back. I square up in front of that creepy, dripping spray-painted Nabla Omega. The last time I’ll ever see it.

Panga, I think, and jump.

I gasp, stumbling as I land. Through light and static, the world comes into focus.

This is not Panga.

Panic ripples through me. I shoot my gaze around the room: leather couch, dining table, single chair. Bare walls, neutral colors. A rack of hand weights in the corner, a gym mat rolled up next to them. This has never happened before. Where am I?

A voice comes over my shoulder. “Paz?”

I spin around. Johnny stands in an open doorway, a kitchen behind him, a mug in one hand and a bowl of something steaming in the other.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment, Paz?”

I tip Shanny onto the floor and blow out a long breath. “I don’t know. I was trying to jump to Panga. I didn’t mean to come here.”

“You left the Station?” He sets the bowl and mug on the table. Gives Shanny a sideways look as he steps around him and comes to me. Shanny disappears through the doorway to the kitchen, apparently immediately at home and with no qualms about investigating every square inch.

“Bird is starting to ask questions. Other people too. They think there’s a mole—whoever left that tip last night. They think it was me. That guy you shot in the leg, at the rally? It was his friend you shot last night. He remembers me from the rally. He knows.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well—” I hesitate. “No, but—”

“You thought leaving was the right thing to do?” He’s surveying me with folded arms and a look halfway between concerned and frustrated.

“I…didn’t know what else to do.”

He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, rubbing his face. “Okay. That was probably a mistake. But okay.” He paces across the room. “Did anyone see you leave?”

I shake my head. “Things are hectic, after last night. I think it will be a while before anyone knows I’m gone.”

“Shit.” He clasps his hands on top of his head and looks at the ceiling. I can see him calculating something. “Shit.”

“It’ll be okay, right? Zenith can protect me. If the Exiters come after me?”

He shoots me a frown. “You’re not staying out. You have to go back.”

“What?” My heart begins to accelerate. “No, I can’t—”

“No, Paz, look—” He drops his hands and comes to me, takes me by the shoulders. He searches my eyes, like he’s figuring out whether he should say what he’s about to say or not. “Listen…something weird may be going on.”

My brow knits. “What do you mean?”

“Something weird at Zenith.”

“What?”

“We took two Exiters into custody last night—”

“Yeah, I know. Bigwig and Yardley.”

“Right, well those two Exiters? They disappeared.”

“What do you mean they disappeared?”

“I mean disappeared. I went to the peace force station right after the break-in. Figured we’d have brought those two in to question them. But they weren’t there. Not in any of the holding cells, not in any of the interview rooms. Somewhere between Zenith headquarters and the peace force station, they vanished.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither did I. So I went to Dominie. She told me not to worry about it. Said it wasn’t my jurisdiction.”

“Is it your jurisdiction?”

“If it has to do with locating the Exiters? It absolutely is. She may not like it, but I’m still on the team. And even if she wasn’t going to let me talk to them, they’d still be there.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just you having beef with Dominie?”

He shoots me a look. “Yeah. I’m sure. Something happened to them. And I think Dominie knows what.”

“What are you saying? That she sent them somewhere else? Did something to them?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Something like that, yeah.”

“What about Paradi? What did she say?”

“That’s the thing—I haven’t seen Paradi since before the UD hearing. Did you see her that day?”

I frown, thinking back. “No. The lawyer said she had a personal matter to attend to.”

“Right. And she’s been MIA ever since. At least, I haven’t seen her. But listen…it gets weirder. After I left the peace force station, I went back to headquarters. I was feeling like something wasn’t right, so I figured I’d do some digging. See if I could turn anything up—maybe figure out where those Exiters had been taken. And I found something.”

He taps his brow and slides two fingers through the air to transfer a file. I open it and squint at the mass of very small text augmenting the air in front of me. “What is it?”

“It’s an authorization from Paradi. For the use of advanced interrogation techniques against the Exiters.”

“Advanced interrogation techniques…you mean, like, torture.” He nods. I swipe the file closed. “Okay…well, we already knew Paradi had authorized whatever was necessary, right? I mean, you shot a guy. Two guys.”

“Two guys who posed an immediate threat to your safety. That guy last night was pointing a loaded gun at us. Those guys at the rally could have killed you if I hadn’t intervened. That’s different. That’s firing shots at dangerous individuals, in self-defense. That’s not torturing unarmed prisoners.”

I shift, rubbing my chin. “I guess…”

“I mean, I just—I don’t understand how Paradi could authorize something like that. I didn’t think that was her. I didn’t think we did that. I knew—there used to be rumors that some factions of the Anonymity did that kind of thing. But I didn’t think it was anyone I knew.”

A memory flashes through my head. Fixing up Bird’s face in Blenny’s bathroom last year, after those two faceless Anonymity thugs came to her house and beat the shit out of her. “The Anonymity did do that,” I say. “They did it to Bird.”

He shakes his head grimly, like he doesn’t want to hear it.

“You think that’s where those two went last night?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know how Paradi could have signed that authorization when no one’s seen her since the hearing.”

“Dominie then? You think she’s going along with it?”

“Maybe.” He twists his mouth. “Maybe. And then what you said last night—”

I frown. “What did I say last night?”

“The rainstorm in Alluvium. Paradi covering it up.”

“That was just Exiters propaganda. I wasn’t serious.”

“Yeah, but now...”

I squint at him. “What are you saying? You think they’re right? You think Paradi authorized that rain test knowing it would kill people? Am I going to have to start questioning your allegiances?”

He shakes his head, but distantly, like he’s still thinking. “No. I don’t know.”

Silence creeps around us. I feel as though the world is turning, very slowly, onto its head. Like it’s been turning very slowly for a while and I’m only just noticing it. The way they say a frog will slowly boil to death in a pot of water because it doesn’t notice that the temperature is rising. Shanny trots out of the kitchen and plops to a seat in the middle of the room, watching us.

Johnny looks at him, then back at me. “You need to go back to the Station.”

“What? Why?”

“I think you need to somehow get word to Howsley about what’s happening. Howsley or someone in Exiters leadership.”

“You want me to tell Bird that Zenith may be torturing Exiters?”

“Someone needs to know. Maybe they can get their people out.”

“Wait—are you serious? You’re talking about rescuing Exiters.”

“I’m talking about rescuing people.”

I stare at him. I can feel my mouth hanging half-open. Of all the nonsensical things this guy has done, this is the most nonsensical thing I’ve seen so far. Rescuing Exiters? Yesterday he was hunting them down.

I shake my head, my mouth stuck half-open. “You really think that’s the right thing to do?”

“Come on, Paz, you know it is. What are we even fighting for if we’re just going to stand by and let that kind of shit happen? We don’t do that. We are better.”

Who is this person?

I don’t know. I mean…I don’t actually have any idea who this guy is. I have no idea what his real name is. I have no idea what his life was like before I met him. His apartment has nothing in it except a gym mat and a beautiful view. I don’t even have any idea, really, how he feels about me. On the one hand he apologized for being guarded, but on the other hand, he’s kissed me twice now, and beat the shit out of me more times than I can count. And now I find out he has some kind of rock-solid moral compass that means he can’t abide torture? Even when the people being tortured are the people he swore to bring to justice?

I shrug, still shaking my head. “Okay…I guess I’ll tell Bird.”

He shakes his head, scratching his eyebrow. “I don’t think you can just tell her. It’s insider Zenith information, she’ll wonder how you got it. We need to be careful about it.”

“So what do you propose?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve been trying to figure it out all morning. I don’t want to trust too many people with it. It would be great if it came from you, except that there’s no way it can come from you—”

“You should tell her.”

He frowns. “What?”

“Just send her a message. Tell her exactly what you told me.”

“I thought you couldn’t receive messages at the Station.”

“Yeah, but she’s in and out all the time. She’d get it.”

He shakes his head. “She’s not gonna believe anything that comes from me.”

“She will if you tell her like you told me. Show her the file. Tell her you have your doubts about Paradi. The rainstorm. She’s not so stubborn that she’d ignore all that.”

“I don’t know if I do have doubts.”

“Really? Because it sounds like you do.”

He purses his lips. “What do you think?”

My eyebrows lift in surprise. “What do you mean? About what?”

“About this. The whole thing.”

Is he actually asking me what to do? Because that would be a first. Asking not because he’s been forced to follow my instructions, like when we had to put out the drogue together in Brume Three. Not begrudgingly admitting that I know what I’m doing, like after we beat the shit out of each other that day in the training room. Actually asking. Because he doesn’t know what to do.

What do I think? Do I think it’s possible that everything I’ve believed about Zenith for the last year is wrong? Do I think it’s possible that Bird has been right all along? That Paradi has the same capacity for brutality that her mother did? That when I told Bigwig during my initiation that I was worried about that cloud, I wasn’t lying? That there’s been a tiny voice in the back of my head saying—for months now—that Zenith might be wrong?

“Paz?” Johnny’s eyes are anxious, peering into mine. I take his shoulders in my hands, like I always used to do with Bird when she was lost and needed counseling.

“I think you should talk to Bird.”

chapter

nineteen

IT TAKES every ounce of willpower I have to go back to the Station when I was so close to being out. To walk through the tiled corridors with my eyes on the ground and pray that nobody noticed I was gone.

Fortunately, the platforms and Clapham hall are buzzing with activity. Preparing for Langdon’s wake tomorrow night. People lugging boxes of produce out of storage, hauling chairs into common spaces and pushing apart the tables in Clapham. A door I’ve never noticed before stands open to reveal a room full of bathtubs, full to the brim with clear liquid, which twenty or so people are siphoning into glass bottles with plastic hoses. Bottling grog. Some kids are stringing decorative lights from the ceilings in the tunnels.

Shanny disappears into the kitchen and I make my way back to Stockwell and climb into my bunk. I lie on my back with my hands folded on my chest and my eyes on the ceiling and my head buzzing. When I left Johnny’s, I wasn’t sure if he was going to try and contact Bird or not. He seemed really shaken by the thought that Paradi might have authorized torture and lied about the geoengineering test. He said right now, the safest place for me to be was probably here.

I stay in my bunk until lights out and don’t even try to get up. I must fall asleep eventually, because I wake at some point, groggy and disoriented, to find a pair of familiar eyes peering up at me out of the dark. Bird puts her finger to her lips and motions for me to follow her. As quietly as I can, I roll out of my bunk and we creep out of the dorm.

When I start to ask where we’re going, she shakes her head to silence me. I follow her onto the platform and through the corridors into a part of the Station I’ve never seen before. We come to a small, nondescript wooden door with an old-fashioned handle and Bird produces a key and opens it. She flips on a light as we cross the threshold and I squint until my eyes adjust to it.

It’s an apartment. Small, but much more comfortably furnished than Clapham or any of the dorms. Looks like it used to be an office, but was converted. An old couch on the wall to my right with a squat wooden table in front it. On the other side of the table, a king bed with a wrought-iron frame. A kitchenette with a stove, kettle and coolbox on the back wall. Art on the walls. Cushions on the couch. A nice space. Homey.

“What is this?” I ask.

Bird crosses to the couch and sinks onto it. “Private room. We have a couple of them. We rotate use so everyone gets a break from the dorms every once in a while. A night in your own space without a bunch of other people around.” She gestures to the couch. “Sit.” She picks at her nails and looks at the floor as I sit next to her, like she’s weighing up exactly what to say, then says, “I got a message from Johnny.”

My insides jump. She flexes her fingers, like I’ve seen her do when she’s trying to be mindful of fiddling with her nails, and tucks her hands under her legs. “I don’t know if I should tell you this or not.”

“What are you telling me?”

“He said he thinks Zenith is doing something pretty shady to Bigwig and Yardley. He said he has his doubts about Paradi and that he has suspicions that Zenith may have been behind the geoengineering test that caused the acid rain in Alluvium.” She looks at me. “But that has to be bullshit, right?”

I hold her gaze and hope that the vortex of nervous thoughts barreling around inside me doesn’t make it to my face. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, he’s trying to lure me out, isn’t he? Trap me. Feed me false information and get me to give something away.”

“I…suppose that could be true.” I hadn’t actually considered that.

“That’s the only way this makes sense. He’s trying to trick me.”

I tilt my head. “If you’re so sure about that, then why did you bring me here to ask me about it?”

She chews her cheek and searches my face. “Because what if I’m wrong? And Bigwig and Yardley are in trouble and I do nothing because I didn’t trust Johnny.”

“Have you told anyone else about this?”

She shakes her head.

“Have you messaged him back?”

“No.”

“Are you asking me if I think you can trust Johnny?”

She shrugs, still searching my eyes. “I guess.”

“Well, you know him better than I do. You worked with him at Zenith, before all this went down.”

She tsks and rolls her eyes. “Really? Come on. I never kissed him.”

My heart seizes. I say nothing.

“I mean, I assume, since you did that, that you must have a pretty high opinion of him?” she continues.

I put up my hands. “Are we here because you actually want me to help you figure this out, or are we here to get into all that?” She folds her arms and says nothing. “To answer your question…” I shrug. “Yes. I think you can trust Johnny.”

“But how can you be sure? He jeopardized your entire mission in Brume Two. He kept information from you. He got a man killed.”

“Yeah, but—” I hesitate, my mouth sticking open. My brow knits. “Yeah. He did.”

Suddenly, my mind is spinning. What if she’s right? What if Johnny is lying about everything? What if this is all a trap?

He’s enigmatic, after all. Never even told me his real name. Nothing in his apartment. I have no idea who he is.

I put my elbows on my knees and drop my head into my hands. I can’t keep doing this. At some point, I have to trust somebody. I can’t go on bouncing between lives, suspecting everyone, being suspected by everyone. If I can’t trust Bird, and I can’t trust Zenith and I can’t trust Paradi and I can’t trust Marly or Dutch or Dominie, or possibly even Johnny, who the hell am I supposed to trust?

“I think you can trust Johnny,” I mumble, not lifting my head out of my hands.

“But how do you know?”

“I guess I don’t. I guess it’s a feeling.”

She tilts her head. “A feeling?”

“Yeah.”

“Based on what?”

I sigh. Based on that he’s smart, and strong, and capable. Based on his rock-solid moral compass. Based on that fact that he stepped in to protect me from Marly and Langdon at the rally. He trained me to fight so I could protect myself, instead of having to rely on him. He waited for me after the UD hearing. He helped me with my tie. He has the most amazing hands. He’s willing to put himself on the line to help his enemies. I do trust him. I believe he cares about people. I believe he cares about me.

And I think I care about him, too.

And I can’t tell Bird any of that.

I sit up and look at her. Her brow creases, like she’s seeing something in my face that she hasn’t seen before. “What?”

“I do trust Johnny. And you’re right. I do have a fairly high opinion of him.”

Her eyes flicker. She nods, pressing her lips into a tight line, and stands. She gestures for me to get up, and there’s a sharpness to it. An impatience, almost. I stand and we face each other, the room feeling very small and quiet around us.

“Thanks,” she says. “This was helpful.”

I nod. “Sure.”

She steps around me and doesn’t wait for me to follow her as she opens the door, steps through it, and lets it bang shut behind her.

____________________

When I wake the next morning, the busy atmosphere has carried through from yesterday. I report to the kitchen for my usual shift and find it filled with a whole slew of people who aren’t usually there, preparing food for Langdon’s wake. I can’t even get to my usual station, and am instead forced to take up a spot at the long counter we usually serve the food from to do my prep for breakfast.

I look for Bird during breakfast and lunch, but don’t see her anywhere. I tell myself that’s normal and try not to think about our conversation from last night. Around four, I hang up my apron and, having nothing else to do, head back to Stockwell to dress for the wake. It feels insane to go to a party right now, but if I don’t go, it’ll only make people suspicious, which will only make things worse.

I pull out the suit I brought back from the UD hearing and stand in front of a mirror that leans against the wall at the end of the bunks, struggling to tie my tie. I try not to think about the fact that I haven’t see Bird all day. I try not to wonder if she ever messaged Johnny back. I try not to think about what would happen if Bird was right. If it was a trap and I sent her into it.

My fingers are too unsteady to do anything with the tie. Giving up, I ball it up and stuff it in my pocket, flip the top buttons of my shirt open to make it look like I meant to wear it that way, and head back through the foot tunnels toward Clapham with Shanny.

The whole Station has been decked out in colored lights, cloth streamers, and paint. Some creative folk have taken it upon themselves to decorate some corridors with permanent murals—scenes of the Salt, portraits of people I’ve seen around the Station, brightly colored mosaics of abstract shapes. In Clapham, someone has graffitied, in incredible detail, a likeness of Langdon on the back wall, with his name and the years of his life beside it. I get the feeling this party is less a wake for Langdon, and more a way for people who have been living in captivity too long to blow off steam.

People are already beginning to mill around the mess hall. The tables are practically collapsing under the weight of all the food prepared by the kitchen over the last two days. Bottles of grog are set at the center of each table, and bathtubs full of the stuff have been dragged out of that secret back room and lined up around the walls. The younger people are already drinking, standing around in groups of three and four, swigging from bottles swiped from tables. In the corner, just to the left of the kitchen, a band is setting up. An acoustic double bass, guitar, violin, and drum kit, filling the room with the occasional rattle or twang of a soundcheck.

Shanny bounds confidently into the room and starts making his way around like he’s some kind of playboy and this is his party. Receiving scratches and scraps of food, while I hang at the edge of the room with my hands in my pockets, realizing I have no one to talk to. When Dutch finally appears, alone, and already drunk, I welcome her slurred, stumbling salutation. I don’t even mind when she starts blatantly hitting on me and trying to get me to share her grog.

“It’s a party!” she says, too loudly, hanging onto my arm like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

I accept the bottle she hands to me and hesitate briefly before putting it to my lips.

The band has just started up in the corner, and Dutch raises her voice even higher to be heard as she says, “You’re so serious all the time. Why—why you so, why you so serious all the time?”

“Your husband just died,” I want to tell her. “I’m not sure why you’re not feeling serious.” Instead, I put the bottle to my lips again and take another sip. People have their own ways of dealing with grief.

She plucks it from my hand. “This is a good day. You know? You know what I mean?”

I make a motion to indicate that I don’t want to yell over the music. She squints one eye shut at me and taps her nose, and swings from the bottle again.

I survey the room as it starts to fill up. No sign of Bird. Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It doesn’t mean she walked into a trap and Johnny has her shanghai’d at headquarters or in some cell at the peace force station. I snatch the bottle from Dutch and take a big gulp. Bird is fine. Johnny didn’t trick her. Maybe she messaged him and they went to rescue those Exiters together. Maybe they’ll show up here with Bigwig and Yardley and be welcomed as heroes.

Dutch takes the bottle back and lurches away without saying goodbye. Shanny comes trotting back, licking his chops, and sits just in front of my feet.

“The Great Gatsby. How was it in West Egg?”

He sneezes and licks his balls.

“Lovely.”

On the other side of the room, a commotion starts up. A fistfight, maybe. Another argument about the rain. I try to ignore it, scanning for signs of Bird. Someone shouts, and a crowd starts to gather around the commotion. It’s not a fistfight. It’s Neb and Kcaj. Neb is helping someone off the ground.

“Stand back! Give her some space.”

I push off the wall and make my way toward them. I stand at the back of the crowd and peer over people’s shoulders. At the center of the disruption, Neb has his arm around a woman’s shoulder and is steering her toward the edge of the room. A large woman with broad shoulders and a head of frizzy hair.

Bigwig.

She looks bad—bleeding from the nose and with one eye swollen shut. Yardley is right behind her. He looks almost as bad; dazed, with cuts and bruises all over his face, like he’s been in a very one-sided fight. Neb and a few others guide him and Bigwig out of the room, and the crowd begins to shift; to coalesce around a new focal point. Two other people, standing at the center of everything: Bird, chewing her nail and watching Bigwig and Yardley leave with anxious eyes.

And right next to Bird, Johnny.

chapter

twenty

I FIGHT my way through the crowd to them. Scarlet is dribbling from a cut on Johnny’s eyebrow, down his cheek, and onto his sharp, white collar. He’s wearing a suit. He has a split eyebrow, and he’s wearing a suit. He’s also standing here, in the middle of Clapham. It’s such a bizarre juxtaposition of nonsensical things happening all at once that when I reach him and Bird, all I can do is stand there with my mouth open, staring.

“You’re wearing a suit,” I tell him, finally.

“Howsley told me this was a party.”

“What are you doing here?”

Bird steps between us. “I brought him.”

The air between the three of us goes extremely still. Bird glares up at me like she’s already planning a fight, but she’s not sure what that fight is going to be about. Over the top of her head, Johnny lifts his eyebrows at me. I become aware that people around us are staring at him. They’re also looking at me, and muttering.

Bird, apparently sensing this too, grabs Johnny by the shoulder and begins steering him away from the crowd. “We need to go somewhere private.”

I hurry after them. “So you did reply to that message.”

She doesn’t look back. “You were right; he was telling the truth. He helped me get Bigwig and Yardley out of a really sketchy Zenith detention center that we didn’t even know about. He has information for Neb and Kcaj. About Zenith.”

“You’re taking him to Kcaj? What kind of information?” Did he find out something else since I talked to him yesterday?

“I don’t know yet.” Bird narrows her eyes at Johnny. “I think I’d like to hear this information first, so I can decide if it’s worth sharing or not.”

Johnny shrugs. “Fine with me.”

Bird leads us back the way she took me yesterday, to the same private room she took me to last night. She opens it and flips on the light as Shanny trots through ahead of us and goes about sniffing everything in sight. Bird motions for Johnny to sit on the couch, then chews her thumbnail and paces back and forth behind the squat table, between the couch and the bed. I hesitate in the doorway.

Bird beckons me through impatiently. “You might as well come in. You pretty much know everything I do at this point.” I close the door behind me and stand against it. Bird waves a hand at Johnny. “Let’s hear it.”

He touches two fingers to his brow and slides them through the air to initiate a file transfer to Bird. “This is the authorization from Paradi to use advanced interrogation techniques on the Exiters.”

Bird receives the file and swipes it open. Her eyes briefly scan it, then she swipes it away. “You already showed me this.”

“Right, but after I found that, I was digging through some more Zenith records and I found something else.”

He slides another file to Bird. I step away from the door. “Can I see it?”

Johnny looks at Bird, who nods. He slides me the file and I open it. Another official-looking document on Zenith letterhead.

“It's a sign-off from Paradi to run the geoengineering test in Brume last week—the cloud. There’s a section at the bottom laying out the possible side-effects. Side-effects which include a warning about possible acid rainfall in Alluvium, Pocosín, and on Île Tor.”

Bird, swiping through the document and frowning, looks up. “Is this for real? How did you get this?”

“Does no one remember that I hacked Zenith’s firewalls on Z-Day?” Johnny says. “I’m ex-Anonymity. Not just a pretty face.”

“So what does this mean?” I ask.

“It means she knew. She knew there was a possibility that the test would cause that rainstorm. She probably knew people could die. She signed off on it anyway.”

I scan hurriedly down the document, searching for the section. “That can’t be right.” My heart is beating fast. “Paradi wouldn’t do that.”

Bird scoffs. “Of course she would. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. She’s just like Axioma. She doesn’t care.”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t—I can’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” agrees Johnny. “But I mean, that’s her signature, right there.”

Bird swipes the file closed and turns to Johnny. “We need to take this to Neb and Kcaj. This is proof. This is incontrovertible.”

“Are they here?” he asks. “Neb and Kcaj—they’re here now?”

She nods. “But they’re going to want to know how I got this. They’re going to want the source. You should come with me.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“If you come in with me and I vouch for you, you’ll be fine. You just rescued two of their people. You have valuable information. You’re defecting from Zenith.”

“I’m not—” Johnny puts up his hands. “I’m not defecting from Zenith.”

Bird folds her arms. “Then what are you doing?”

The room goes very quiet. Johnny looks at me and I flick my gaze away so Bird doesn’t see the rush of nervous electricity that goes through me as our eyes meet. He braces his elbows on his knees and rubs his face. “Okay, yeah, great. Take me to Kcaj.”

When we get back to Clapham, the music has started and the hall has filled with people. Bird scoops up Shanny and tucks him under her arm, and keeps her head down as she leads Johnny and I through the crowd. I try to ignore the looks that follow in our wake. Johnny randomly showing up in the middle of Clapham has apparently intensified suspicions that I might be a mole. Obviously. How could it not?

We’re halfway across the hall when Bird stops. I follow her gaze to the other side of the party, where Kcaj is striding through the hall with a frightening, triumphant look on his face. He comes to the center of the gathering, grabs a nearby chair, drags it out, and steps up onto it. Bird’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Kcaj’s making an announcement?”

He gestures at the musicians to stop and glares around while he waits for the chatter to die down. A tense, eerie silence falls over the assembly.

“We’ve found the mole,” says Kcaj.

My heart seizes. Murmurs begin to ripple around me and next to me, Johnny has gone totally still. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I keep my gaze fixed on Kcaj’s face as he sweeps his gaze over the crowd, and force myself not to start scanning for exits.

“This person fed intel to Zenith that led directly to Langdon’s death, and to the arrests of Bigwig, and Yardley,” says Kcaj. “Bigwig and Yardley were subsequently tortured by Zenith—” gasps and looks of horror skitter through the crowd “—for information about our whereabouts. Fortunately, they were recovered before they could give up that information. And now, we’ve found the person responsible.”

My heart is beating so hard in my ears I can barely hear the buzzing of agitated chatter rising all around me. It wasn’t me that tipped off the peace force that night, but something tells me that distinction might be a little too fine for Kcaj Berkley to care about. People shuffle to get closer, keenly straining to hear. I’m pinned in on every side. If this mob turns on me, I’ll have to jump. Johnny and I will both have to jump. I’ll have to leave Shanny. I’ll have to leave Shanny here with these lunatics and I’ll probably never see him again. Bird will come after us. Will I have to go into hiding? Some kind of witness protection? Does such a thing even exist?

Kcaj sweeps a hand in my direction, and the crowd parts around me. I squeeze my hands into fists inside my pockets and glance at Johnny.

And then someone shoves me roughly aside and strides past me. A big, burly Recruit, dragging someone smaller by the hair. He flings her down on her face in front of Kcaj’s chair and the crowd steps back to create space. The woman struggles to her knees and looks around.

It’s Dutch.

Her face is a tear-stained mess of black mascara, her blue-and-blonde hair frizzing wildly in all directions. I notice brown roots, streaked with gray. Her terrified face suddenly looks very old.

Kcaj glares around again. “Ladies and gentlemen: your mole.” He folds his arms and leers down at her. “Would you like to explain to everyone why you did this?”

Dutch, trembling, shakes her head.

Kcaj holds out his hand and the Recruit deposits a pistol into it. Kcaj slides the muzzle back and then forward to cock it, and points it at Dutch. “How about now?”

Dutch shakes her head harder. “I didn’t! I didn’t! Langdon was my husband, why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” says Kcaj. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Please!” Dutch turns, her eyes frantically searching the faces of those at the front of the crowd. “Please! I didn’t do it! I didn’t—”

Kcaj lowers the pistol and fires a shot into her thigh. People around me scream and back away. Shanny squeals, and Bird barely manages to clamp her arms around him to stop him wriggling out of them.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” says Kcaj, as he cocks the pistol again and aims it at the top of Dutch’s head. “The next one is going into your skull.”

Dutch, clutching her leg and sobbing, shakes her head again.

“You gave Zenith information that jeopardized our entire operation!” Kcaj shouts.

Dutch shakes her head.

“You gave them information that got two of our people arrested!”

Again, she shakes her head, harder, closing her eyes.

“Was it an affair? Is that it? Your buddy on the peace force? Tipped him off so you could knock off your husband and get him out of the way? No thought to the community. No concern for our Recruits who were apprehended and tortured, or the innocent man that was killed!”

Her eyes snap open. “He wasn’t an innocent man. He was a bastard.” She drags her sleeve across her nose and glares around. “He was a bastard and I’m glad he’s dead. And if I could give Zenith information that would get that bastard shot again, I would do it a hundred more time—”

Another crack rips through the hall. More screams as scarlet mists the air and Dutch drops. People are scrambling backward and Shanny is struggling furiously in Bird’s arms. Kcaj hands the pistol to the recruit and wipes his hands on his shirt. “Problem solved.”

“What the hell is going on here?” The crowd behind me jostles and Neb forces his way to the front. He takes in Dutch’s crumpled body, the blood pooling around her head and the Recruit uneasily tucking the pistol back into his jacket. He gapes up at Kcaj.

“What are you doing? A public execution? Are you out of your mind?”

Spinning, he takes in the horrified faces of the crowd still remaining in Clapham. His face twists into an unnaturally breezy smile. He claps his hands once and rubs them together. “Hey folks! This is exciting, isn’t it?” Turning, he gestures urgently at the band, who stand open-mouthed with their instruments in-hand in the corner. “Why don’t we get some music going, and you all can take a moment to regroup while we get this mess cleaned up.”

Smiling genially, he puts an arm around the shoulders of a woman staring dazedly at Dutch’s body on the floor. He turns her smoothly around and begins to steer her away. “Hey, we found the mole, right? This is a party! Lots to celebrate!”

I step back to allow a couple of recruits to pick up Dutch’s body and carry it out of the mess hall. The band begins an uneasy, stilting refrain. Around me, people quietly turn and stumble toward the drinks tables. Many are simply leaving the room. Kcaj hops down off his chair and stalks toward the back of the hall.

Bird is staring at the pool of Dutch’s blood on the floor, but it doesn’t look like she’s actually seeing it. I carefully shake her by the shoulder and she blinks and looks at me. I pry Shanny out of her arms and trap him against my chest. Bird looks at Johnny. She looks at me again.

“I guess they found the mole.”

Relief and horror are whirling around inside me. They found the mole, and it wasn’t me. They found the mole and shot her, right here, in the middle of a party. A few people I recognize from the kitchen are already cleaning up the blood. The crowd has thinned and what’s left has dispersed to the edges of the room. Some people are pouring drinks with trembling hands.

“I guess we should go tell Kcaj what you found out,” mutters Bird.

Johnny stares at the door Kcaj just disappeared through. “Yeah, I’m not super excited about being alone in a room with that guy right now…”

“You won’t be alone.” Bird takes a breath, straightening. She adjusts her jacket and looks at him. “I’m vouching for you.”

“Are you also going to stand in front of the bullet he’s going to try and put in my skull?”

“He’s not going to put any bullet in your skull. You just brought in Bigwig and Yardley. You have valuable information. He’ll be in a good mood because they just found the mole. You’ll be fine.” She turns to me. “Can you do me a favor while we’re in there?”

“I—yes?”

“Find me some drugs.”

“Find you some drugs?”

“Uh-huh.” She’s looking at the crew cleaning up the blood again, but her eyes are distant, only half there. “I think I need to take some drugs. You know?” She looks at me. “I think we all need to take some drugs.”

“I don’t—” My mouth hangs open. Closes. Opens. “You’re not serious?”

She whirls around, grabbing Johnny by the arm and dragging him after Kcaj, a look of grim determination on her face. “This was supposed to be a party. God dammit, I’m going to have a good time.”

“Is this a joke?” I stumble after them. “Since when are you using drugs?”

“I’m not using drugs. Sometimes people take drugs, Sargo, it’s not a big deal.”

“You’re an alcoholic.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to find me booze, am I?” We reach the door Kcaj went through and she stops and turns. “Tranq would be great.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Fine. Then I’ll just get it when we’re done meeting with Kcaj.”

“Where—how am I even supposed to do that?”

“Start in the kitchen. Someone there usually has something.” She grabs Johnny by the arm. “If you can’t find it there, ask around in Goodge.”

I stare after them as she drags Johnny through the door and bangs it shut behind them. I feel as though hours and days and weeks of sleepless anxiety are all coming down on me at once. This is too much. Too strange. Dutch shot. Bird and Johnny rescuing Exiters. Paradi apparently going AWOL and authorizing death sentences. We’re at a party for the man Johnny killed, for Christ’s sake. This is all too much.

Bird is right. I need drugs. Or a drink. Or something.

Marly is in the kitchen, sitting on a crate in the corner. He has both hands wrapped around the top of his cane and is leaning heavily on it, swaying, looking drunk and miserable, his long gray hair hanging lank around his face and a few days’ worth of unshaved gray stubble speckling his gaunt cheeks. He blinks at me with red, watery eyes as I bang the door open.

“Looking for someone?”

I pull up a crate and sit down next to him. Shanny, apparently as freaked out by the Dutch incident as everyone else is, curls up between my feet and keeps his eyes on the door. Through the long serving window that looks out of the kitchen into Clapham hall, I can hear the band playing. The sounds of the party starting to pick back up. Every so often, forced, nervous laughter. I sink back against the wall behind me and tilt my head back and blow a long, hard breath at the ceiling.

“Long night,” says Marly. He pulls a small, silver flask from inside his jacket, uncaps it, swigs from it, and hands it to me. “And strange.”

I sip from it and hand it back.

“Shame about Dutch,” he says, and spits on the floor.

I nod, staring through the wall. He drinks again and hands me the flask. I take a gulp from the flask that burns the inside of my nose and makes my eyes water and hand it back. “You don’t have any drugs, do you?”

Marly chuckles, apparently totally unsurprised by my question. “That depends what you’re looking for.”

I squint sideways at him in surprise. “Why, what do you have?”

“What do you want?”

“...Tranq?”

He nods. Hands me the flask and then holds up one finger as he opens up the other side of his jacket and reaches into an inside pocket. He pulls out a tiny plastic bag of white powder, holds it up to the light and flicks it as he peers at it. “How much?”

I glance around the kitchen. A few other people are scattered around, chatting, but no one even seems to have noticed that Marly has produced a bag of drugs and is practically waving it around. I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

Chuckling again, he shakes the bag between two fingers and holds it out to me. “That’ll probably do you.”

Numbly, I take it and stuff it into my pocket. “What do—uh, what do I owe you?”

He waves a hand. “It’s a party. Supposed to be fun, isn’t it?” He wraps both hands around the top of his cane and leans on it again and sighs. “When did you last have fun, Paz? When was the last time you actually had fun?”

I open my mouth, find nothing in it, and sink back against the wall. “I literally can’t remember.”

“Me neither.”

___________________

By the time I make my way back out to Clapham hall, there’s no sign that Dutch was shot here. A good number of people are still milling around, apparently determined, as Bird seems to be, to have a good time in spite of everything. I scoop up Shanny and sink into a chair at the edge of the dance floor to watch some couples swaying slowly in front of the band.

Ten minutes later, a door opens on the other side of the hall, and Neb walks through it. He’s laughing—all shiny teeth and golden hair with his head thrown back—and turns to clap someone on the shoulder as they step through the door behind him. Johnny. Also laughing. With a smile somehow even more radiant and beautiful than Neb’s that stills the breath inside me. He shakes Neb’s hand, exchanging a last word, then turns to shake the hand of a third person stepping through the door: Kcaj. Who is, unbelievably, also smiling. A sight that is apparently so unusual that other people in the hall notice it too. People on the dance floor stop to watch. Bird slips through the door behind Kcaj like a silent, invisible wraith, and scans the room. I lift a hand and her face lights up with relief as she spots me.

“What’s all that about?” I ask as she plops down next to me.

“What?” She follows my gaze. “Oh that?” She flops back into the chair. “I don’t even know. Johnny is apparently very charming when he has to be.”

“Seems to have made a good first impression.”

“Yeah. They loved him. I mean, he showed up in a suit with blood on his face, two rescued Recruits, and a bunch of damning evidence against Zenith. You have to admit, that’s pretty good.”

Johnny leans in to say something close to Kcaj’s ear as he shakes his hand, and Kcaj chuckles, nodding.

“Handsome prick.”

I don’t realize I’ve said the words out loud until Bird laughs sharply and looks at me. “Jealous?”

A wash of angry embarrassment floods my face. I set Shanny down, reach into my pocket and pull out the bag that Marly gave me. Toss it at her. “Here.”

She fumbles to catch it and holds it up to the light, then tucks it into her pocket. “Thanks. Where did you get it?”

“Kitchen.”

“Marly?”

“Mhm.”

She nods and sits back in her chair. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in partaking?”

I look at her. “In drugs? No. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She sighs. “You don’t approve.”

Across the room, Johnny glances in our direction. I try to catch his eye, but his gaze passes over me and he turns his attention back to Neb and Kcaj. Neb indicates a table in the corner, and puts his arm around Johnny’s shoulder to lead him away.

“Where the hell is he going?”

Bird shrugs. “He kept saying something about making the rounds.”

“So Johnny’s an Exiter now? I don’t even think I’m an Exiter yet.”

“I think that torture authorization from Paradi really rattled him. He seemed pretty upset by it. And honestly? I think he sees an opportunity. He told me about getting kicked off the team at Zenith. That job was his life.”

I shift, suddenly nervous. “So you guys had a nice chat?”

She looks down at her hands. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it that.”

An uncomfortable silence squeezes between us. Bird fiddles with her nails, then flexes her fingers and closes them and tucks her hands into her pockets. Across the room, Johnny is pouring grog into a glass for Neb and laughing. I fold my arms and scowl at him. “I guess I’m glad somebody’s having a good time.”

Bird squints sideways at me. “It’s not against the rules for you to have a good time too.”

“Uh huh.”

I feel her eyes on the side of my face a moment longer, then she stands with a decisive huff and offers me her hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To take drugs and have a good time.”

I contemplate her outstretched hand. “That’s not a good idea.”

She sighs impatiently, then reaches down and pulls me to my feet. “It’s not supposed to be a good idea, Sargo. It’s supposed to be a good time.”

We make our way back through the tiled corridors to the empty part of the Station where the private room is. Bird opens the door and Shanny trots through like he owns the place, hops onto the bed, turns three circles, and curls up with his nose over his tail. I stand at the threshold, watching as Bird drags the low wooden table between the bed and the couch and kneels at it. She pulls the bag that Marly gave me out of her pocket, opens it, and carefully deposits a tiny pile of white powder onto the table. She seals the bag back up and looks up at me.

“Are you going to sit, Paz? Or are you going to hover?”

“I really don’t like this.”

She sighs and turns back to the table, pulling something else from her pocket. A razor blade. She sets the edge of it in the middle of the powder and begins skillfully dividing the pile into two smaller piles, with a deftness that makes me extremely uncomfortable. “Fine. But if you’re not coming in then you should go. Don’t just stand there with the door open.”

My whole body buzzes with anxiety, but I step into the room. Because obviously I’m not just going to leave her there. The door slides shut behind me. Bird continues to divvy up the powder as I walk numbly over and sit on the couch behind her, until she’s made four small white lines on the table. She sets the razor aside and pulls out something else. A short metal straw. Which she apparently just carries on her person now? She sits back on her heels and turns to me, holding it out.

I shake my head.

Shrugging, she turns back to the table, puts the straw against her nose, dips her head and sniffs hard, and one of the lines disappears. She sits up and tilts her head back to the ceiling.

“How did you learn how to do all this?” I ask.

“From Marly. And a few other people.”

“Jesus, is everyone I know just a drug addict?”

“No one’s a drug addict. This stuff isn’t addictive; it’s just fun. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there isn’t a whole lot else to do around here.” She holds out the straw again. “I promise it won’t turn you into a raving lunatic or ruin your life.”

I sigh and take the straw. “My life is already in ruins.”

“Great. Then what do you have to lose?”

I slide off the couch and sit next to her on the floor. “What is this going to do?”

“It’s just going to make the world go,” she swivels her finger around in the air, “like this. For about…ten minutes.”

“And then what?”

“And then you do another one.” I stare at the three neat little rows of powder as she folds her arms and leans back against the couch. “I still haven’t forgiven you, you know.”

“For what?”

“For Johnny.”

My stomach turns. I turn my eyes back to the table and nod.

“But I’ve decided what I’m going to do about it,” she says.

“About what?”

“About Johnny. I’m going to win.”

“You’re going to win?”

“Mhm. I’m going to beat Johnny.”

“Beat Johnny at what?”

“At you. I’m going to win.”

Pain nicks the center of my chest. “Is that so?”

She holds my gaze with fierce determination and nods. “Yes.”

I drop my gaze and set the tip of the straw at the top of the nearest line. “I don’t know why you would want to do that.”

“Because I love you,” she says. “That’s why.”

The knife in my chest twists deeper. I dip my head and set the straw against my nose, not because I want to do this, but because her eyes are so bright and so earnest I can’t look at them. Because this whole situation is only proving, more clearly than ever, that we are totally different people, and she doesn’t even seem to see it.

The powder hits the back of my throat like someone put a gun full of battery acid up my nose and pulled the trigger. It is like falling face-first into the Salt. I gasp and blink at the ceiling as Bird puts a hand between my shoulders.

“Okay?”

“No. That was awful.”

She laughs. “Give it five minutes.”

Behind me, the door slides open. My heart lurches and I jump and turn around as Bird curses and quickly covers the table with both arms. Blinking through watery eyes, I squint at the open doorway. Johnny is standing there with his arms folded.

“Someone told me I would probably find you here.” He looks over my shoulder at the table and his eyebrows lift. “Well. This is interesting.”

Bird scoffs and reaches around me to pluck the straw from my fingers. She lifts it toward Johnny. “Why don’t you join us?”

Her eyes are calculating. Challenging. Johnny stares back with the same determined, challenging glare. “Sure.” Bird’s eyes narrow, like she wasn’t actually expecting him to say that, and he shrugs off his suit jacket and shoots me a look as he crosses to the table. “But I do not approve of this behavior.”

Bird rolls her eyes as she hands him the straw. “Like you’re so infallible.”

“My body is a temple, Howsley,” he says, eyeing me as he sits on the floor, dips his head, and sets the straw against the next line. “It must be treated with the utmost respect.”

“Uh huh.” Bird folds her arms and leans against the couch.

The sound of Johnny sniffing down the line warps into a weird, muffled babble as the room twists and slips a little bit out of focus. I suddenly feel like I can see every particle of light bouncing off the ceiling and have to sink against the couch next to Bird and tilt my head back. On the other side of the table, Johnny sets down the straw and takes off his tie. We settle into silence. The floor spins.

Bird tugs at the first unopened button of my shirt. “You should take this off.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Okay.” She sighs and rolls her head toward Johnny. “Then you should take yours off.”

Johnny frowns at her with half-focused eyes, then shrugs, unbuttons his shirt, balls it up, and throws it at her. I feel my eyes go wide and put my gaze back on the ceiling. Bird catches the shirt against her chest, again looking like she wasn’t actually expecting Johnny to do that. She sighs again as she sets it aside.

“Well, you’re very good looking. I’ll give you that.”

“This is getting weird,” I slur.

“Aw, Paz.” She reaches out and strokes the top of my head. “This hasn’t even begun to get weird yet.”

The touch sends a shimmering rush across my scalp and down the back of my neck. I tilt into her hand, following the sensation, because it feels really fucking good, and I can’t help myself. The floor feels like it’s melting underneath me.

She trails her fingers through my hair. “Can I kiss you?”

I angle my face to hers as she drags a featherlight touch down my cheek. “Sure.”

What?

She rolls clumsily onto me and presses her mouth to mine. My lips tingle, hypersensitive yet weirdly numb as I kiss her back, not really meaning to, not really sure why I’m doing it. The weight of her hips on mine kindling a spark deep in my balls. I brace my hands against her hips and press back, a familiar ache for her starting to take hold, my body falling into this comfortable shape without me even thinking about it. Her scent wrapping around me, so intimate in this unfamiliar situation.

She pulls away and smiles with half-closed eyes, then looks over her shoulder at Johnny. “Can I kiss you?”

Johnny shakes his head, scowling like a little kid, and slurs, “I have no interest in kissing you, Howsley.”

“Okay.” Bird narrows her eyes. “Kiss Sargo. Then Sargo will kiss me, and it will be like we kissed.”

I meet Johnny’s eyes across the table. The air cracks between us and I literally see the shockwave rippling through the room. Like some giant god clapped his hands between us and made the world shimmy.

Johnny rolls to his knees and climbs onto the table. Bird tuts, rolling off me and swiping the bag of drugs out of the way as he crawls across the polished surface. He doesn’t take his eyes from mine. He slides down the near side and right onto me, bracing his hands on the couch on either side of my head so that I suck in a breath and pull back, staring up at him through the mere inches between us.

He tilts his head to kiss me, and that spark that Bird lit inside me ignites. As sideways as the room already felt, now it spins even faster. I push myself up on my hands, closer to the heat of his bare chest, the memory of that day on the roof swerving through my head. I need to feel that again.

He puts a hand on me and pulls away, finding my eyes. We catch a breath together.

“You guys are hot,” says Bird, and I realize she’s watching us. “You look good together.”

A shaft of pain goes right through the center of me. I close my eyes. “Bird, what are you doing?”

I feel her fingertips around my chin and when I open my eyes, she is pressing her lips to mine again. Everything is tilting on some crazy, angled axis. I can’t breathe as she pushes her other hand into my hair and tilts my head back, sitting up on her knees to angle herself above me, parting my lips with her tongue. I let her. I like it. She’s never been like this before.

She pulls away and sucks my spit off her bottom lip and tilts her head sideways at Johnny. “He tastes good too.”

“Who are you?” I croak.

She grins, crookedly, and fumbles around behind her with her eyes still on mine. Finds the little bag of drugs and holds it up between her fingers. “Again?”

Johnny sweeps his hand to the table. “Rack ‘em up, Howsley.”

The second line goes down easier. Johnny gets up when he finishes his and paces, stretching, while Bird sets up one for herself. He tilts his head from side to side and cracks his neck. I watch the muscles under his tattoo shift, the dragon around his arm twisting and flexing, and I swear to gods I see it wink at me.

He sits on the couch behind me with his legs either side of me and squeezes my shoulders. I sink back between his knees as Bird kneels in front of me and opens the rest of the buttons on my shirt. She slips it off my shoulders. I shrug one arm out of it to help her as the second wave of the drugs kicks in, half aware that this is probably not a good idea—that something about this is probably a very bad idea.

Then her mouth is on mine again and I can’t remember what the phrase bad idea even means. I pull her onto me, gripping her hips, that ache for her building and building. She breaks from my lips and kisses down the front of my throat, and as I tilt my head back for her I feel a second pair of hands slide into my hair and then Johnny is kissing me too.

Jesus, what saintly act of charity did I do in a previous life to earn this?

He sweeps his tongue into my mouth upside down, as Bird’s lips make their way along my collarbone. He’s sloppier than he was on the roof. Less in control. Bird nips my shoulder and drags her teeth back the way her lips came.

“I think we should move,” she says against my neck.

“There’s a bed right there,” says Johnny.

My mind is buzzing, my whole body on fire. “I’ll do whatever you guys want.”

Bird uses my shoulder to push herself to her feet. She totters sideways and Johnny catches her with an arm around her waist. He reaches his other hand down to pull me to my feet.

We stumble to the bed and Johnny tosses Bird down on her back and pushes me on top of her. He drops down next to us, unbuttoning his pants, as she tugs up her shirt and I help her pull it over her head. I don’t know how the rest of Bird’s clothes come off. All I am aware of next is that I’m kneeling between her legs with my finger inside her, and she’s moaning and grinding into my palm. Johnny lays against the headboard with one hand in his pants and the other behind his head, watching us.

“She likes that.”

“Are you just gonna watch?”

“I’m high as a fucking kite and I never saw two people fuck each other before. Oh, watch out—she’s going for your pants.”

Bird is sitting up on one elbow and fumbling with my zipper. She gets it open and slips her hand inside. I shudder as she strokes me, and Johnny makes a low, guttural sound.

Time jumps again, and Johnny is fully naked, kneeling on the bed with his dick in his hand.

“You like having Paz’s cock in your mouth?” Johnny growls, and when Bird moans, the sound reverberates straight into my balls.

“Fuck,” I groan, “this is crazy.”

“You like sucking Paz’s cock?” Johnny says, and Bird moans again.

“How long have you guys been having this conversation?” I gasp, and time jumps.

Johnny grabs the back of my head and crushes our mouths together. I roll over and pull him on top of me, my blood roaring, my legs tangling with his, my chest against his chest, skin to skin. I wedge my hand between us, heart pounding, and wrap it around him and he’s huge and hard and feels so fucking good. He hisses and bows into my hand.

Time shifts and Bird racks us up another row of lines.

When time comes back, I’m on my back again and someone’s mouth is around my cock. It’s not Bird. I know immediately it’s not Bird. Partly because she is sitting on my face, but also because…this is different. So different.

“Oh God—” I push Bird’s thighs away, struggling to breathe, and when I tilt my head down, Johnny is between my legs, sucking like he’s literally trying to suck the cum out of me, and it’s so unbelievably, stupidly good that I can’t do anything but whine. Whine. In a weird, throaty voice that can’t possibly be coming out of me. Holy shit it’s so good. It’s like he wants my entire body in his mouth. Like he’s trying to swallow me whole.

Bird is cutting lines for us again. I have no idea how many times this has happened now.

The next time I come around, Bird is on her back with her hands tied to the wrought iron headboard and I’m kneeling between her legs, pulling her hips up off the bed and putting the tip of myself against her. What is she even tied up with? I squint at her wrists. My and Johnny’s ties. Red and purple.

Johnny sprawls on the couch, stroking himself.

“How did we get here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “She wanted it.”

The room spirals.

When it untwists, I’m fucking Bird so hard sweat is sheeting off me, and she’s making noises like she was that day under the waterfall on Île Tor. I put my hand over her mouth. “You have to be fucking quiet here, Howsley.”

“Ask her if she likes it,” growls Johnny from the couch.

“Seems pretty obvious she likes it—”

“Ask her.”

I bend down and put my lips against her ear again. “Do you like it?”

She moans, writhing, her fists clenched in the ties around her wrists. But she doesn’t say yes. Sudden panic pierces the weird, disorienting drug haze. She doesn’t like it. This is wrong, I’m hurting her again. I pull my hand away from her mouth and sit up.

“Bird?”

Her eyes open, blurry and glassy and completely out of focus. I lean down on my forearms and push back her hair.

“Bird, do you like it? Is this okay?”

Her eyes clear a little. She looks at me like I’ve just asked the world’s dumbest question. “Yes! Obviously! Less stroking my hair, more fucking, please.”

Johnny chuckles. The world disappears again.

When it comes back, my mouth is on Bird’s breast. She arches her chest and I pull away, turning up my eyes.

“Are you gonna be quiet?”

She moans, shaking her head.

I blow a stream of air across her nipple. “Then I’m not gonna do it.”

“I’ll be quiet. Please.”

I flick my tongue across the hard peak and she clamps her lips shut and whimpers. Johnny climbs onto the bed and kneels beside us. He takes my hand and wraps it around his cock, keeps his hand wrapped around mine and moves it for me. I feel the breath leave me. He grips my hand and moves it and I stare into his eyes.

“That’s how you like it?”

He just holds my gaze and says, “Don’t forget about Howsley.”

I can’t take my eyes off his as I tease her nipple with my tongue again. She keeps her mouth shut, making a tiny noise in the back of her throat.

“Tell her she’s a good girl,” says Johnny.

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“Fucking tell her.” He arches into my hand. “She is.”

I suck her nipple into my mouth. “Good girl.”

The world slips and when it comes back, Johnny is standing over me with his dick in his hand, one foot either side of Bird. Any pretense of Be quiet Howlsey has apparently gone out the window, because I’m balls-deep in her and she’s swearing, loudly. Johnny spears his hand into my hair and tips my head back.

“Can I come in your mouth?”

His eyes are black and wildly dilated. All pupil. Glazed with lust. I nod.

He pushes himself into me, and the feeling of his cock in my mouth is overwhelming. Soft as satin and hard as iron and salty. He holds me by the hair and thrusts and I feel the tip of him in the back of my throat.

“You like that?” he says. “You like having my cock in your mouth?”

I close my eyes and moan. Because I fucking do.

He grabs my head with both hands and thrusts again. I groan, sinking my fingers into Bird’s hips, echoing his thrust with my own. Release grips the base of my balls and I can feel it coming like a tidal wave.

Johnny thrusts again, and I mimic the movement, the room spinning, everything burning down around me. I feel Johnny shudder. His fingers dig into my scalp and he holds me still as he pulls out and rams into me one more time.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t moan and shout and swear like Bird does. He only says, “Ffffu—,” then his ribcage heaves, and I feel him spilling down my throat.

Release seizes me like a fist and shakes me to my core. Choking around Johnny, I slam into Bird and she shouts and bows off the bed, clamping around me. I come—a frenzied, bucking mess with Bird’s sweet, tight sex around my cock and Johnny spilling himself down my throat.

Everything seems to shatter. I can’t hold on to the pieces long enough to put them back together this time.

chapter

twenty-one

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I wouldn’t say I wake up so much as I crawl out of a soupy, half-conscious haze. My eyes are sticky and dry and they don’t want to open at all. My head is pounding. It doesn’t feel like I slept, but I’m pretty sure I must have done, because I’m pretty sure I’m in a bed. Not my usual bunk in the Stockwell dorms—a nice, big comfortable bed.

And I don’t think I’m the only person in it. Hair is in my face and the familiar scent of salt and cinnamon tea is everywhere. Bird. One of my arms is pinned underneath her, the other draped over the top. I turn my head to get her hair out of my nose, and open my eyes.

The mattress creaks behind me. I freeze.

An arm slips around my chest and a kiss touches the back of my neck. “Told you you’d get me next time, Mata Hari.”

My eyes go wide. The arm unwinds from my chest and someone rolls away and quietly out of the other side of the bed. Lying perfectly still, my heart beating hard against Bird’s back, I listen to bare feet pad across the room and the rustle of clothes. A door slides open. I tilt my head up.

Johnny is standing in the doorway with his suit jacket over one shoulder, buttoning the top button of his shirt. As our eyes meet, he stills. Then he finishes buttoning up his shirt, salutes me, and walks out.

Bird stirs as the door slides shut behind him, and I lie absolutely paralyzed as she rolls over in my arms. Her voice is dry and barely audible as she says, “Oh good. You’re still here.” She tilts her head up to squint at the door. “Did someone just leave?”

“Mhm.”

“Was it Johnny?”

“Mhm.”

“Huh.” She sinks back into the pillow and frowns at the ceiling.

“Seems like it…got pretty weird.”

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t expect that.”

“You invited him to do drugs with us!”

“I didn’t think he actually would.” She yawns. “Well, it was fun, right?”

“I have no idea. I don’t really remember what happened.”

“Really? Nothing?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Blurry images flicker inside my head like a room being lit up by a sputtering candle. Bird and Johnny naked. All of us on the bed. I open my eyes. “I remember some.”

She contemplates the ceiling for a long moment, then says, “So you don’t remember who won?”

“Who won?”

“Me or Johnny.”

I squint down at her. I can’t tell if she’s kidding. “Seems like maybe you tied.”

She snorts. “Okay. Well, as long as I didn’t lose.”

I sigh and brush the hair out of her face. “Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Taking drugs? Having Johnny there? That was pretty crazy. It doesn’t seem like you.”

“Really? Getting crazy doesn’t seem like me? Taking drugs doesn’t seem like me?”

“Okay, it seems a little unstable.”

“Well the last few weeks have been pretty unstable, haven’t they? I’m fine. I had fun.”

“Are you sure? Are you sure you’re not just in some weird competition with Johnny?”

“I am in a weird competition with Johnny. You have things you want to explore and I’m trying not to lose you.”

That shard of pain nicks my heart again. “Please tell me you didn’t just do that because you thought that’s what I wanted. I never said I wanted to explore anything with Johnny.”

“You didn’t have to; I can tell. And I didn’t just do it for that. I had things I wanted to explore too, remember?”

“Like being tied up?”

Her eyes spark. “Mhm.”

“Did you like that?”

She nods. “Did you?”

“Yeah.”

Somewhere distant on the other side of the door, the Station is coming to life. People probably waking up in similar states of disarray: confused, hungover, not fully remembering what they did last night. I’m actually pretty sure I can already hear a fight breaking out. Somewhere in the Station—probably in Clapham—people are yelling at each other. Possibly I’m not the only person who woke up in a bed unexpectedly full of people.

I roll onto my back and rub my face with both hands. “I guess it must have been a pretty good party.”

Bird stretches, groaning, and starts to sit up. “I think everyone was pretty ready for it.”

The shouting out in the Station intensifies. Footsteps ring in the corridor outside. People are running.

Bird frowns. “Do you hear that?”

I sit up on my elbows, nodding.

She stares at the door. “Seems like a lot of fuss for a bunch of hungover—”

The door slides open. Six armed men in black tactical suits storm through it.

____________________

Bird screams and scrambles backward, yanking the sheets up around herself. Shanny erupts into a frenzy of frantic yipping, spinning circles on the floor at the foot of the bed. One of the men grabs Bird by the ankle and drags her onto the floor, wrestles her face down and wrangles her wrists into the same white, hexagonal cuffs Electra used at headquarters to stop her from jumping. I roll sideways, but a hand around my ankle stops me. It drags me to the floor, and I feel knees in my back as my hands are wrenched into cuffs as well.

Outside, shots are fired. People scream. I hear furniture overturning. Someone grabs me under an arm and hauls me to my feet. I stand swaying in the middle of the room, naked except for a pair of handcuffs, as Bird is hauled to her feet too, kicking and shouting and also completely naked.

“How did you get in here?!” she screams. “How did you know where we were?!”

A peace officer touches behind his ear and mutters into his radio and a familiar figure steps through the door. Everything inside me seems to empty out onto the floor.

Johnny. Wearing the suit he was wearing last night. The shirt I watched him button less than five minutes ago, before he saluted me and walked out that door. He surveys the room swiftly, tucking a gun into a holster around his ribs.

“At least let them put their clothes on, for flog’s sake.”

Bird’s face goes white with fury. “You son of a bitch.”

She launches herself at him. An officer catches her around the waist and flings her back onto the bed. She bounces and rolls onto the floor, and two other officers throw their chests into mine to hold me back as I lunge for her. I glare at Johnny between their shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m doing my job, Paz.” He touches behind his ear. “Howsley and Paz are contained.”

I stare at him in disbelief as the world spirals into a nauseating, incomprehensible knot. “Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me I’m still high and this isn’t really happening. Tell me I’m hallucinating.”

He folds his arms. “I guess it’s possible you’re still high. But this is also happening.”

“You lied.” I throw myself on the officers again, but they hold me back easily. I feel weak with fury. “You lied.”

“What did you expect?” He flings his hand at the bed. “Look at this! I knew it was a mistake to put you on this operation. I knew Howsley would get to you. That she would turn you. I tried to warn Paradi, but she was convinced this would work. That bitch never listens to me.”

On the other side of the room, two more officers have gotten Bird on her feet. One throws the bed sheet around her. She stands between them, her chest heaving, staring at me. “Paradi sent you?”

The blood drains from my face. “Bird—”

“You came here to spy. To get close to the Exiters.”

“I came here because I was worried about you.”

“You used me.”

“No—”

“You lied to me.”

“You lied to everyone, Howsley!” yells Johnny. “You blew up a school! Did you forget about that?!” He taps two fingers viciously against the side of his head. “You blew up a school and killed someone.”

“I didn’t!” Bird’s voice cracks as the officers grab her under each arm. “I didn’t! It wasn’t my fault. I’m sorry!”

“God dammit, Johnny!” I fling myself at the officers holding me back. “Stop this.”

“It’s already done, Paz,” he says, stepping aside to let the officers drag Bird, wrapped in nothing but a bed sheet, out of the room. “But I will at least let you put your pants on before they take you out of here.”

The officers shove me backward so hard I stumble into the wall. They draw their weapons and train them on me as another officer, younger, with his gun also drawn, looking nervous, steps forward and uses his toe to shove around my clothes, scattered all over the floor with Bird’s. Johnny’s tie is down there too. I have the sudden, overwhelming urge to strangle him with it.

“These yours?” The officer nudges my pants toward me with his toe.

I glare at Johnny. “How the hell am I supposed to get dressed with my hands cuffed?”

“Good point.” He rubs his chin. “Samson, help the man put his pants on, please.”

The young officer swallows and glances at him. “Help him…what?”

“Help the man put his pants on, please,” repeats Johnny.

I glare at Johnny over Samson’s head as he helps me struggle into my pants. On the other side of the room, Johnny returns the look, leaning in the doorway, his arms folded. I feel sick.

“Was any of that stuff even true? What you told us about Zenith? The cloud test? About Paradi?”

“Quickly, please.” Johnny addresses the officer at my feet. “We don’t have all day here.”

“How did you know where we were? I don’t even know where we are.”

The young officer finishes buttoning my pants and straightens up. He steps back, his embarrassed gaze on the floor. Johnny unfolds his arms and motions to the other officers. He steps aside to let them pass as they walk me out of the room.

They walk me out of the Station, through Clapham, past the dorms, through the tunnels, past the platform where the dilapidated EV is covered in graffiti. Past the fading Zenith posters and Nabla Omegas and painted-over station names. In every room, peace officers are forcing people onto the ground, handcuffing them. Hauling them out of beds. Marly brandishes his cane as four of them surround him outside the kitchen.

I don’t see Bird anywhere. She isn’t in Clapham, where a lot of handcuffed people are sitting in a group on the floor, surrounded by armed men. She isn’t ahead of me on the escalator as we trudge up it away from the platforms. When we get to the top, I suddenly remember Shanny. He’s still down here somewhere—still in that room maybe. I halt and try to turn around, but the officers behind me grab me by the shoulders and hold me back.

“I need to get my dog!”

Johnny, walking behind the officers, steps past us. “Forget about your damn dog, Paz.”

They walk me to the tunnel that Bird always used to jump in and out of the Station. At the far end of it, the wall that the Nabla Omega was spray painted onto has been destroyed. A patch of gray light is spilling onto the floor. Broken tiles and dirt are scattered on the floor. Johnny ducks into the hole and the officers shove me through behind him, and we climb up a short, cool, earthy-smelling tunnel, and emerge into a street.

I blink as my eyes adjust to the light of a foggy gray morning. The sky is a close, gray dome. The air is cool and drizzly and smells crisply familiar. Salt. It’s the Salt, and the sharp piney citrus of fogwood trees. I look around. I recognize these buildings. We’re near the Green. We’re in Brume.

We were under Brume this whole time?

In front of me are six or so peace force EVs—armored trucks with holding cells in the back for transporting people. I scan frantically for Bird but see her nowhere. Just ahead of me, Neb is being shoved into the back of one of the vehicles. My flanking officers take me by each arm again and throw me in behind him.

chapter

twenty-two

BY THE TIME the EV stops and the engine dies, we’ve been rattling along in the dark for about thirty minutes and I have no idea where we are.

I sit in the quiet with Neb and a few other Exiter leaders while peace force boots tromp around outside and people exchange low, muttered words. Gravel. Boots on gravel. The back of the vehicle opens. Gray morning light. Fog. The smell of the forest.

They march us into a squat concrete building I’ve never seen before, and along poorly lit concrete corridors with heavy metal doors spaced at regular intervals. At one of these doors, we stop. Neb, two other Exiters and I are shoved through it.

We sit in that box for a long time. Nobody speaks. I shiver in shirtless, freezing misery. Eventually, when my back aches from sitting on the floor and my wrists are chafing in the white plastic cuffs, the door slides open. Johnny, flanked by two officers, steps through it.

“Up.”

They drag me to my feet. March me back through the corridors and across a flagstone courtyard. The sky is overcast, heavy and gray. Like the building. Like the feeling in my bones. On the other side of the courtyard we stop at a nondescript frosted glass door, which, when Johnny puts his palm on the scanner and it slides open, reveals a tiny, drab office. Dominie is sitting at a desk. I have an abrupt and unsettling flashback to the UD hearing. Except this time, I don’t know what I’m here for, and I don’t even have a lawyer.

The officers push me down into a chair opposite Dominie, and Johnny leans against the wall behind her with his arms folded. Dominie looks underslept: her eyes are small and baggy behind her red spex, and she doesn’t look up as we come in. She taps her temple and picks up a slate from the table. She gestures in the air to pull up something on her biochip, reads briefly from the slate, then clears her throat and looks at me.

“How long have you known where the Exiters were hiding?”

“What?”

“How long have you known they were under Brume?”

“I—” I look at Johnny. “I didn’t.”

Dominie eyes me over the top of her spex.

“How could I have known where they were? I had no idea they were under Brume.”

She returns her attention to her slate. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Paz. None of us want that.”

I can feel my head slowly shaking. “Dominie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How long have you been sleeping with Howsley?”

“What? I haven’t. I’m not—”

“Are you sure? Because we have at least two sources who say otherwise.”

“Who?”

“That’s not information you need to have.”

“Forgive me if I wholeheartedly disagree.”

She sighs. “Fetch saw you together on Île Tor. Johnny has also given us evidence you two have been getting close.”

I glare at him. “Has he.”

Dominie sighs and clasps her hands. “We knew this would be risky. We knew it was a lot to ask—to put yourself in this situation, given the nature of your feelings for Bird. We knew there was a chance you might be compromised. But if you have been, we need to know. We need to know how long, and the extent of your allegiance to the Exiters. We can help you.”

“We’re giving you a chance, here,” says Johnny.

“A chance to do what?”

“To tell us the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth. Where’s Paradi?” I look at Johnny. “Did she really go missing, or did you guys get rid of her?”

Dominie returns to her slate. “Were you part of the break-in at headquarters? The night the Exiters stole our latest batch of prototypes?”

I stare at her helplessly. “Yes, but only because I thought the Exiters suspected my motives for joining. I was trying to maintain my cover.”

“You ran that night,” says Johnny.

“You told me to run! You told me to find Bird and get back to the Station!”

“I didn’t know you were already on their side!”

“I wasn’t!”

Dominie lifts a hand. “Sargo, we’re trying to help you. We don’t want this to end badly for you. We know you’ve been harboring doubts about Zenith’s integrity. We know you’ve been questioning your allegiances to this organization. We know you’ve been—”

“Questioning? I only ever questioned anything because of what he told me!” I glare at Johnny. “What about Bigwig and Yardley? You rescued them. You were totally freaked out that Paradi was torturing them.”

“We allowed Johnny and Howsley to recover those Exiters,” says Dominie. “We needed a way to get Johnny into the Station to verify that Neb and Kcaj were actually there before we could send in a team to extract them.”

My stomach drops. It was a trap. He set that whole thing up. I told Bird to trust him. I said he was a good person. I thought he cared about people. I thought he cared about me.

Johnny folds his arms and shifts his eyes. Dominie sets down her slate and clasps her hands. “If you come clean, Paz,” she says gently, “and help us, we can help you.”

“Come clean about what? I haven’t done anything.”

“You are suspected of defecting to a terrorist organization, and you’ve just confessed to being part of the break-in at headquarters. But like I said, if you’re willing to help us now, we might be able to make you a deal.”

I stare at her. “A deal?”

“We were unable to apprehend Kcaj Berkley. He escaped from the Station this morning before our people could get to him. If you have any information about where he might be, we need to know.”

I laugh bitterly and sit back in my chair. “So after all that, you still didn’t get your guy? Why would I have that information? I don’t know what Kcaj does. I don’t know anything about him.”

“Howsley never told you anything about Neb and Kcaj’s movements?”

“She didn’t tell me much about anything.”

“When was the last time you saw Kcaj?”

“When he interrupted a party to publicly execute someone he believed to be a mole.”

Dominie gestures at her slate. “When was this?”

“Last night.”

“And you haven’t seen him since.”

I fold my arms and stare at her across the table. “Like I keep telling you, I don’t know anything.”

She exchanges a brief look with Johnny, then sighs, taps her temple, and gestures to input something else into her slate. Then she looks up and motions to the officers standing by the door. “Separate him from Berkley and the others. We’ll give him a little more time and see if he comes around.”

“See if I come around?”

“Seems like that might be a while,” says Johnny.

“Fine. Put him in one of the jump-proof cells and you can take the cuffs off him.” Dominie casts an eye over my naked torso. “Can we find him a shirt? We’re not running a prison camp.” An officer by the door nods and Dominie turns to Johnny. “Bring me Neb Berkley.”

The officers haul me to my feet. Johnny opens the door and they haul me, blinking, still handcuffed, out into the courtyard. The door slides shut behind us.

I turn to Johnny. “Where’s Bird?” He says nothing. “So none of it was true?” I say to the back of his head as he steps around me and sets off across the courtyard. “All that stuff about Paradi and the geoengineering test and the cloud? It was all bullshit. Was anything you told me true?”

The two officers flank me and march me after Johnny. We reach the other side of the courtyard and he puts his palm on a scanner and opens another door. I can feel myself shaking with fury.

“You manipulated me to get to Bird. Was that the plan all along? Or did you just decide to do that because you got jealous? Is that what happened? You got jealous of Bird? Are you that petty? Are you that much of an asshole? Are you even listening to me?”

Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve wrenched free of the officers’ grasps and run at him, tackling him from behind with my hands still cuffed. He trips and we both stumble, and I land on top of him,. He yells and tries to roll out from under me, but I feel like a bomb went off inside me, and the fireball is consuming everything and I just want to destroy him. I don’t even have fists to punch him with, I’m just walloping at him with cuffed hands and screaming and trying to kick him.

Hands grab me around the arms and haul me to my feet, and one of the officers sinks his fist into my ribs. The air goes out of me and I crumple sideways. Johnny staggers to his feet, wiping blood from under his nose, straightens his jacket, and slams his fist into the center of my stomach. I choke and sink to one knee as he steps back, shaking out his fist, and addresses the officers over my head. “Take Neb Berkley to Dominie. I’ll deal with this.”

The officers apparently hesitate, because Johnny barks, “Now!” Their footsteps turn and retreat. Gasping, I blink at Johnny’s shoes on the flagstones. The world is spinning and flashing black and white, and every beat of my heart feels like the struggling of some poor, exhausted animal thrashing itself to pieces. Like every beat is breaking it a little bit more. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before. Even after Marly and Langdon hit me I didn’t feel like this. Even after that day Johnny and I fought in the training room, I didn’t feel like this. I can’t do this anymore. I’m exhausted. I’m cold. I’m sore. I don’t even have a shirt on. My heart is breaking. I’m done.

“Get up,” says Johnny.

I shake my head.

“Get up.”

“I can’t.”

Johnny grabs me hard around the arm and yanks me to my feet. I don’t try to fight him. I can’t even look at him as he turns me around and pushes me through the door. “Walk.”

We turn left and walk to the end of another long, dark, concrete hallway. At the end of it is a single door, made of frosted glass and white fiberglass, like my cuffs. An array of blue and red lights blinks around its edge. Johnny keys a code directly into the door’s smooth, white surface, and as it swings open and I step across the threshold, he grabs my shoulder to stop me. “We’re taking the cuffs off first.”

I let him yank me around, keeping my gaze on the floor so I don’t have to look into his eyes. He grabs the cuffs and pulls them roughly up to inspect them. As he drops his gaze to the to key in the code, he says,

“Here’s what’s about to happen, Mata Hari: I’m going to remove these cuffs, and then you’re going to hit me in the face, and then you’re going to jump.”

My heart stills. I stare at the top of his head, not comprehending. His fingers are already keying in the code.

“Do you understand?” he mutters. “We have, like, zero time for me to explain this. They are watching us. Don’t nod. Don’t look up. Don’t move.”

A ray of understanding explodes inside my head. My legs turn to water and I barely manage to stop myself from sitting down. Holy shit, if he’s screwing with me—if this is a trick, I think it might literally be the end of me. I don’t think my heart can take it.

“Where am I going?” I whisper.

“I don’t care. Panga. My place if you want. Just get somewhere safe.” The cuffs beep and fall away from my wrists with a click. He steps back. “Hit me. Right now.”

I’m so confused, angry, and filled with adrenaline he doesn’t have to tell me twice.

chapter

twenty-three

THE ROOM that materializes around me as I come out of the jump is not where I was aiming for: I was aiming for Panga, but I’m in Johnny’s apartment again. Why am I in Johnny’s apartment again?

I sink to my knees and sit with my eyes closed for a long time. My stomach is cramping where Johnny hit me. My knuckles are stinging from where I hit Johnny. Not sure what I hit. Hopefully not his nose again.

Actually, you know what, I hope it was his nose. I hope he’s bleeding profusely and I hope it’s making things really goddamn difficult for him. Maybe that’s what he gets for lying to me—or not lying to me, or…whatever he’s been doing. I have literally no idea anymore.

When I’ve forced enough air into my lungs to make the room stand still, I stand up and shake out my knuckles and look around. I need water. I need to drink water and sit down. And I need a shirt.

I find a mug and water in the kitchen. A door in the corner of the living room reveals a hallway that leads to Johnny’s bedroom. The room is as sparse as the rest of the apartment: empty except for a bed and a large, wooden wardrobe with a mirror on one door. A massive window on the far wall looks out over the Flats.

The wardrobe is fastidiously arranged—all socks paired in one drawer, all shirts folded in another, all pants neatly hung. Except for a couple of suits, all the clothes are the same. Like he decided at some point that his uniform was going to be a tight white t-shirt, leather jacket and black jeans, and stopped buying anything else. At the bottom of the t-shirt drawer is a pistol. I pretend I haven’t seen it as I pull out a shirt and close the wardrobe. I stand in front of the mirror and stretch one arm over my head to check out where Johnny hit me. Already bruising.

Wincing, I pull the shirt on. It smells overwhelmingly of Johnny’s wood and citrus cologne and I hesitate as I tug it down over my stomach. Is it weird? That I’m wearing his clothes?

Yes. It’s weird. But this morning we woke up in the same bed and four minutes ago he told me to hit him in the face, so…all of this is weird.

I go back to the living room and stand there, holding my mug of water, staring at the wall.

Now what?

Sit here and wait for Johnny? I have no idea if he’s even coming here. Bird is still somewhere in that Zenith detention facility—is Johnny getting her out, too? Is Dominie questioning her? And what about all the other people at the Station who were basically innocent? The Relatives. People who weren’t involved in demonstrations or dangerous activities. What happens to them? And what about—

Shanny.

The mug nearly falls out of my hand. Oh Jesus, I left Shanny at the Station. Johnny wouldn’t let me go back for him. If the peace force find Shanny, I don’t know what they’ll do with him. Not many people keep animals in this city. Too much of a liability. Too resource-hungry. God dammit if that guy got my dog killed for some stupid plan…

Water sloshes over the side of the mug as I set it down too hard on the table. I have to go back for him. The Station is probably crawling with peace force and I have no idea if I can even jump there without landing in the wrong place, but somehow I need to get him out. Get Shanny out of the Station, and then I’ll figure out what to do about Bird. I don’t know if I need to rescue her, or if I even want to rescue her, or if she’s already being rescued…I spin around, aiming for the door—

—and slam into Johnny as he materializes in the middle of the room. I rebound and step back. Shanny is struggling furiously in his arms.

“This dog—” Johnny shoves him at me, “is a goddamn liability, Paz.”

The last string holding me together snaps and my legs give out completely. Johnny steps forward as my knees buckle and puts his arms around me. “Stand up, you’re alright.”

He grips the back of my neck and pulls my forehead to his. I lean into him and close my eyes, and we stand there with his arm around my shoulders and Shanny between us while I take a deep breath. The sharp scent of wood and citrus cologne floods my nose. It’s unexpectedly soothing; his cool hand on the back of my neck is remarkably stabilizing.

He lets me go and steps back, taking my shoulders in his hands. His brow knits. “Is that my shirt?”

I croak something that isn’t a word and nod.

He squeezes my shoulders and smiles. “Had me worried there when I told you to get up and you said you couldn’t. Thought I broke you.”

“You did.”

The smile fades. He lets go of my shoulders and steps back.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I demand. “Where’s Bird?”

“I’m not worried about Howsley right now,” he says. “I’m worried about you.”

“Well, I’m worried about Howsley.”

His face tightens. He nods and sinks onto the couch as I set Shanny on the floor. “She’s in a jump-proof cell at the Zenith detention center. She’s okay, for now.”

“Okay for now? What does that mean? Why did you lie to us?”

He puts up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m doing my best, okay? It could have been all three of us in that cell, so just…give me a minute.”

I fold my arms and wait.

He sighs. “Dominie started putting things together.”

“What do you mean? Putting what together?”

“You remember that day in the training room, when you and I had that disagreement?”

“Disagreement? You mean fist fight? Yes, I remember.”

“Okay, well Dominie started asking a lot of questions that day. Pretty intrusive questions, honestly, like about the nature of our relationship and if I was going to remain objective, and bringing up Stavra and all kinds of shit.”

“She asked me about that too. To be fair, she wasn’t wrong.”

He looks at me. “Yeah. Well, after that she apparently started keeping tabs on me. She saw us leave headquarters together that day after the UD hearing.”

“And?”

“And started questioning me about that too.”

“Seriously? How is that any of her business?”

“She already thought you were wavering in your commitment to the mission. She never thought it was a good idea to bring you on—that was all Paradi. Dominie didn’t think you could remain impartial when it came to Howsley. I think she already suspected you were on the fence about the Exiters, and when she saw us together, she started to think I was too. Or at least that I couldn’t be trusted to make the right call when it came to you.”

“Okay, but I wasn’t on the fence.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“I guess I had some doubts. But I only ever started seriously questioning Zenith after you showed me that file and told me you had doubts about Paradi’s leadership. Was that even true?”

“Yes.” He nods emphatically. “It’s all true. I haven’t seen Paradi for over a week. She authorized that cloud test and advanced interrogation of those two Exiters. And Dominie knew about it. She’s been operating on Paradi’s behalf, as far as I can tell.”

“And Dominie’s okay with what Paradi is doing? Torture? Human lives as collateral damage?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Dominie’s been after that promotion for a long time. I think she’s prepared to do whatever she has to to hold onto it.”

“That can’t be true. For a promotion?”

“She’s ambitious. She had to claw her way up through some serious shit to get where she is. Zenith was never just a job for her. It was like her salvation. She’s not just going to walk away from it.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. When I found that file, Dominie was already monitoring my chip. She was tracking basically everything I was doing. When I messaged Howsley about those two Exiters being tortured, Dominie read the messages. I didn’t realize until I’d already made contact with Bird. I had to cover it somehow, so I told Dominie it was a plan to draw Bird out. I told her to let us rescue those two Exiters so I could get into the Station with Bird and verify that Neb and Kcaj were there. I told her it would be our best chance to catch them.”

“How did you know where the Station was?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t. Dominie figured that out on her own. Brume had a subway. According to Dominie, the guy who built it was a massive anglophile. Obsessed with the whole London swinger era. Nineteen sixties spies, all that shit. Dominie thinks Kcaj copied the names for the rooms at the Station from the original London Underground as, like, a tribute to the guy who built it. That’s how she figured out it was in Brume.”

“That’s…how did I never know Brume had a subway?”

“Most of it was destroyed in an earthquake seventy-five years ago. The exits collapsed and no one could get down there; it was assumed the whole system had caved in and was unreachable. The only way the Exiters got down there in the first place was because Bird jumped them in directly—the peace force had to destroy a pretty large section of a street in the Flats to get down there this morning.”

“And you just—let them drag me out of there? You could have told me. You didn’t have to lie. I could have at least had clothes on.”

“It had to be believable. If I hadn’t let them take you and Bird, Dominie would have suspected that something was up. I’m sorry. I am sorry. It was a mess. But right now, we have a slight advantage. Dominie still thinks I’m working for Zenith.”

I narrow my eyes. “But you’re not?”

“Right now, I don’t think I’m working for anyone. I don’t know who’s right; I don’t know if anyone’s right. I think I’m just trying to stay ahead of Dominie.”

“And she doesn’t suspect you helped me escape?”

“You did yourself a favor by attacking me in the corridor. On the cameras we do not look like we like each other at all.”

I sink onto the couch next to him. We stare at the floor in silence. Shanny sits himself down in front of us and thumps his tail on the floor.

I sit up, frowning, and look at Johnny. “So, wait a minute—then what the hell was last night about?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean What do I mean? I mean this morning I woke up in a bed between you and Bird. Which is nuts all on its own—but you already knew Dominie was coming after us! You must have known last night. So what the hell? You figured you’d just enjoy the party before we all got dragged off to prison?”

He shifts. “Y—eah, well…I wasn’t about to leave you alone in a room with Howsley and a bunch of drugs. That situation clearly needed supervising.”

“Supervising? We all woke up in the same bed. How is that supervising?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Things got a little out of hand.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember…bits and pieces.”

“What bits and pieces?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “I think the better question is Whose bits and pieces.”

I choke on a laugh, and the air becomes very warm and too thick to breathe. I suddenly feel like I’m sitting much too close to him, and he must feel it too because he stands abruptly and paces across the room, stops, and whips around. We stare at each other.

“Okay,” I say. “Now what?”

He shoves both hands through his hair and shakes his head. “I need to go back to Zenith and keep up my cover. See if I can figure out what’s going on with Paradi. Keep my eye on Howsley.”

“Okay. And what am I supposed to do? Just sit here?”

“You’re wanted by Zenith for conspiring with terrorists. So, yes. You stay well hidden.”

“What about Bird?”

“I just told you I’d keep my eye on her.”

“What if Paradi signs another torture authorization?”

He eyes me. “What if she does? What are you going to do about it? I didn’t get you out of that detention center so you could go right back into it. Please? Please just stay here. Please don’t make me beat you into submission.” He gives me a half-sarcastic smile. “I’m serious. I care what happens to you, Paz. If I have to beat the shit out of you to keep you safe, I’ll do it.”

I glare at the back of his head as he turns and heads for the kitchen, a familiar feeling welling up inside me. The same way I felt that day in the training room after I broke his nose and he blacked my eye. I remember the last hit he landed in that corridor and flinch. The way I felt after he did that. Not just the physical pain—the absolute, soul-crushing heartbreak. If that’s what Johnny caring about someone looks like, I’d rather he put that on someone else. I take a deep breath.

“I want to say something.”

He stops at the threshold to the kitchen and turns.

“If you really care about me, then you can’t hit me anymore.”

His eyebrows jump. “What?”

“We can’t hit each other anymore.”

“I had to—”

“I know this has been crazy. With training and this mission. And I know you were trying to protect me, or teach me how to protect myself, or whatever. And I know I’m also to blame. But you’re a bully, and so far the only person I feel like I’ve needed to defend myself against is you.”

He stares at me like I’m speaking another language. “I was tough on you because I care about you.”

“I guess I just don’t feel like beating the shit out of someone is an acceptable way to show you care about them.”

He blinks and shuts his mouth.

“Am I wrong? Maybe for you it is. You wear ties and drink scotch and shoot people for a living. You changed your middle name to Danger. You have a gun in your t-shirt drawer. You called me Princess for, like, two straight weeks because you were scared of your feelings.”

“I wasn’t scared—”

“So I get it. You’re, like, a tough guy. But I’m not. Or at least, I didn’t use to be.” I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. “I don’t know. Lately I feel like I don’t know who I am at all any more. But I know I don’t want to be that guy.”

He stands totally still in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at me. Shanny trots over to sniff his boots, and Johnny blinks down at him. My words hang awkwardly between us.

“You hit me quite a bit too, you know,” says Johnny.

“I know. Like I said: I don’t want to be that guy.”

He nods, frowning. Shanny trots a complete circle around his feet, then plops down in front of him and licks his nose like he’s waiting for something to happen. For a long time, nothing does. It’s so quiet I can hear the waves on the Salt through the walls. Finally, Johnny says, very quietly, still looking at Shanny, “My dad was tough on me. So I don’t know. Maybe that has something to do with it.”

My heart skips. He’s watching Shanny the same way Bird used to look at Malarkey when she was telling you the thing she couldn’t look you in the eye to tell you. An important thing. A glimpse behind the wall.

“After the pandemic,” he tells Shanny, “Alluvium was basically a hotbed of people looting and murdering each other. We had to be tough.”

I hesitate. “How old were you?”

“Five.”

A beat of silence hangs between us while I wait for him to say more. Instead, he turns and walks into the kitchen. I hear him running the tap. He comes back with two glasses of water, gives one to me, and offers a hand.

“I’ll go back to Zenith. See if I can dig up any more about what Paradi’s planning to do with Howsley and the others. Make sure she doesn’t sign any authorizations against them. Keep up the appearance that I’m still on their team.”

I sigh and look at his outstretched hand. Apparently that was the only glimpse behind Johnny’s wall that I’m going to get. “Okay.”

“I’ll tell you as soon as I know anything.”

I take his hand and stand. “And you’re sure Bird is okay?”

His eyes flicker. So minutely, and he covers it so well, that I almost don’t see it. He finishes his water and sets the glass down. “I told you, Paz: I care about you. And if you care about Howsley…” He looks at me. Sighs. “Then I guess I care about her too.”

My heart stretches so painfully it feels like it’s crowding my lungs out of my chest. He smiles grimly, and turns to go. As he does, without thinking, I reach for his hand and pull him back. His eyes go wide as we stumble together and I kiss him. Clumsily and breathlessly, and with my whole, confused, earnestly beating heart.

chapter

twenty-four

JOHNNY IS GONE ALL DAY, and with nothing else to do, trapped in his apartment with my mind running in relentless, fractious circles, I decide to cook. He has nice, expensive cookware. It will take my mind off things.

Cooking for Johnny feels different than cooking for Bird used to feel. When I cooked for Bird, there was always a sliver of resentment hiding in the final dish. A fly in the soup. A hair. A tiny, bitter feeling that I was only doing it because she didn’t do it right. That I had to do it. I know it isn’t fair that I ever had that feeling. It was my unreasonable standards that were to blame. She was perfectly capable of cooking for herself, and if I had simply been willing to let things slide, she would have been perfectly capable of cooking for me. But I wasn’t willing to let things slide. And she didn’t do it right.

I could never name that feeling before. I don’t think I ever even realized it was there. I’m only able to name it now because I feel its absence in the way I cook for Johnny. Cooking for Johnny doesn’t make me resentful. It makes me nervous. I want him to like it, and I’m afraid he won’t. I never felt that with Bird.

When he returns, hours later, it is to a table carefully arranged with bowls, spoons, a crock of nopal stew, and basket of bolillos. I stand in front of the table, trying not to look awkward and wondering what to do with my hands. Shanny trots out of the kitchen, wiggling his tail, and does a lap sniffing Johnny’s boots. Johnny frowns almost suspiciously and tilts his head.

“Did you cook?”

“I did.”

He bobs his head slowly. “Okay.”

“I had to do something. I was going out of my mind.”

“Okay.” His head continues to bob. He peers around me at the crock of stew in the middle of the table. “Smells good.”

“Thanks.”

Head still bobbing, he scratches behind his neck. “Okay, so uh…please don’t take this the wrong way, because this is very adorable and I’m honestly kind of overwhelmed, but we can’t eat this right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just found out Howsley is going to be executed in the morning and we really need to move fast if we’re going to stop that from happening.”

The bottom drops out of my stomach and the room seems to fall away beneath me. “What?”

He sweeps past me to the table, kicks out a chair and sits. “Paradi authorized an execution of all the top-level Exiters that were apprehended this morning at the Station. Quietly. No trial.”

“She can’t do that.”

He nods grimly. “She can.”

“People would never let her get away with it.”

“People aren’t going to know. No one knows we raided the Station this morning. No one really knows what’s going on between Zenith and the Exiters. All they know is the carefully curated news they’re fed through their biochips. Which Zenith controls. Zenith controls all of it. They make the law.”

“But—” I close my eyes and squeeze my head between my hands. “I don’t understand. Why would Paradi do that? She’s not…this is not her.”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand it either. Something seriously weird is going on.”

“And Dominie’s going along with it?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even want to talk about how disappointed I am in Dominie right now. I can’t think about that.”

Anger ignites in my chest. “Disappointed in Dominie? This is your fault. You brought them into the Station. You gave them Bird!”

The air between us goes as thin and razor sharp as the edge of a knife. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think it would be like this. I had to give them Howsley. Bringing Bird in was always part of the plan. She was always supposed to answer for her crimes. We agreed she should be held accountable for her actions. I didn’t realize Paradi was going to do something like this.”

“So what the hell are we supposed to do?”

“I think we need to get her out. But we need to be smart about it. Busting Bird out is not going to be the same as busting you out. She’s way more important—sorry to be so blunt. They’re not putting a lot of resources into looking for you, but if Howsley goes missing there is going to be a full-scale manhunt. We can’t just bring her back here. And we also don’t want her disappearing on us before she can stand trial.”

I frown. “Stand trial? I don’t understand. Are we talking about rescuing her or not?”

“We’re talking about rescuing her from unjust execution. Getting her somewhere safe until we figure out what the hell is going on with Paradi and the Exiters can get a fair trial.”

My heart sinks. He watches my face as it happens and folds his arms.

“That was always going to be the way it was. Howsley needs to take responsibility for what she did. Right?”

“Right,” I echo, hollowly.

“Not just Howsley. All of them.”

“I guess I thought you were, like, joining the Exiters after you rescued Bigwig and showed up at the Station last night. Knowing what you know about Zenith.”

He sighs, folding his arms, and sends his gaze through the window. He contemplates the Salt for a long time before he says, “I don’t think any of us are in any kind of position to say where we stand on, like, anything, right now. Exiters, Zenith—any of it. I don’t know who’s right, or if anyone is right.” He looks at me. “I’m just trying to do what I think is right. And just because I think what Zenith is doing is wrong, doesn’t mean I think what the Exiters did is right. The people responsible need to answer for their part in the bombing of the Green and Azimuth Hall. They need to answer for Electra’s death. You know that. I know, deep down, that you know that.” He pauses. “They killed your best friend.”

I nod, staring at the floor.

He’s right; bringing in Bird was always part of the plan. It’s why I got into this whole mess; because she got Electra killed. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that. I got so caught up in everything that I forgot about the pain of that loss. I feel it now, keenly, as if all the repressed and ignored and forgotten feelings have flooded back into me at once. I miss Electra. She anchored me to a part of myself that I don’t know how to find anymore. The part of me that was tethered to Brume. To my moms. To my childhood. To the sensible young man who knew right from wrong and always did the correct thing. I don’t know if I realized, until she was gone, how heavily I relied on her to keep me in touch with that guy. I was so keen to throw him out, but now that he’s gone, I feel lost. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I hate Bird anymore. Not like I did that night when I got back to Panga after Electra’s funeral and found Shanny missing. That night, I was so sure about what to do. I was so sure about what was right.

I find a breath in the unbreathable air. “I don’t know what’s right anymore.”

Johnny tilts his head. “I think you do. That’s why I like you.”

My chest squeezes. He pulls a slate from the inside pocket of his jacket and taps his temple. “For now, let’s just focus on the immediate. Okay? Howsley is in a maximum-security jump-proof cell in the basement of that detention center. The others—Neb, Bigwig, a couple more, I don’t know their names—are in a separate holding cell—”

“Hold on, are we talking about getting everyone out?”

“Not everyone. Just the ones facing execution.”

“Bigwig? Neb? You’re talking about rescuing the guy we’ve been trying to hunt down? He’s an orchestrator of multiple acts of terrorism.”

He looks up at me, his eyes dead serious. “They deserve a trial at least, don’t they? Before they’re flogging executed?”

My mouth opens, but I find nothing in it. He’s right, of course, but I’m floored by it. By the guy who, I’m starting to see, is truly, desperately trying to do what’s right—maybe even more than I ever have. Because we don’t do that. Because what are we even fighting for if that’s the kind of shit we’re going to let happen? Because beating up the people you love to keep them safe makes sense, but allowing terrorists to be executed without a trial does not. I don’t know where Johnny’s sense of right and wrong came from, but I suspect growing up in Alluvium after the pandemic may have something to do with it.

He turns back to the slate. “I know where they’re being held, and I know where Howsley is. But I think it’s very unlikely that this is something you and I are going to be able to pull off alone.” He looks up. “We’re going to need help.”

“What are you looking at me for? Like I have some crack team up my sleeve?”

“Do you have any idea where we might be able to find more of them? Exiters. Anyone who wasn’t at the Station.”

“Everyone I knew in that organization was arrested this morning. Don’t you know where the rest of them are? Friends of friends still above ground? People Dominie questioned when you guys were looking for them?”

“I can track some down. But those people are fringe. They’re not deeply involved. I don’t have high hopes that they’ll be willing or able to help us.”

“What about the Anonymity?”

He scoffs. “They all either joined Zenith, joined the Exiters, or disappeared completely. If someone in the Anonymity doesn’t want to be found, you are not going to find them.” He rubs his face. “Anyway, they don’t have any skin in this game. We need people who give a shit. People who can fight. People who might care about Howsley, even after what she did. Or at least people crazy enough to volunteer for a suicide mission.”

A light goes on in my head. I swear and drop my face into my hands. “God dammit. I might know someone.”

“Who?”

“Just some asshole.” I grit my teeth. “Some asshole I know. He has a crew. Batshit crazy. He owes me a favor.”

“Great.” Johnny spreads his hands. “What’s the problem?”

“I really, really don’t want to call him.”

____________________

The sun is sinking into the west way out across the Salt when I materialize alone in the cockpit of the Kingfisher. The boat is anchored. I don’t recognize the cove, but it looks like somewhere near Alluvium. Red cliffs with scrubby little shrubs clinging to life against them. It’s been a long time since I was in this part of the world.

Savage is sprawled in the captain’s chair behind the helm, his filthy boots crossed on the bottom of the wheel. He appears to be asleep—chin tucked and hands folded on his chest. I’m seized by the overwhelming desire to shove him out of his chair, but I opt to be a grownup and snap my fingers in front of his face instead.

“Hey.”

He jolts awake. Leaps out of the chair, grabs me around the throat, and swivels open a butterfly knife that I didn’t even see him pull from anywhere. It flashes in the pink light of the dying sun and I feel the cold point of it against my jaw.

“Jesus!” I grab at the hand around my throat. “It’s me! It’s me!”

His eyes are half-dazed with sleep and flitting around my face with some kind of crazed, wild animal look. They peer hard into mine, then close tight and open again.

“Flog’s sake.” He lowers the knife and shoves me backward. “What the hell are you doing?”

I heave a breath and double over, gasping. When I straighten up, he is swiveling the knife closed and eyeing me. I recognize the knife. It’s the one he killed three men with on the day I met him.

“Very bad luck to wake a man while he’s sleeping,” he says, tucking the knife into his coat pocket.

“Only if the man stabs you,” I shoot back, rubbing the skin around my throat.

He folds his arms. “What do you want?”

“I’m calling in my favor.”

His eyebrows lift. “I see. And what is this favor?”

I explain the situation with Bird and the Exiters. Red, Sterling and Nana appear from below deck, roused by the disturbance of Savage falling out of his chair. They take up wary stances around the cockpit and listen quietly as I finish.

“We don’t need many people,” I say. “Five at most. Johnny and I will jump everyone in and find Bird. We just need your help getting the others out.”

“Who’s Johnny?”

“A—friend. Ex-Anonymity. He helped us on Z-Day. You can trust him.”

“Where is he now?”

“Inside Zenith. He’s maintaining cover and doing reconnaissance.”

Savage tilts his head to squint at the sky and scratches the stubble under his chin. “A recklessly dangerous suicide mission into a Zenith detention center to rescue questionably moral revolutionaries and a girl who blew up a school.” He tilts his face to Red and grins. “It does sound right up our alley.”

Nana shifts, setting the point of her limb-sized cleaver on the floor and leaning it against her hip. She folds her bony arms across her thin chest and spits onto the deck. “Not mine. I’m getting too old for this shit. And you—” she glares at Savage, “have a son to take care of.”

Savage sucks air through his teeth. Clasps both hands on top of his head and stares at the sky for a long time. I watch him thinking. Like he’s actually pretending to consider this decision. Like he gives a shit about the child he basically ignored for seven years while he was getting high and putting himself in dangerous situations. It’s not like he didn’t have that same son last year when he led a crew into Zenith headquarters on Z-Day and was shot.

He tilts his head down to look at me. “Shit. I’m sorry, Son. I think she might be right.”

“What? You’re not serious.”

He puts up his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You said any favor! You said you were in my debt.”

“Please.” He opens his palms. “I’m trying to do the right thing here for the first time in my life.”

“They’re going to execute her.”

“I already failed one daughter, and drove the other away,” he says. “I can’t go dying and abandon my son. I am sorry about your girl. But I have to take care of my own.”

I can feel my chest starting to tighten. I can feel panic crawling up my spine. I don’t know where else to go. This was my last resort. There isn’t anyone else. He said he would help me. He gave me his word.

Red steps forward and signs to me. Savage watches the motions his fingers make and shakes his head. “You’re the captain of this ship now. You can’t abandon your crew.”

Red jabs his finger at Savage and signs furiously.

“Last time was different,” Savage replies. “I’m an asshole who deserved to get shot. You’re a good captain. Besides, this was my favor to Paz, not yours.”

Red glares, then turns back to me and taps his chest firmly, twice. Savage sighs. “He says he’ll come. He’ll bring whoever from the crew wants to join him. He says Goliath always had a soft spot for Bird and he thinks if they were still here, they would have volunteered.”

I meet Red’s eyes, sad and angry and full of determination. He puts out his hand. I nod and shake it.

“Great.” Savage throws up his hands. “Sterling, I guess you’re the interim captain while Red is gone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” pipes up Sterling in his high-pitched rasp. “I’m going on the suicide mission.”

Nana chuckles. She picks up her cleaver and swings it over her shoulder. Lifts her eyebrow at Savage. “Looks like you just got promoted back to your old job, Captain. Good luck being fully employed and a single father.”

____________________

Red and Sterling are two of the hardiest, scariest men I know, and seeing them sit at the kitchen table in Johnny’s pristine apartment is bizarre. Red has no qualms about tucking right into the food I made for Johnny, unhooking two axes from his belt and laying them on the table beside him as he bends his shaggy ginger head over a bowl of nopal stew. Sterling leans his nail-studded club up against the table and stands on his chair to pluck a bolillo from the basket. He cracks it open, takes a large bite, and sprays crumbs everywhere as he says, “So what’s the plan?”

I sink onto the couch and push both hands through my hair. “I don’t know. That’s not really my department.”

Red wipes stew from his beard with two fingers and signs something. Sterling turns to me. “Whose department is it?”

“Johnny’s, I guess.”

“And is that the whole team? Me, Red, you, and this Johnny guy?”

I shrug, feeling helpless. “Yeah.”

“What about Fetch?” Sterling pulls another chunk off the roll and stuffs it into his mouth.

My heart leaps. Fetch. Holy shit, I can’t believe I forgot about her. She’ll help me. She won’t leave me in the lurch like her good-for-nothing father. I tap my temple to open Messenger.

>>> HEY. NEED YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING.

I watch Red and Sterling quietly spilling crumbs and nopal stew across Johnny’s spotless table while I wait for her reply. It comes a few minutes later.

>>> WHAT KIND OF THING?

>>> BIRD IS FACING EXECUTION. SHE AND SOME OTHER EXITERS WERE ARRESTED THIS MORNING.

A long minute goes by. Finally, Fetch sends,

>>> SO?

My stomach drops. So? With trembling hands, I send back,

>>> SO WE’RE GETTING HER OUT.

>>> WASN’T SHE SUPPOSED TO ANSWER FOR HER CRIMES?

>>> NOT LIKE THIS! THEY AREN’T EVEN GIVING HER A TRIAL. PARADI HAS GONE TOTALLY OFF THE RAILS. NO ONE KNOWS WHAT’S GOING ON.

No reply. I stare through the text of our messages to Red and Sterling on the other side of the room. They’ve stopped eating and are watching me. Suddenly, I wonder what will happen to their support if Fetch refuses. She isn’t their first mate anymore, but I imagine her word would still hold some sway over them. What if she refuses to help, and they think better of it too?

>>> PLEASE, I send. I KNOW YOU NEVER LIKED HER. I KNOW WHAT SHE DID WAS UNFORGIVABLE. I’M NOT ASKING YOU TO FORGIVE HER. BUT YOU CAN’T SERIOUSLY WANT TO SEE HER DEAD? L CAN’T SERIOUSLY WANT TO SEE HER DEAD?

The cursor blinks. Finally, she sends,

>>> WHAT ABOUT SAVAGE? DOESN’T HE OWE YOU A FAVOR?

>>> HE REFUSED. SAYS HE HAS TO TAKE CARE OF FID NOW.

A long pause. Then she sends,

>>> ASSHOLE. THAT’S ACTUALLY PRETTY ADMIRABLE.

I sigh.

>>> YEAH. A VERY CONVENIENT TIME FOR HIM TO DEVELOP A MORAL COMPASS.

She types. Deletes. Types.

>>> WHO ELSE DO YOU HAVE?

>>> RED AND STERLING VOLUNTEERED.

>>> FROM THE KINGFISHER???

>>> YES.

>>> GODS DAMMIT. THOSE IDIOTS.

Across the room, Sterling releases a long, foul burp. The message cursor blinks.

>>> GODS DAMMIT, Fetch sends. GODS DAMMIT, FINE. FINE.

My stomach lurches.

>>> FINE WHAT?

>>> I’LL COME. FOR RED AND STERLING. I CAN’T LET THEM WALK INTO SOMETHING LIKE THIS WITHOUT ME, CAN I?

>>> JESUS. THANK YOU. THANK YOU.

>>> I’M IN POCOSÍN, I’LL HAVE TO JUMP THERE. I’LL COME TO THE LANDING PAD AT THE CENTER OF BRUME. CAN YOU MEET ME?

>>> NO.

>>> SERIOUSLY? I’M GOING OUT OF MY WAY FOR YOU HERE.

>>> I’M SORRY. IT’S A LONG STORY. I’M IN HIDING. I THINK I MIGHT BE A FUGITIVE.

>>> OF COURSE YOU ARE. WHY WOULD I EXPECT ANYTHING LESS? The cursor blinks. OKAY, WELL I NEED AN ADDRESS OR SOMETHING.

>>> I’LL TELL JOHNNY. HE CAN MEET YOU.

>>> FLOG’S SAKE. TELL ME HE’S NOT PART OF THIS.

>>> I CAN’T TELL YOU THAT.

>>> ARE YOU GUYS STILL BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF EACH OTHER, OR FALLING IN LOVE, OR WHATEVER IT IS YOU’RE DOING?

>>> I THINK SO?

>>> EXPLAIN TO ME HOW IT MAKES ANY SENSE THAT THE GUY YOU’RE DEVELOPING FEELINGS FOR IS ABOUT TO HELP YOU RESCUE THE GIRL YOU PROBABLY ALSO STILL HAVE FEELINGS FOR?

>>> I CAN’T. IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE.

>>> FLOG’S SAKE. FLOG’S FLOGGING SAKE, PAZ. YOU NEED TO FIGURE YOUR SHIT OUT.

>>> I KNOW. I’M TRYING.

____________________

Thirty minutes later, Fetch, Red, Sterling, and I stand around Johnny’s table looking like the motliest crew of disagreeables I’ve ever seen, plus Johnny, who looks impeccable, as always. Shanny has curled up in the center of Johnny’s couch across the room and is watching us with his tail over his nose. Fetch repetitively unsheaths and re-sheaths her knife across her chest. Sterling, perched on the edge of the table, digs crumbs out of the back of his teeth with his tongue and eyes Johnny.

“And you work for Zenith?”

“On paper,” Johnny replies.

“But you used to be Anonymity.”

“That’s correct.”

“Fetch says you’re an asshole.”

Johnny shrugs. “Fetch would know.”

Red signs to Sterling and looks at Fetch. Fetch sheaths her knife one last time and folds her arms. “Johnny’s fine. He just makes terrible decisions. But it’s not his fault—” She looks at me. “He thinks with his dick.”

Sterling guffaws and tugs a pink bandana out of his breast pocket. He takes off his spex and wipes the top of his shiny bald head with it. “I suppose I can understand that.”

Fetch lifts her eyebrows at Johnny. “Sargo said you’re the one with the plan?”

Johnny nods, then taps his brow to initiate a file transfer and slides the file to Fetch. “Howsley is being held in a jump-proof cell in the basement of this detention center. Maximum security. There are four other Exiters, Bigwig, Neb and two whose names I don’t know, in a regular holding cell on the first floor.” He turns to Red. “You said we can use this boat of yours to hide out and regroup once we get everyone out of there?”

Red nods.

“No one in Brume knows about the Kingfisher,” says Fetch. “Pretty sure Zenith doesn’t have good intel on Reckoner ships since most Reckoners aren’t chipped.

Johnny nods. “Okay. Paz and I will deal with Howsley. I need you guys to get the other four out.”

Fetch tilts her head. “And how are we supposed to get in?”

“Paz and I can jump you inside. We’ll put you right outside the cell and open the door. The palm scanner is coded to respond to my handprint because Paradi and Dominie think I’m still working for them.”

Fetch frowns. “Hold on…you’re jumping us directly to the cell and opening the door for us? Why don’t you just rescue them yourselves? Jump in, jump out. What do you need us for?”

Johnny shifts. “Because I need you to draw the attention of whatever peace force is in the building. Paz and I need to get Howsley out, and it won’t be easy. We might need a little time.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “So we’re a distraction. Again.”

“You just need to make a lot of noise getting everyone out of that cell while we deal with Howsley. Then we’ll jump back to you and jump everyone out. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could do it.”

Fetch huffs. “I guess flattery will get you everywhere.”

“The good news,” Johnny continues, “is that Dominie is currently initiating a manhunt for Kcaj Berkley, so she’s pulling most of the peace force off security detail and putting them on that. So security in the building will be lighter than usual.”

Fetch exchanges a look with Red, who shrugs and swivels his ax around in one hand. Johnny turns to me. “While we’re on the subject of weapons, where’s your knife?”

I blink. “I have no idea. Probably back at the Station with the rest of my stuff.”

“You need a weapon.”

“I have another knife on Panga. I can jump—”

He shakes his head. “No, not safe. You can have one of mine.” He disappears and reappears a moment later with a canvas holster, turns it over in his hands, and pulls a burnished knife with a black rubber handle from the sheath. He briefly inspects the blade, then holds it out to me.

I stare at it. “I’ve never used a knife for anything but splicing lines and gutting fish.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Anyway, you probably won’t have to use it—you’re there for your teleporting skills, not your knife-handling.”

“Great, because I have no idea how to use this,” I say, as I take the holster and strap it around my chest.

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end,” says Fetch.

I shoot her a look. “Right.”

“Howsley’s cell is locked with a palm scanner that is programmed to respond only to Dominie’s handprint,” says Johnny. “So I’m open to any suggestions as to how we should handle that. Dominie is not going to help us. She is not on our side right now. The only way I can think to do it is to somehow overpower her, get her to the door and force her hand.”

Fetch shrugs. “Okay, so you just jump right into her office and grab her.”

“I mean, yeah, but what if she’s not there? Then we’re in the building, on the cameras, running out the clock before they find us. We don’t have time to go looking for her. I don’t know her movements well enough to know where she’s going to be at any given moment.”

“Right,” I say, “we need to jump directly to her.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “that would be great.”

“Well, we can.”

He frowns. “What?”

“We can jump directly to her. Remember? The first day I jumped, in the training room, I jumped right to Bird. It’s a feature of QMTP. If you know the person, you can jump to them without having any idea where they are.”

His eyes widen. “I forgot about that. Can you do it again? Can you jump us to Dominie?”

I lift my shoulders. “Kind of sounds like I don’t have a choice.”

He nods, and the circle falls quiet. Fetch unsheaths her knife one last time, flips it over, and sheaths it again. “Sounds like we’re ready.”

Johnny breaks my gaze and looks around the circle. “If anyone has any reservations about this,” he says, “I won’t judge you for stepping down. I know it’s not easy to seek justice for people who have done unforgivable things, or to show mercy to people who you may feel deserve none. It’s no one’s obligation, and if you don’t want to put your life on the line for theirs, I won’t blame you.”

He pauses, and I glance around, waiting for someone to respond. No one does.

Johnny turns to me. “Alright. Let’s go get our girl.”

chapter

twenty-five

THE COLD CONCRETE corridor outside the cell holding Bigwig, Neb and the other two Exiters is empty and nearly pitch black when we apparate into it. My eyes struggle to adjust. Fetch, Johnny, Red, and Sterling appear as mere shadows around me in the dark. A few recessed lights in the floor dimly illuminate a long block of heavy metal doors. The air has the bitterly dry scent of an underground garage.

Johnny’s shadow quietly slinks around me and lifts its hand to the palm scanner beside the nearest door. Startled movement on the other side tells me people are awake. Someone rolls up from the floor and to their feet. “Who is that?” they hiss.

Johnny silently waves Fetch, Red, and Sterling through, then sticks his head in after them. “We’re getting you out but we don’t have a lot of time to explain. These guys will take you to a meeting point.” Before the shadow can respond, Johnny steps back and turns to me. He reaches for my hand. “Ready?”

Taking a breath, I nod.

“Don’t screw this up.”

I conjure an image of Dominie and jump.

By some miracle, her startled face appears before us. I’m pretty sure I look as surprised as she does, and by the time I’ve registered where we are and who she is, Johnny has collected his wits, grabbed her around the shoulders with one arm, and wrestled her into a headlock.

He reaches for my hand again. “Let’s go!”

With Dominie in tow, we jump again, and land in a corridor in front of the enormous white door to Bird’s cell—frosted glass and fiberglass, red and blue lights blinking around its edges. As we land, Dominie twists free of Johnny’s grip, her fingers going to her neck to activate her radio. Johnny catches her wrist and throws her up against the wall, but as he gets his arm across her chest to pin her there, Dominie brings a knee hard up into his groin. He doubles over and she shoves him sideways.

“Paz!” he gasps as she dodges out of his grip and takes off down the corridor. “For flog’s sake—”

An alarm starts blaring somewhere inside the building as I sprint after Dominie and catch her at the corner. I manage to grab one shoulder hard enough to pull her off balance. But she’s super fast. As she trips, she comes at me swinging and lands a hit on the side of my head that sends me reeling. Blinking, stumbling backward, I swing right back at her. I get her on the side of the jaw, and in the back of my head I can hear Johnny saying, “Jab cross combo, Nancy Wake,” so I follow up the jab with a cross hit to her ribs.

It’s not the person I thought I would be using my combat training against.

She staggers sideways into the wall and Johnny’s footsteps pound up behind us as I pick her up and pin her with a forearm across her chest. He appears, panting at my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Dominie growls at him.

“What are you doing?” Johnny spits back. “Executing prisoners without a trial?”

She grabs at my arm. “I’m not doing anything. That’s Paradi.”

“You’re acting on her orders,” says Johnny. “You’re not questioning this?”

“Of course I’m questioning it! She’s gone totally insane. Obviously I can see that.” She tries to shove me off and I lean on her harder. “I didn’t have a choice.”

The alarm that began blaring deep inside the building picks up in the corridor right over our heads—a shrill, ear-splitting shriek that makes all of us flinch. As we do, Dominie ducks again and slips out of my grip, but some weirdly programmed instinct kicks in, and without even thinking I put out my foot and trip her. Johnny grabs the back of her collar and pulls her to her feet. He takes her by the back of the jacket with both hands and steers her down the corridor back toward the white cell door.

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice?” I hear him yell over the alarm as I follow.

“She threatened my parents. She knows where they live; I don’t know how she found them.”

We come to the cell door and Johnny spins her around and grabs her by the lapels of her jacket to hold her. “She threatened them?”

“If I don’t follow orders, she said she’ll go after them. I don’t know what she’s planning to do. I don’t know what’s going on; I haven’t even seen her in a week. She doesn’t leave her office.”

Johnny tightens his grip on her jacket and leans in, his eyes scanning her face. I can see the calculations flying through his head. “Why didn’t she threaten me?”

Dominie glances at me, then back to Johnny. “Well, you don’t…have anyone to lose. Do you?”

In that brief moment, I feel as though I see the entirety of Johnny and Dominie’s history and friendship pass between them. He sets his jaw. “We need to get into this cell. We need your handprint. You can help us or we can force you. I’d rather not have to do the latter but I guess it’s up to you.”

Her eyes bounce between his. “I can’t risk my family.”

Johnny nods. Lets go of her jacket, steps back, and hits her so hard in the face that she slumps against the wall. He catches her under the arms as she crumples. My stomach turns over and I feel like I might sit down.

“Jesus Christ! You didn’t have to do that.”

He hoists her chest against his and leans against the wall with his shoulder. “She can’t help us. This way, she didn’t. Get her palm on the scanner.”

I pick up her right hand by the wrist and press it to the scanner. The lights around the door turn blue and the door slides open. A draft of chilly air and blinding white light pour out of the cell.

Bird is sitting on the floor on the other side, dressed in a red jumpsuit with her hair a mess and her knees pulled up to her chest. A scarlet spot in a pristine room. Her head snaps up as the door opens and as her eyes land on mine and her face lights up I feel as though someone has cracked open my ribs and reached inside to pull my heart out. She looks so small.

Johnny sets Dominie on the floor against the wall as Bird staggers to her feet. Her hands are cuffed in front of her with two enormous white cuffs. “You’re here.” She narrows her eyes at Johnny. “Both of you.”

Dragging an arm across his forehead, Johnny uses the wall to get to his feet. “You can talk to Paz about it later, right now we don’t have a lot of time. Fetch and your Reckoner buddies are working on getting Neb and Bigwig out. We need to jump back to them and get the hell out of here.”

Bird shakes her head and holds up the cuffs. “I can’t jump. They have me double locked down. Anti-jump cuffs.”

“It’s fine,” says Johnny, “we can jump you.”

Bird’s brow furrows. “You can jump?” She looks at me. “You too?”

“Paradi gave us new chips.” I reach for her. “Give me your hand.”

She steps back. “Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you sure I can jump with these cuffs on? Has anyone ever done that? Do we know what happens?”

I hesitate and look to Johnny. “Do we?”

Johnny purses his lips. “No. Shit.”

“Can you get them off?”

“I can try. But I bet I don’t know the code.”

In the corridor outside, the alarm changes pitch. Gunshots crack dully in some distant hallway. I turn back to Johnny, panic beginning to press against the walls of my chest. “So we figure out another way.”

He motions for Bird. She holds out the cuffs and he grabs them and turns them over in his hands. He taps something into a square pad on the band against the inside of her wrists. The cuffs beep and turn red.

“Shit,” he says again.

“Would Dominie know it?”

He looks at her, slumped against the wall. “Probably. But we don’t have time to wake her up and make her a cup of brew right now.” He looks at me. “I think we’re just going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.” And he reaches into his jacket for his gun.

“The old-fashioned way?!” I yell after him as he ducks back through the door.

A message pings through my head as Bird and I sprint after him and skid around the corner at the end of the cell block. Fetch.

>>> WHERE ARE YOU?

The shrieking alarm, distant gunshots and panic pounding in my temples are made even more chaotic by the text half-obscuring my vision. I feel like I did that day when I first went to the training room and Johnny was in there blasting his god-awful music. Like the world is so loud I can’t see. Is that why he does that? To prepare him for situations like this?

>>> HIT A SNAG. I reply. BIRD CAN’T JUMP. HAVE TO GET OUT ANOTHER WAY. WHERE ARE YOU?

>>> DIDN’T MAKE IT OUT OF THE CELL. BARRED THE DOOR. KILLED TWO PEACE FORCE. MORE ARE COMING.

“They’re in the cell!” I yell, as Johnny rounds the next corner. He acknowledges the information by skidding to a halt, wheeling around, and barreling back the other way. Swearing under my breath, I follow him, crashing into Bird as I turn around. We trip and tumble to the ground and as I pick myself up and haul her to her feet beside me, she grabs my arm and jerks me to a halt.

“This is crazy. I’m just slowing you down.”

“We came here for you.”

She shakes her head. “You should jump back to Fetch. Just get everyone out. I can figure something out.”

“No. We’re not leaving you here.” I whip my head back over my shoulder to see Johnny disappearing around the next corner.

“Seems like Johnny might be leaving me here,” Bird says.

“He’s on one of his stupid adrenaline kicks.” I open Messenger again and compose a message to him.

>>> GET FETCH AND THE OTHERS OUT. I’M STAYING WITH BIRD

>>> DON’T MOVE, says his reply. I’LL COME BACK TO YOU.

I turn to Bird. “I’m not leaving you. We’ll figure it out.”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“No. Johnny’s the only one—”

Johnny appears, tucking his gun back into the holster under his jacket. He grabs my bicep to steer me. “There’s an exit on the first floor. We’ll have to take stairs or an elevator to get up there.”

“I thought you were getting Fetch and the others out?”

“Already done. I jumped them back to my apartment. They should be safe for now.”

I let him push me down the hallway, checking over my shoulder for Bird, who is jogging along behind us. “Jesus, that was quick.”

“Yeah, well teleporting is much faster than walking. But we should be fine. The peace force still thinks everyone else is in that cell. They’re probably sending most of their reinforcements that way. If we can get to the door on the first floor, we should be able to slip out—the palm scanner is programmed for my handprint. Unless they’ve figured out I’m helping you and deactivated me.”

“Which seems extremely likely at this point,” Bird says

He looks sharply over his shoulder at her. “A little faith, Howsley? I’m doing my best here.”

Our footsteps ring off the bare concrete walls as we follow him at a flat out run through a series of cell blocks. I can’t help glancing at each formidable door as we pass them at regularly spaced intervals.

“Are there people in all those cells?” I gasp as we come to the bottom of a set of stairs and pause to catch our breath.

Johnny, leaning on the wall with his fist, shakes his head. “I have no idea. Until two days ago, I didn’t know this building even existed. It’s outside Brume, in the middle of the woods. Zenith doesn’t exactly advertise its presence.”

At the top of the stairs, he makes a right turn and we follow him through a door into another corridor, narrower this time, well lit, with doors that look like offices spaced along it. He makes a left, then another left, and when the final corridor dead-ends in a squat, metal door with a palm scanner next to it, he slams his hand against the scanner and the door slides open.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, leaning on the scanner as he waves us through. “We made it.”

We emerge into a cold, damp night. The fog completely obscures the moon and stars and it’s so dark my eyes fail to adjust. I stumble blindly, following the sound of Johnny’s footsteps just ahead of mine, listening for the sound of Bird’s just behind. Only the changing topography under my feet tells me where I might be: pavement as we step out of the door, then gravel, then soft grass, then the crunch of dirt and fogwood needles. The piney, damp-earth scent of the forest is suddenly all around me, and I throw my hands up in front of my eyes as we plunge into branches and leaves.

They tear at my clothes and scratch my face as I follow Johnny into the forest. My eyes begin to adjust. I hear Bird crashing through the undergrowth behind me. We pop out of the brush into a clearing, the indistinct shadows of tall, narrow fogwood tunks shooting up in a circle around us. Johnny comes to a halt and doubles over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. I pull up behind him and clasp my hands on my head, gasping up at the tops of the trees surrounding us like spires, black against the black sky. Next to me, I feel Bird drop to the ground and roll onto onto her back. For several minutes, there is only the sound of our breathing, harsh in the quiet night.

Johnny straightens. “We need to keep going.”

“Where are we?” Bird struggles to get up with her hands cuffed and I reach down to pull her up by the arm.

“In the forest on the other side of the hill behind Brume. We’ll stick to the cover of the woods and make our way back to the city.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to my place. We need to regroup, and then you and Paz and the rest of them need to get to the Kingfisher.”

“For how long?” I ask.

“Until we figure out what the hell is going on with Paradi. Until we know Bird’s not going to be executed.”

“I need to get these cuffs off,” Bird says.

Johnny shakes his head. “You’re keeping those on. I need to be able to keep tabs on you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you still have to face trial.”

Bird steps back. “You’re putting me on trial? I thought you came to rescue me.”

“We did—”

“I thought you agreed that the Exiters are right! I thought you agreed that Zenith needs to be stopped!”

“We do,” says Johnny. “But that doesn’t mean we agree with what you did.”

“I did what I did because I had to! I did it to—”

Johnny shakes his head. “You didn’t have to stand by and let them blow up that building. You didn’t have to plant a bomb on the Green. You didn’t have to get Electra killed.”

She turns to me. “Is that what you think?”

Her eyes are like two wide, bright stars in the dark. I hold her gaze and shake my head. “I don’t know.”

Those two bright stars flicker. “I thought you forgave me.”

“I…never said I forgave you.”

“I love you.”

Her eyes frantically search mine, and I feel as though a cold, black tide is rising up around us. Lifting everything in its wake. Every buried, unresolved, forgotten slight and hurt. Dragging it all up from the bottom of my soul and bringing it to the surface like a tangled net of detritus and debris. The flotsam and jetsam of my feelings, floating between us in the dark. Drowning me.

And as hard as I try—as deeply as I dig through that pile of debris, I can’t find it in me to tell her I love her too. All I can come up with is, “I know.”

Her face twists. She looks from me to Johnny and steps back, but Johnny, perhaps sensing that she might be about to bolt, grabs her by the arm.

Bird twists. “Let me go! You’re not here to help me! You’re going to put me right back where I was. You’re as bad as them.”

He keeps his grip firm and speaks in a low, calm voice. “That’s not true. A trial is not the same as a death sentence. You could be found innocent; you might be given a deal. But you have to stand trial. Regardless of whether the Exiters are right, and regardless of what Zenith has done. You have to face what you did.”

Her furious gaze swings to me. “Well I guess I can see why you’re falling in love with him,” she spits. “He’s the only person I’ve ever met with a more irritatingly rigid moral code than yours.”

Johnny’s eyes snap to mine. My mouth kicks open. “I’m not falling in love with him.”

“Okay,” she scoffs, still struggling. “Sure.”

The rising tide suddenly engulfs me and the world goes still and silent. All I can hear is my heart, beating in my ears. All I can see is Johnny’s two brilliant gray eyes, watching me out of the dark. Seeing me. Looking into me and making sense of the mess that I can’t make sense of myself. And out of that engulfing black tide, out of the junk and dreck and wreckage of my feelings, a moment of clarity flashes. And I realize that Bird is right.

I am falling in love with Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes narrow. Like he’s seeing the realization write itself across my face. He adjusts his grip on Bird’s arm and drops his gaze. “We need to keep going.”

Bird walks ahead of us with her head down and her eyes on the ground as we trudge through the forest. She doesn’t try to fight us or run. She walks like a prisoner; like someone who has accepted her fate. Either she’s trying to trick us into thinking she’s given up, or something fundamental has broken inside her. And as clear as I feel now that we are doing the right thing by not letting her go, I almost hope it is a trick. I almost hope she is quietly biding her time, coming up with some hairbrained Howsley escape scheme. Because if she truly is broken and I’m the one that broke her, then I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.

The ground slopes incrementally upward, until we are using our hands to pull ourselves over logs and under branches. Bird struggles in her cuffs and I try to help her, but she shakes me off, silent and fuming.

By the time we reach the top, some of the fog has cleared. The pale red moon is appearing like a paper disk behind dissipating clouds high above us. Here and there, a star pricks a hole through the inky black curtain of the sky. The air is cold and the first faint glow of morning is beginning to appear in the east. As we come over the ridge and look down the other side, I can see the lights of Brume, sweeping down to the black, glittering Salt. Johnny stops, and the three of us stand side-by-side.

“Looks peaceful,” says Bird, grimly.

“Is it safe?” I ask. “To go down there? The streets are going to be crawling with peace force.”

Johnny rubs the top of his head. “Where else are we going to go?”

“If you would take these flogging cuffs off me, we could go literally anywhere,” mutters Bird.

“Not going to happen. And I couldn’t right now even if I wanted to.” Johnny pulls the collar of his jacket up around his jaw. “We’ll just have to be careful. Stick to the back ways. We all know the city. If we’re smart about it, we should be fine.”

We make our way along the edge of the road that snakes down through the forest into Brume, keeping to the cover of the trees. Light bleeds through the dark as morning strains through the night. A world rendered in monochrome. The edges of things appearing as gray shadows. Our breaths expanding into white clouds of vapor. As we come around a corner, a trio of murky shapes is visible in the middle of the road in the distance.

Next to me, Bird stops. “What is that?”

Johnny slows, his hand going as if by instinct for the gun inside his jacket. Three people, it looks like, walking slowly down the middle of the road, scanning the forest. Three men, carrying rifles.

“Shit.” Johnny mutters. “It’s peace force.”

My pulse spikes. “What do we do?”

“Run!” hisses Bird.

“Don’t run.” Johnny quietly pulls out his gun and flips off the safety. “They probably haven’t seen us. Running will draw attention. Just get away from the road. Get covered. We’ll wait for them to go by.”

We turn away from the road and pick carefully through the brush until we come to a log large enough to hide behind, and get down behind it.

“What are they doing all the way out here?” whispers Bird.

Johnny shifts quietly, his eyes on the approaching figures. “Probably looking for us. Paradi must have gotten word of what happened by now. They probably figure we’re on this road.”

“What do we do if they see us?”

“They won’t see us,” murmurs Johnny. “Just keep still.”

My heart beats in the back of my throat as they draw nearer, sweeping the edges of the road with their rifles, scanning either side for signs of movement. I strain my ears to listen to their footsteps on the pavement as they pass, waiting for the scrape of boots to stop. For one of them to turn. To spot us.

But they don’t. The rhythmic scrape of boots passes quietly by and begins to fade. As the sound becomes so distant it’s nearly inaudible, Johnny releases a very long, very quiet breath. He lowers his gun, looks at me silently, and nods.

And before either of us has realized what’s happening, Bird grabs the gun and bolts.

For a moment, I’m too stunned to move. I’m so floored by the utter stupidity of this decision that I can’t make my legs work to stand up and go after her. Seriously, Howsley? Seriously? You thought this was the opportune moment to make your escape? Now?

Cursing under his breath, Johnny grabs for the back of her jumpsuit, but she slips out of his grasp and darts into the woods, crunching branches and showering leaves.

On the road, I hear a shout. Footsteps pound back along the pavement toward us.

I somehow will my legs into compliance and scramble up to follow Bird, but Johnny grabs me by the jacket and yanks me down. “Don’t follow her!” he hisses. “Don’t move.” He holds me still as the three peace officers sprint past the log and disappear into the trees. “If they catch her, which they will, it’s going to be better for everyone if they don’t know where we are.”

“We just let them catch her?”

“The alternative is we let them catch us and then we’re all wearing jump-proof cuffs.” He squints into the brush where Bird and the officers disappeared. “God dammit I can’t believe she got my gun.”

He checks over his shoulder and motions for me to follow him. Keeping low, treading as softly as we can, we weave through the trees after the officers. We come to a clearing, where a rocky bank drops away below us. One of the officers stands with his back to us, looking over the edge with his gun over one shoulder, and Johnny slinks up behind him, grabs him in a chokehold, and wrestles him nearly silently to the ground. We drag his limp body away from the edge and hide it. Johnny stands, wiping his hands.

“Did you just kill him?” I whisper.

He shakes his head, creeps sideways to the edge of the embankment and peers over it, then motions for me to look.

Bird is climbing down the slope below us, the other two officers just behind her. I scan the ground at my feet, looking for a way down, but Johnny stops me with a hand across my chest and shakes his head. We watch as Bird reaches the bottom and drops into a shallow creek. She checks over her shoulder as she wades into it, wildly swinging the gun with her cuffed hands and firing a shot that pings off a rock and disappears. She is halfway across when the first officer jumps in after her. He catches up to her easily, grabs her around the waist with one arm, takes the gun, and lifts her, screaming and kicking, out of the water.

The second officer drops down beside them. He lifts his gun and scans the area, then touches behind his ear. “We have Howsley. Paz and one other are MIA.”

“They’ll come back this way,” mutters Johnny. “They probably have a vehicle out on the road to take her back to the detention center.” He checks over his shoulder. “We need to get out of sight.”

“We’re letting them take her?” We duck back into the brush and squat behind a stump.

“No. Best chance we have is out here, before they get her in the vehicle. If it’s just two of them we—” A branch snaps behind us. He shoots his gaze back over his shoulder. “Shit.”

Five more peace officers are winding through the trees, guns lifted, sweeping. We flatten ourselves to the ground as they pass. At the edge of the bank they stop. One puts up his gun and calls down to the officers below.

“No sign of the others. Keep eyes open, but Nation says Howsley is the priority. Let’s get her in the truck.”

Johnny and I stay still as the two officers climb out of the ravine with Bird. With my chin in the dirt and my heart beating against the ground I watch all seven of them train weapons on her as they start back toward the road. As the crunch of their footsteps fades, Johnny sits up and pulls me to my feet. “We need to follow them.”

They march Bird out of the forest and onto the road. Around the next bend is a peace force EV. More armed officers are standing around it. They load Bird into the back of it and slam the door behind her. We stay well hidden as the vehicle starts up and drives away.

Johnny frowns. “They’re going the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re not going back to the detention center. They’re heading for Brume.”

“You think they’re taking her to headquarters?”

“Maybe.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Taking her to Paradi, maybe.” He scratches his eyebrow. “I don’t know how we follow her there.”

“We jump to headquarters. Land somewhere out of sight and wait.”

He squints at me. “Sketchy.”

“Yeah.”

“I like it.”

It takes the vehicle thirty minutes to get back to headquarters at Azimuth campus, and by the time it arrives, I’m starting to worry I was wrong and that they weren’t coming here at all. Johnny and I lie flat on the roof of a building near the main lobby as they park and load Bird out, still handcuffed, her red jumpsuit covered in black mud, her hair full of sticks and leaves. An officer jams the butt of his rifle between her shoulders and shoves her toward the building’s back door as the rest of the officers load back into the truck.

A ray of hope lights inside me. The quick nod Johnny gives me tells me he’s thinking the same thing: they are taking her to Paradi. And there’s only one officer with her.

“Can you jump us to Bird?” he says.

“I think so. But then what? We can’t jump her out if she’s still cuffed.”

He purses his lips and looks back at the building. “You still have that knife I gave you?”

I blink and put a hand to the sheath on my ribs, where the knife still sits, untouched. “I do.”

“Can you jump me right to Paradi?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna put that knife to Paradi’s throat and make her give me the code to get the cuffs off Bird.”

“What?”

“We already know she’s holed up alone in her office. We know most of the peace force is outside the building. She’s vulnerable.”

“Jesus, that’s really sketchy. We’re going to be, like, the two most wanted people in the city.”

“We’re already the two most wanted people in the city. We can get to Paradi before that officer even gets there with Bird. By the time they reach us, we’ll have the code, we can easily overpower one officer, get the cuffs off, and jump Bird out.”

I stare at him.

He holds out his hand for the knife. “Do you have a better idea?”

Paradi sits at her desk, facing away from us, only the top of her jet black angular haircut visible above the back of her chair as we appear like shadows just inside the door to her office. Before her, the bombed-out office wall opens onto the bay of Brume, the Salt a slate gray slab in the early morning light, cool, damp fog drifting through it. The spires of the fogwood trees barely turning from black to green.

Raising the knife, Johnny takes one creeping, silent step toward the chair.

“That’s far enough, you two,” says Paradi.

I freeze. Very slowly, Paradi turns her chair around. I feel my whole body go absolutely rigid with shock.

It isn’t Paradi.

Axioma Nation smiles like a predatory cat and crosses one leg over the other, adjusting the tails of her long white suit jacket beneath her. A purple scar half an inch wide splits her face from the hairline above her left eye to the right corner of her mouth. Around the scar, her face is a pale, haggard map of bitter, white lines. She tents her fingers and observes us over them, her hazel eyes hard and cold and cruel.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Johnny mutters. “This bitch again?”

chapter

twenty-six

AXIOMA’S EYES flip to Johnny and the smile vanishes.

“Mr. Ward,” she says. “I don’t believe we’ve met. But I’m told you were part of the Anonymity team that was nearly responsible for destroying twenty years of my life’s work last year.”

Johnny lowers the knife and folds his arms. “I don’t use that name anymore.”

“Of course.” She waves a hand. “Johnny Abomination. A stupider name I couldn’t have put together by committee.”

“Johnny Danger Abomination.”

She sighs. “Are we married to that? Daemon Ward has such a nice, strong ring to it, don’t you think?” Her eyes turn to me. “Hello, Mr. Paz. Nice to see you again.”

I’m too astonished by what I’m seeing to respond. I don’t understand how Johnny is forming coherent sentences. I can’t seem to make any part of me comprehend this. Axioma Nation is alive? Here?

The door behind me swishes open and Axioma’s gaze lifts over my shoulder. “Ah. Miss Howsley. Please, do join us.”

She sits back in her chair, laying both arms on the armrests and allowing the smile to return to her face as footsteps cross the threshold and Bird is shoved between Johnny and me. Axioma observes Bird’s disoriented, horrified expression with unconcealed satisfaction, then addresses an officer over my shoulder. “Fetch my daughter, please.” The officer retreats and the door hisses shut as Axioma’s eyes trawl languidly over Bird’s face. “You seem surprised to see me, Miss Howsley.”

Bird is standing so still beside me I’m not sure she’s even breathing. I’m not sure she’s even registered that Johnny and I are in the room. Axioma ticks up one eyebrow in anticipation of a response, and when Bird doesn’t offer one, she turns to me.

“Has she finally learned to think before she speaks?”

My mouth has gone bone-dry, and when I open it to reply, nothing comes out. I swallow. “We thought you were dead.”

Axioma’s brow creases ever so slightly. “Did you?” She turns to Bird. “Did you really, Miss Howsley? Because if that’s what you were going for, then you did a very slipshod job.” She adjusts the button on the sleeve of her suit jacket. “But that’s pretty on-brand for you, isn’t it? That tracks.”

Bird is staring at Axioma as though Jones himself just rose up out of the Salt. Axioma finishes adjusting her button and smiles again. “Left me stranded in a God-forsaken alternate dimension with a pistol and a smart-ass remark. Like we were in some kind of adventure story. She came back a few times to check on me. Didn’t you? How long was it before you realized I had escaped?”

My heart rolls over and I turn to Bird. “You knew she was still alive? You knew she had escaped?”

Bird shakes her head, her mouth open. “I—I looked for her. I didn’t—I thought she…I left her the pistol. I thought she had used it.”

“I think she was banking on me not being able to teach myself to use QMTP,” says Axioma. “Which was pretty short-sighted, wasn’t it? My own invention, Miss Howsley. You seemed to think I would never master it. Or—what? That I would starve to death before I did? That I would give up?”

“I should have killed you,” whispers Bird.

“Yes.” Axioma nods sagely. “Yes, you should have.” The door behind me slides open and her eyes tick up. “Ah. Here she is.”

Bird and I turn as a figure steps between us. Paradi crosses to her mother’s chair and stands beside it, white, trembling hands folded at her waist. She is dressed head-to-toe in skeletal black—long sleeves and a buttoned shirt with a high collar. Her sharp, black hair is limp and her face behind a thin black veil is thinner than I remember. Her eyes are hollow and expressionless as she observes the three of us.

“Paradi, what the hell is going on?” says Johnny in a low voice. “What is she doing here?”

“I returned to Brume,” Axioma replies, her narrow eyes still fixed hard on Bird’s face, “when I learned of the death of my youngest daughter. I came to grieve with my family.”

“Grieve?” Bird suddenly comes to life. “You expect us to believe you came here to grieve?”

“Frankly, Miss Howsley, I don’t give a damn what you believe or don’t believe,” Axioma replies. “It makes no difference to me.”

“You didn’t care about Electra. You have no family. Your husband left and your daughters hate you.”

“Do you really presume to tell me how I felt about my daughter? Presume to know what my family has been through? What you have put my family through? You have no idea.”

“Electra hated you,” Bird repeats, and I can feel her trembling. “She wouldn’t have wanted you here.”

Axioma’s eyes flash. “How dare you? How dare you? You have destroyed my family, Miss Howsley.” She gestures at the gaping hole in the wall behind her, the first rays of morning sun now lancing through it. “To say nothing of what you have done to my company.”

“I destroyed your family?” Bird’s voice pitches up. “You shot my brother! You put a chip in my head that nearly killed me!”

“Your brother was a danger to society and to himself.”

“Paradi—” Bird turns to her, desperate, “she killed Shale. Why is she here? What are you doing?”

“Paradi needed me,” says Axioma smoothly. “She was overwhelmed and grieving. Burdened with running this company, and shouldering her pain, alone.”

I look at Paradi. “Is that true?”

Paradi holds my gaze for a long moment, then looks away. Horrified understanding begins to seep through me. Paradi wasn’t okay. All this time, I thought she was fine. That she was the only one of us somehow keeping her shit together. Channeling her grief into her work.

She was falling apart. I didn’t see it.

“People turn to their families in times of tragedy,” says Axioma. “People want their mothers.”

“No.” Bird is shaking her head. “No. Nobody wants you.”

But I can see in Paradi’s eyes the emptiness of a person resigned. Exhausted. A person who lost the man she loved and her sister barely a year apart. Who, on top of that, was tasked with saving a world that doesn’t appear to be salvageable. Who, on top of that, was required to track down terrorists and negotiate with interdimensional governments on behalf of rogue employees like me and Johnny. And who was little more than a side character to most of the people in this room. I never even asked her how she was doing. Did anyone?

“Paradi, she killed your fiance,” Bird says. “She killed Shale.”

In a voice so small it sounds like it takes every ounce of strength to drag it out of her, Paradi says, “Shale was sick. He was dangerous. He would have gotten me killed.”

Bird stares at her. I can feel her disbelief. But I can also feel her sinking, retreating, like she wants to run from this—from the awful compounding nightmare of her terrible mistake. The ongoing, devastating ripples created by that bomb. The piling on of ruin and pain. Not just Electra. Not just me. Not just everyone in Brume who was forced into lockdown because of what she allowed to happen. Paradi, too, falling apart. Axioma.

Axioma waves a hand and sits up in her chair, adjusting the lapel of her white suit jacket. “Enough of this. I didn’t come here to reminisce about Z-Day.”

“Why did you come here?” says Johnny. “I’m with Howsley on this—I don’t believe you just came to grieve.”

Her eyes flick to him. “I’m taking back my position as CEO of Zenith. My daughters have done an admirable job in my interim, but it’s clear to me this company has lost its way. It needs a firm hand. A leader with a little more experience.”

“It was you,” I realize aloud. “You authorized the cloud test. The geoengineering. You tracked down Dominie’s parents. You authorized advanced interrogation of those Exiters.”

“Correct.” Axioma tents her fingers. “And I authorized their execution.” She eyes Bird. “Including yours.”

My stomach drops. Johnny is glaring at Axioma. “And I’m assuming you intend to see those executions through,” he says.

“Correct. And probably yours too, at this point.”

The door opens behind us and hands close around my biceps. Two officers reach for Bird and Johnny—but Johnny is apparently ready for them. He whips around as the officer grabs him from behind and buries his knife in the side of the man’s neck. The officer behind me takes one hand off me to reach for his weapon, and like a switch, I feel all of Johnny’s training suddenly click on inside me.

“Now’s your chance, Inge Ginsberg.”

I duck and spin, throwing an uppercut into the man’s gut that doubles him over, shove him out of my way and swing again, at the guy wrestling Bird backward through the door. My fist catches the side of his head and Bird jerks free.

“Get to the ground floor!” yells Johnny, yanking his knife out of the guy’s neck. “It’s the only way out of the building.”

We sprint through the door and run flat out down the corridor. But when we turn the corner at the far end of the next hallway, a figure appears. My heart spikes and I skid to a halt, barreling into Johnny from behind, feeling Bird stumble to a stop next to me. Axioma, wearing the same unsettling smile she greeted us with ten minutes ago.

Right. She can jump.

With the bloody knife still in his hand, Johnny reaches into his jacket, going by instinct for the gun he must have forgotten isn’t there any more. As he does, Axioma touches behind her head and gestures in the air.

Ten peace force officers appear around her.

“Okay…” Bird takes a step backward. “That’s new.”

Johnny goes still, his hand halfway inside his jacket. “What the hell…”

The officers raise their weapons and train them on us. Slowly, they begin to advance. Axioma walks ahead of the squad as they move along the corridor toward us. The sound of her spiked heels clocking against the tile floor sends a laser-sharp jolt through me. God I really hoped I would never hear that sound again.

I swallow and look over my shoulder. More peace force are coming around the corner at the other end of the hall. We are completely surrounded. Cornered. Even Johnny looks like he doesn’t have a smart-ass idea or adrenaline-fueled plan to get us out of this. When I look at him, he just holds my gaze and shakes his head.

The heat of at least twenty rifles narrows on my head as they press in around us. Axioma stops, close enough that I can see every detail along the seared edge of her hideous scar. She taps the back of her head again and gestures in the air.

Bird gasps. She lifts her cuffed hands in front of her face, staring at them. “What the hell is happening?”

Points of light are shifting and expanding under the skin on the palms of her hands. They grow and multiply, dappling her wrists and arms, spreading like wildfire up the sides of her neck and into her face, until she looks as though something is lighting up her whole body from inside.

She looks up at me, panicked. “I’m jumping. Am I jumping?!”

I stare at the handcuffs, at the light now piercing through her skin. She is splitting, disappearing. “How are you doing that?”

“I’m not!” Her voice warps. “I’m not doing it!”

Fear plunges through me. My eyes meet Johnny’s over the top of her head, and as if compelled by some immediate, shared instinct, we both reach for Bird and grab her.

The world disappears.

chapter

twenty-seven

I AM FREE-FALLING THROUGH NOTHING. Spinning in all directions.

If I had eyes or ears, I would look for Bird and Johnny. If I felt like I had arms I might reach for them. But there is only light and shadow. I am waves and particles and nothing, and I don’t know if I even remember what it felt like to have arms.

All around me, scraps of sound and specks of light whip by like stardust. Color and shape. Snapshots of worlds. Vignettes, flickering in and out of existence, going by at lightspeed. It feels like the first time I ever jumped. Like utter chaos, coalesced and purified. I fall forever—I forget space and time. Careen through cities, plains and forests, trees and desert, cloud and stars, until I crash, roll out of control through a world going sideways, backwards, and upside down, and come to rest on my face in cool, soft grass.

Every breath I have ever taken exits my lungs in one explosive gasp, and I heave it all back, the cold air brutally harsh. Choking, I stagger to my feet as the world shifts and warps and arranges itself around me, spots of light and splotches of dark swimming before my eyes.

At my feet, a windswept expanse of rippling, gray grass stretches in every direction. A severe fringe of jagged black mountains tops the horizon, and the sky is dense, gray and feels as though it’s right on top of me. Wind pulls at my clothes and sears my face. To my right, Bird is struggling to one knee and Johnny is lying on his back, gasping at the sky.

I reach down a hand to pull him up as Bird makes it to her feet and looks around with unfocused eyes, her cuffed hands out in front of her like she’s using them to keep herself upright.

“Are you okay?”

She nods, blinking hard. She stares around at the mountains. At the windblown grass. At the bleak, gray sky. A look of fearful recognition begins to crawl across her face.

“What?” says Johnny. “Do you know where we are?”

“Yeah…” She turns to me, and her eyes cut over my shoulder.

Axioma is standing behind us, her hands clasped at her waist, quietly observing. She looks so much like Paradi that I do a double take.

“What is this?” Bird steps forward. “Why did you bring us here?”

Axioma’s smile ticks slightly upward. She unclasps her hands and gestures around at the windswept plain. “You remember this place, Miss Howsley.”

Bird clenches her fists. “It’s where I left you.”

“It is.” Axioma looks around. “As bleak and miserable as I remember it.”

“How did we get here?” I demand. “How did Bird jump with those cuffs on?”

Axioma’s eyes spark. “I’m so glad you asked. A modification to the cuffs I’ve had my team working on since my return.” She taps the back of her head. “Not only do they prevent the wearer from jumping…” She gestures in the air and Bird disappears and reappears, gasping, “they now allow an external party to force a jump.” Axioma clasps her hands at her waist. “Not perfect—not yet. But handy. I have the peace force wearing them now, so I can summon them exactly when I want them.”

“But this is another dimension. How did you get around the UD perimeter?”

Axioma scoffs, waving a hand. “The UD. An underfunded government body with very primitive tech.”

“What are we doing here?” demands Johnny.

“You are not supposed to be here at all,” Axioma replies. “In fact, you and Mr. Paz are very lucky to have survived that jump. Those cuffs weren’t designed to transport multiple people at once.”

Johnny swivels the bloody knife around in his hand. “Well that’s unfortunate for you. Because now there are three of us, and I don’t recall you having any combat training.”

Axioma disappears as he swings the knife at her face, and he stumbles through the space she left behind, looking unusually slow and stupid. He whips around, scanning, and she pops back into the world.

“You’re absolutely correct. I do not have combat training. But when Miss Howsley abandoned me in this flog-forsaken hellhole last year, she gave me, you’ll be surprised to hear, a very valuable piece of advice. Do you remember?” She turns to Bird. “What you told me I had to do?”

Bird grits her teeth. “I told you to practice.”

“And that is exactly what I did.” Axioma’s smile vanishes. “For months. For a year. Not just here: once I mastered QMTP and clawed my way out of this dimension, I found many more alternate universes. I found excellent places to hone my skills. There is so much out there. I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. How does it go? Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. Things you couldn’t conceive of. Things I barely survived.” She touches the scar at her hairline, reflexively. “Experiences that make me confident, Mr. Ward, that you will have a very difficult time sticking me with that knife. How long have you been using QMTP? A few weeks, I guess?”

Johnny narrows his eyes, adjusts his grip around the handle, and lunges at her again. She dodges him easily, snuffing out like a candle and reappearing about a hundred yards away.

“A little slow,” she calls. “Try again.”

Johnny flips the knife over in his hand and glares at her.

“We’re not going to get near her without teleporting,” I mutter.

“Thanks for the insight, Virginia Hall,” he snaps, “would you like to give it a shot?”

I assess the distance between me and Axioma. She stands with her hands quietly folded, waiting. There’s no way she could possibly anticipate when I’m about to jump, right?

By the time I reassemble, the spot Axioma occupied is empty. I turn in time to see Bird make a grab at her, but with the cuffs on Bird is both impeded and unable to jump. Axioma dodges her easily and disappears as I jump again, too late.

“Really wish Howsley hadn’t taken my goddamn gun,” Johnny yells, spinning a circle, his eyes scanning for Axioma. “That would be really nice to have right about now.”

“You’d never hit her,” Bird spits back. “Trust me. I’ve dodged a bullet before.”

Axioma appears again. “She’s right. QMTP is incredibly useful for that sort of thing. But I doubt you’d be so lucky this time, would you Miss Howsley?”

I throw myself at her, but she slips away as I reappear, my arms closing around nothing.

“In fact,” says Axioma, snapping back into existence, “I designed this punishment specifically for you based on our last encounter.”

Bird glares. “What does that mean?”

“Surely you can work out what you’re doing here? In the very place you abandoned me?”

“You’re going to leave me here. With the cuffs on so I can’t get out.”

Axioma sighs. “That would be poetic, wouldn’t it? Trap you in the same miserable dimension you left me in a year ago and leave you here to rot. Serve you some of your own justice. But no. I’m afraid leaving you here unattended is simply too risky, even with the cuffs on. It’s entirely possible you might still figure out some way to escape.”

“So what, then?” says Bird.

Axioma nimbly dodges Johnny as he jumps at her again, and opens up one side of her white suit jacket as she winks back into reality. She reaches inside and pulls out a small pistol, turns it over briefly in her hands, flips a lever on the side, checks the barrel, then points it at Bird’s head. My heart flips over and starts to pound.

“You’re going to shoot me,” says Bird, flatly.

“Do you remember this gun, Miss Howsley? It’s the one you left me last time we were here. I never used it—saved it for you, actually. A bit old-fashioned, a bit crude, but it does the job.”

“If you were going to shoot her you could have just done that in Brume,” says Johnny.

“Yes, but I can’t resist a bit of poetry. And this way, there’s no evidence of the murder in our dimension. Kill her here, leave the body. Miss Howsley simply…disappears.” She looks at Bird. “Unlike you, I know how to follow through and do a job properly.”

I step between Bird and the gun.

Every fiber of my being ignites as that barrel levels with my chest. Every nerve-ending inside me screams at me not to do it. I clench my hands and ignore it. It’s the second time I’ve stood in front of Axioma while she pointed a gun at me. She didn’t shoot me last time, and I don’t believe she’ll do itl now. Axioma saved the bullet in that gun specifically for Bird, and she’s not going to waste it on me. That wouldn’t be very poetic.

Axioma tuts and lowers her arm. “What are you doing, Mr. Paz?” I square my stance and say nothing. She sighs. “Still putting yourself in harm’s way for this girl when all she has done is hurt you?” She shakes her head and scratches the edge of her scar with the tip of the gun. “I genuinely don’t understand it.”

I hold my position, but inside, my mind is spinning. Because to be completely honest, I don’t understand it either. We’re only here at all because Bird made that stupid, selfish decision in the woods. We were out; we were escaping. And she screwed it up. She made the wrong call, like she always does, and got us into a situation a thousand times worse.

“She killed my daughter,” Axioma says. “Your friend. She killed Electra.”

“She didn’t kill her. It’s more complicated than that.”

She scoffs. “Fine. Stood by and let her die, then. You’ve forgiven her for that, have you? Her complicity?”

“I haven’t. But that doesn’t mean I think she should die.”

“And you think putting your own life between hers and oblivion is the right thing to do?”

I hesitate. “You won’t shoot me.”

Her eyebrow ticks up. She purses her lips and observes me shrewdly. “You used to be so intelligent. When you and my girls were growing up, you had such potential. You were sure of yourself, you knew where you were going. Now you just seem—” she waves a hand, “lost.”

Something inside me ticks. Some kernel that has been buried deep, niggling at me for weeks, splits and opens.

“I’m not lost. I changed.”

“Changed.” She shakes her head. “If you change so much that you no longer know who you are, isn’t that the same as being lost?”

“I know who I am. I’m the guy who follows the rules even when no one’s looking. And I’m the maverick who shoots his mouth off in front of the High Council. That guy you knew, who grew up with your daughters, wasn’t sure of himself. He was lying to himself. He thought he knew what was right and wrong better than anyone. It was how he defined himself, but that guy didn’t know what was right, any better than anyone else did—he was just afraid of being wrong.” I look at Bird. “And it paralyzed me.”

“And I suppose now you’re going to tell me you’ve figured it all out.”

“No. I don’t know what’s right—the world is more shades of gray than that. And I’m still changing. And if you want to know why I’m standing between you and Bird, to be honest, I don’t have an explanation. Except that it feels like the right thing to do. Even though she did something unforgivable. Even if…even if I’m not sure I love her anymore. Because she may have screwed up, but that doesn’t mean she can’t change too.”

Axioma’s eyes harden.

“People deserve second chances. And third chances. And even fourth or fifth chances. Maybe even you deserve a second chance, Axioma. Maybe even you can change again.”

She scoffs. “Again.”

“Yes, again. You didn’t used to be this person. I remember. You were kind, once. You saved my mother’s life. You worked hard to make the world a better place and you truly believed it could be. I think you’ve changed too. But I think you can change again.”

“If you’re counting on being able to sway me,” says Axioma, “because you think I’ll be sympathetic to you given our history, you are mistaken.” She lifts the gun again and points it at my chest. “I brought you into this world, Sargo. Don’t think I won’t take you out of it.”

“How?” I glare. “You only have one bullet. You saved it all this time for Bird. Be a shame to waste it on me, wouldn’t it?”

Axioma’s brows lift in surprise. She stares at me for a moment, then laughs. “I said I saved the gun. I never said I only had one bullet.”

And she pulls the trigger.

___________________

Years later, I still wake up in the middle of the night, remembering that moment. The way the world went totally still. The way time seemed to slow, and sound seemed to vanish.

The way the realization dawned on me, as that bullet came toward me, that I was disappearing. The prickling under my skin, like something was ripping me to pieces. I was teleporting. I was shattering into light and shifting into nothingness, and by the time that bullet shot through the air where I had been standing, I was gone.

I didn’t understand it. Even as it was happening, I didn’t understand it. Because I hadn’t tried to jump. There wasn’t time—I didn’t have time to think before that bullet came at me, let alone slip sideways through the cosmos and get myself to safety. I just stood there like an idiot. If there had been time—if I had had time to think, to get myself out of the way, would I have done it?

I don’t know. That question is one I try not to spend a lot of time thinking about, because of what it would mean about me if the answer was yes. And because it is irrelevant. Because I didn’t jump. So how did I dodge that bullet?

____________________

Reality reintegrates around me in a blinding rush. Light and static fall away and I tumble out of infinity and back into the world. Land hard on my back, the weight of another person on top of me as he reappears as well. An elbow in my ribs, his hands around my shoulders. The momentum of him slamming into me laying us down so hard in the grass that the back of my head bounces and I see stars.

Gasping, disoriented, I blink through them at the sky. The same dense, close sky I was standing under just nanoseconds ago. The same world. The same dimension. A familiar face staring down at me, his bright gray eyes wide with terrified confusion, like he isn’t quite sure what just happened either.

Johnny.

He jumped. He grabbed me. He pushed me out of the way.

The bullet didn’t hit me.

Johnny must have the same realization that I do in that moment, because his face goes bone white.

The bullet didn’t hit me.

He scrambles backward off me and I stagger to my feet.

Ten feet away, Axioma stands with her arm still raised, a single wisp of smoke curling from the tip of the gun.

At her feet, Bird is on the ground with the bullet in her head.

chapter

twenty-eight

LATER, much later, when all of this was over, Johnny told me what happened next.

He told me Axioma lowered the gun and summoned the peace force.

He told me it was an army—okay, maybe not an army, he amended in later versions of the story. A brigade. A wall of black tactical suits that appeared and split and swept toward us like a river, guns raised, with Axioma at its center. A rock in its wake.

He told me I just stood there, staring at Bird, like none of it was happening.

When he screamed at me that we needed to go, he said I blinked. I looked up and lunged for Axioma like I was going to tear her in half with my bare hands. He stepped between us and caught me by the shoulders, absorbed the force of my body with his own, and kept me back. Held onto me and jumped as the peace force started shooting. He said we barely made it out. Got a bullet in his shoulder. He isn’t angry about it—if it hadn’t gone in his shoulder, it would have gone into my heart.

When he got us back to Panga I was fighting to get around him.

“We have to go back,” he says I said. “I have to go back for her.”

“You can’t do that.” He held onto me. “You know you can’t do that.”

I tried to shove him off, but he says he was afraid if he let go of me I’d jump back and he might not be able to follow me. That I’d be shot by the peace force. That at least if he was holding onto me when I jumped, he would be with me.

“We can’t stay here,” he said. “We need to get somewhere safe.”

“I’m not leaving her—”

“She’s dead!” he said, and he says I started to cry. “She’s dead and you can’t do anything for her.”

“I can’t leave her there!”

“I’m not letting you go back.” He was crying too. “I will fight you if I have to. I will hit you until you can’t jump. Please don’t make me do that. Please don’t make me hurt you.”

“Why did you do that? Why did you push me out of the way?”

“I didn’t think,” he choked. “I just moved. She would have shot you. Was I supposed to just stand there and watch you get shot?”

He says I kept trying to fight him and he held onto me until I ran out of strength and collapsed, and sank to my knees on the floor with his arms around me, sobbing.

I don’t remember any of it.

chapter

twenty-nine

I STAND in front of the mirror in the head aboard the Kingfisher, struggling with my tie. It’s early morning, I think. I haven’t been keeping track of the time very well. Days after—maybe a week? I don’t know.

The tie won’t tie. I can’t do anything with it.

That day before the UD hearing, Bird tried to help me do this. Afterwards, she stood on tiptoe and kissed my cheek.

I haven’t been back to Panga since the day it happened. I am in the head aboard the Kingfisher because the Kingfisher is the only safe place to be now. It’s the only place Axioma doesn’t know about. There are a few of us here. Anyone who could be tied to the raid of the Zenith detention facility. The cities are no longer safe for us. Savage said we could stay. Said he felt bad about that favor.

The tie won’t tie.

We’re having the funeral here too, I think. Aboard the Kingfisher. Somewhere on the Salt—I don’t know where we are. People have told me things and I have not heard them.

On Z-Day last year she went after Axioma and came back bleeding from the nose and ears. I said, “I love you,” and she said it back. It was the first time I’d ever said it.

I don’t even know if there are ashes to spread. I don’t think her body was ever recovered. I think Johnny tried.

The tie won’t tie.

She blew up a school, and the tie won’t tie. She lost my knife. She rescued Malarkey. She crossed the Salt to find me. She taught herself to teleport. She drank too much. She stopped. She said, Keep it in your pants, Paz. She smelled like cinnamon orange tea. She slept with Savage. She didn’t know how to cook.

She taught me how to say, I love you, and the tie won’t tie.

A knock at the door. On the other side of it, Johnny says, “Are you in there?”

I stare at myself in the mirror and say nothing. The door clicks and opens very slowly. He looks at me in the mirror over my shoulder.

“We’re starting.”

“It won’t tie,” I tell him, and cry.

A small crowd is gathered on the Kingfisher’s bow. Me and Johnny. Shanny. Fetch, Red, Sterling, Nana, Fid, and Savage. Locuaz. Bird’s moms. Rav. Bigwig and Neb and the other Exiters we rescued, although I wish they weren’t. They’re only here because they’re in hiding with us. They didn’t really know Bird.

There should be more people here. She saved the world last year.

Savage asks if anyone would like to say anything. Bird’s mom Kestrel steps forward and manages a few words. When she is finished, Locuaz says a prayer. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a prayer before.

At the end of it, Savage nods to Johnny, and Johnny produces a small wooden box. It’s the same wooden box that held Electra’s ashes on the day we scattered those, and I feel my legs give out as my whole world falls away and I realize what that means. There are ashes. Johnny did recover her body.

She really is gone.

Locuaz puts her arm around me and keeps me standing as Bird’s moms scatter them into the Salt. Red steps forward and signs to Fetch.

“He has another poem,” says Fetch.

The circle steps back, parts a little so everyone can see. Fetch and Red stand side by side with the sun setting on the horizon behind them, and as Bird’s ashes disappear into that ephemeral space between the Salt and the sky, they begin.

“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

“I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

“I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.”

When they finish, Red quietly folds his hands and drops his gaze to the deck. Savage says, “Sea Fever. John Masefield, nineteen-oh-two. Good one.”

When it’s all done and the group has dispersed, I sit in the spare sail bag on the bow, watching the sun turn the sky pink. The Salt is quiet. Flat and still. A squadron of archipelicans drag their wingtips through the mirrored surface. I’m glad I don’t know where we are. I think if I did, I might have memories about that place, and I think she would be in them.

Someone drops into the sail bag next to me. He watches the last slip of sun disappear. When it’s gone, he turns his hands over, examining the tattoo across his knuckles. HOLD FAST.

“I suppose you won’t want to hear anything I have to say,” he says.

I keep my gaze on the horizon. We sit in silence for a long time, until the light has turned from pink to gray to nearly dark. I turn to Savage.

“Is it useful? What you have to say?”

“I don’t think anyone would ever accuse me of having anything useful to say.”

I turn my gaze out again. He draws a breath.

“After my wife and daughter died, it was agony. Some days felt like…like indescribable pain. Inescapable misery. Like the roughest passage you’ve ever been on in your life. You know those passages. When the Salt is just beating you to shit and the wind is howling and you’re so sick you can’t move. Sick in your whole body. Sick in your soul. So sick all you want to do is cry like a baby and throw yourself over the side. Because at least then it would be over. Because there’s no way you can take another minute of it, but there you are, a thousand miles offshore in the middle of the Salt with no Turf in sight for twenty days, and there’s nowhere to go. There’s no escaping it.”

I swallow. “So what do you do?”

“There’s nothing you can do. I think you just have to hold on. Close your eyes and accept it.” He curls his fingers closed and tucks the tattoo out of sight.

“Does that help? Accepting it? Does it make it easier?”

“No. It still hurts. Every single minute of it hurts. But eventually, if you hold fast long enough, you’ll get through it. The passage will end. That particular chapter of your life will be over. And you’ll be on the other side.”

“And then what? I’ll be a better man? It’ll make me stronger?

“Not necessarily. It might destroy you. It did me.”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?”

“No. It’s supposed to make you feel less alone.”

____________________

Days go by. I don’t know how many.

Johnny stands in the open doorway of the cabin I’ve been sharing with Red. I know it’s him by the shadow he casts on the wall beside the bunk. I don’t turn over to look at him.

“You need to eat,” he says.

In the galley, he makes me a plate of eggs and slides them onto the table. I try not to remember the first night Bird and I sat at this table, eating nopal stew. Pretending she was Electra. Shanny hops up onto the bench beside me and Johnny sets down a smaller plate of eggs for him too. He sits across from me with his own plate, and we eat in silence.

When he is finished, Johnny folds his arms on the table and watches me picking at my untouched plate. “Are you coming tonight?” he says. When I say nothing, he continues, “I’ve been working on Dominie. She seems receptive to my idea to put together a coalition to appeal to the UD. She might show up tonight. Bigwig and Neb say they’ve made some headway tracking down Kcaj.”

I stare at my plate.

“Locuaz has been in touch with Yote and Stark. They’re organizing people down in Pocosín and out on Île Tor. We’re making progress.”

The galley doors swing open and Nana comes through it with a stack of dishes. She exchanges a silent nod with Johnny and observes the untouched plate of eggs in front of me as she quietly walks through the room and out the other doors.

“Axioma has expanded the execution authorization to include anyone even tangentially associated with the Exiters. The peace force are essentially bounty hunters and assassins now,” Johnny says. “But people are still receptive to our message. People want to fight back.”

“Why?” I lay down my fork. “What is the point?”

He sighs. We look at each other.

“Zenith ran another test. It caused a hurricane in Alluvium.”

I look at my plate. “She’s still running the tests?”

“We think Axioma is abandoning the idea of finding another dimension and investing all of Zenith’s resources in the geoengineering effort here instead.”

“Why?”

He scratches his eyebrow. “Honestly I’m not sure. The whole escape to an alternate dimension thing was her brainchild. And if she still believed in it, her beliefs and ours would be totally aligned. We could all live happily ever after.”

I pick up my fork again, but don’t do anything with it.

He rubs his face. “So yeah. We’re not really sure. But I think—I mean, you heard what she said: I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. She spent a year hopping through dimensions after she mastered QMTP. At this point, I’m sure she’s seen a fair number of other Parallels. Maybe she didn’t find anything suitable out there. Maybe she thinks there truly is nowhere else for us to go.”

I stare at my plate. “Bird thought there was somewhere else.”

He leans forward. “Exactly. That’s why we’re fighting. That’s why people are still joining us. That’s why we’re appealing to the UD to lift the perimeter. Because we think Bird was right.”

I shut my eyes and try to push her face out of my mind.

“Please come tonight,” says Johnny. “People want to meet you.”

“Why?”

“Because you were there. Because they know about you and Bird. Because you know Axioma better than any of us. Because you can help.”

“I can’t.” I shake my head. “I can’t think about any of it right now.”

I feel his eyes on me for a long time before he reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Okay. That’s okay.”

I look at our hands. I feel the poisonous words that I’ve been trying not to say to him for days surging up inside me again, and I try to stop them coming out. Because I know it isn’t fair. I know he saved my life. I know that moment was a blur for both of us, and that he did his best, and that I should be grateful because if he hadn’t done what he did, I wouldn’t even be here. But the words seethe up from the depths of the darkest, most toxic place in my soul like thick, black, bitter, ink, and before I manage to pull them back, they are odiously coming out of me.

“Why didn’t you push her out of the way too?”

____________________

I go back to my cabin and back to bed. Johnny doesn’t come to check on me for the rest of the day.

chapter

thirty

THE SALT STRETCHES before me like a vast, glittering desert. Steel and lavender in the early morning light. I stand barefoot on the bow, watching the first milky rays of sun illuminating the horizon to the east.

“Looks peaceful.”

Bird is squinting at the water with a hand over her brow. She’s wearing her old gray beanie and that ratty denim hoodie she wore so much it had holes in the elbows. Her hair is longer, like it was before she cut it. Like it was when she was my student in Brume.

She turns to me and grins. “We know better than to believe it is, though.”

I smile. “Right.”

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“That’s a lie.” She sighs and puts her hands in her pockets. “How’s Johnny?”

“Fine.”

We stare at the Salt.

“Thanks for coming,” she says.

“What do you mean?”

“To find me. I was hoping I would see you again.”

“I…didn’t. Come to find you.”

“Oh.” Her brow creases. “Are you sure? Why else would you be here?”

“I guess I don’t know.”

“Seems like a long way to come if you didn’t mean to be here.”

“Where is here?” I squint over the bow. “Where are we?”

She turns her gaze out again too. “I don’t know, exactly. I thought it was the Salt, but now I’m seeing those—” she points to starboard, “weird awkward bird things, and I’m thinking maybe this isn’t where I thought it was. Also, the water is purple.”

“Sometimes the Salt is purple.”

“Yeah, but not this purple. And I don’t think the sky has ever been green before.”

I look up. She’s right. The sky is a deep and vibrant emerald green. Like the water in the underground lake at Grike. Like the trees in Brume. And she’s right about the water, too. I’ve never seen the Salt this particular shade of indigo.

“Do you think this is a dream?”

She nods. “Something like that.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I’ve always been here.”

“No you haven’t. For a while, you were with me.”

She purses her lips. “Mm. Well, I’ve been here before. I remember it. It wasn’t quite like this, though. It was dry. Red. Fife was here, I think.”

Some distant scrap of memory floats to the surface of my mind. That day we escaped from Electra’s house and Bird jumped us through that dimensional hellscape. Hell. She literally called it Hell. The Land of the Dead. Her brother was there. I saw Malarkey. On the other side of that jump, we ended up in Blenny’s bathroom. Bird said she thought we ended up there because that room made her feel safe. Because I fixed up her face in there once and I made her feel safe. I wonder if that’s the same reason I kept ending up in Johnny’s apartment by mistake.

“You know, I don’t think this is a dream,” says Bird. “I think it’s like a dream. It feels very familiar. What was that place—”

I wake with a gasp and blink at the ceiling. The Land of the Dead. She’s in the Land of the Dead.

I can find her. I can bring her back.

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The end is only the beginning.

All I want is to bring Bird back.

But Johnny wants me to take a stand in the fight against Zenith, and my new Exiters comrades seem to think I’m a hero for facing down a bullet for Bird. I don’t see it that way. They want me to lead, but I’m not a leader—I’ve never been a leader. Harebrained schemes and risky escape plans are Bird and Johnny’s department.

Find Bird. Find Electra. Bring them home. Those are my objectives. I’m not interested in leading the revolution. I’m not interested in being a hero.

My name is Sargo Paz. And I just want everything to be the way it was before.

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If you’re looking for another completed book to keep you going in the meantime, I suggest Savage, which is Savage’s origin story.

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mata hari, josephine baker, and other lady spies

We were staying in a harbor in Chiapas, Mexico last summer while we waited for hurricane season to end, when I first heard the name Mata Hari.

I was walking out of the marina’s communal showers, in my fringed green Turkish bathrobe, with a towel wrapped around my head and a pair of sunglasses on, when an old boomer guy stopped me (as boomers love to do) and said, “Hey! It’s Mata Hari!”

I frowned, confused. “Who’s Mata Hari?”

“You don’t know Mata Hari?” He seemed both shocked and amused by this. “Go look her up.”

So I did. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what it was that day that compelled that boomer to call me that (probably the hair turban and the sunglasses?) but from that moment, the name was cemented in my memory, and I knew it was going to end up in a book someday.

I wanted to move Johnny and Sargo’s relationship forward in this book, and I felt like Johnny needed a new nickname for Sargo. He can’t just go on calling him Princess forever. A nickname that kept the slightly demeaning, effeminate tone of Princess, and also nodded at Sargo’s current occupation as a spy for Zenith seemed like the perfect combination. So his nickname became Mata Hari—the lady spy.

Once I started researching Mata Hari, I discovered that there are many, many other awesome, under-sung female spies who I felt also deserved a mention. So I just went ahead and had Johnny use them all. Confusing? Maybe. Adorable? I think so.

Mata Hari

Mata Hari was a Dutch exotic dancer who was a spy for both France and Germany during WWI. She’s credited with being one of the first femme fatales. The phrase Mata Hari is a Malay phrase meaning eye of the day (or sun.) It was the stage name of Margaretha Geertruida MacLeod.

At age 18, Margaretha married a Dutch army captain and moved to the Dutch East Indies. The marriage was unhappy (her husband was an abusive alcoholic and womanizer) and Margaretha eventually divorced him. She studied East Indian culture and joined a dance troupe. It was there that she took the stage name Mata Hari.

After the divorce she moved to Paris, where she began performing as an exotic dancer. She was described as “promiscuous and flirtatious” and became an immediate success. She is credited with elevating erotic dance and popularizing it in Paris, a city that would later become known for its erotic dance in clubs like the Moulin Rouge.

During WWI, the Netherlands remained neutral, and as a Dutch subject, Mata Hari was able to cross European borders freely. Her career as an exotic dancer also meant she could travel to cities without arousing suspicion. She was offered 1 million francs by the French intelligence agency to spy for France. Her task was to seduce German general Crown Prince Wilhem, Kaiser Wilhelm’s son, and transmit information about German plans to the French.

While trying to get to Wilhelm, Mata Hari offered to sell French intelligence back to the Germans. It’s unclear whether this was a tactic to get close to her target, or just plain greed. When she failed to give the Germans the kind of intelligence they wanted, a German officer exposed her to the French. She was arrested by French intelligence (the very people who had asked her to spy in the first place) and executed as a traitor.

Josephine Baker

Josephine Baker, although born an American, is best known as a French jazz singer. She also worked as a spy for France during WWII. She was recruited by French intelligence as an “honorable correspondent” to gather intel on the Germans at embassies, night clubs, parties, and ministries.

Her status as a famous singer enabled her to travel freely, and to hobnob with high-ranking German officials. Intelligence notes were often written in invisible ink on her sheet music (how awesome is that?) and she also hid notes in her underwear, banking on her celebrity to keep her from being strip-searched.

Her story has a happier ending than Mata Hari’s. After the war she was recognized as a war hero, which sky-rocketed her career. She continued to perform until her death in 1975.

Noor Inayat Khan

Noor Inayat Khan was an Indian Muslim born in Russia, who moved to Britain with her family at the beginning of WWI. During WWII, Inayat Khan became a spy for Britain, conducting espionage in countries controlled by Nazi Germany.

She was the first female wireless operator to be deployed into France to aid the resistance, and despite struggling with training and facing rampant sexism from her commanding officers, performed her job relaying valuable information between the British and French admirably. Her position was an extremely dangerous one, and she refused to abandon it even when given the opportunity to return to England.

Inayat Khan was ultimately discovered by the Nazis and executed at Dachau concentration camp. She was posthumously awarded the George Cross for her refusal to abandon her post.

Inge Ginsberg

Inge Ginsberg was a Swiss-Austrian singer and author who was involved in the Italian Resistance movement during WWII. Her husband was a piano player who was recruited by the American Secret Service to listen to German guests while performing in bars and cafes.

At her husband’s recommendation, Inge was hired as a housekeeper at a safehouse where many American and Italian resistance fighters lived. She was involved in smuggling weapons into the war zone, and with smuggling the wounded out of Italy and into Switzerland.

Krystyna Skarbeck

Krystyna Skarbeck was a Polish-British intelligence agent who spied for Britain during WWII. She is credited with being so good at her job that she encouraged Britain to deploy more women into the field, and was described as being “the bravest of the brave” and “Churchill’s favorite spy.”

Her most notable achievement was securing the release of several British special operatives from a German prison, hours before they were to be executed. She did so by meeting with a Gestapo officer and putting herself at great personal risk.

She was stabbed to death by a jealous ex-lover in 1952. The lover was subsequently hanged.

Virginia Hall

Virginia Hall was an American special agent who worked with British intelligence in France in WWII. She was credited as being "an expert at support operations – organizing resistance movements; supplying agents with money, weapons, and supplies; helping downed airmen to escape; offering safe houses and medical assistance to wounded agents and pilots."

She fled France in 1942 to avoid capture by the Germans. After the war, she was one of the first women to join the CIA, where she experienced discrimination that saw her passed over for promotions and honors and relegated to a desk, despite being one of the most capable agents the organization had.

The CIA later acknowledged this discrimination, saying that she was “shunted into backwater accounts because she had so much experience that she overshadowed her male colleagues, who felt threatened by her," and that "her experience and abilities were never properly utilized."

Nancy Wake

Nancy Wake was born in New Zealand and joined the French resistance as a special operative during WWII. She was described as having infectiously high spirits that buoyed the morale of everyone she worked with.

In 1944, Wake parachuted into occupied France to act as a liaison between British intelligence and several French guerrilla groups. During a battle between these guerrilla groups and a large German brigade, Wake claimed to have bicycled 500 miles to send an important report to London.

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SCOURGE (BOOK ZERO)

The year is 2172. The world is mostly water. Marlin Paz and her pregnant girlfriend arrive in the harbor city of Brume after forty-two harrowing days at sea only to find themselves forbidden to go ashore.

Meanwhile, Axioma Nation, CEO of the world's leading corporation, struggles to solve the climate refugee crisis. But when an urgent message from a colleague overseas comes through, Axioma realizes that the climate is the least of her worries.

And thousands of miles away, in the ravaged heartland of the State, Heron Howsley must reckon with her family's legacy and her own demons while facing down tornados and discovering that her love for her hometown runs deeper than she knew...

SEED (BOOK 0.5)

The world has ended. The virus took everything. Heron Howsley and her cat Zig Zag flee the tornado-ravaged Alley for a better life in Naze, a climate refugee camp on the West Coast.

Heron has just two rules: don’t make friends, don’t get murdered. But when she spots a lonely hitchhiker on the side of the road, she breaks Rule One and stops to pick him up.

That simple act of kindness sparks a chain of events that forces Heron to reconcile with demons both old and new: a past she thought she'd left behind, a sister she thought was dead, and a future she may not be a part of.

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more by liz shipton

TALES OF MISCHIEF AND F*CKERY

Short. Silly. Sexy. Speculative.

Small town apocalypses? Dystopian billionaires? Fae mafia bosses? How about hockey playing shifters? A Greek god desperately in need of a nanny?

You may ask, "Why?" This series of steamy holiday-themed short stories asks, "Why not?" Why not a mishmash of genres? Why not funny, off-the-wall romance with hot spice and big heart? Why not a sexy hockey shifter rom-com starring the Easter bunny?

Inside these 12 books, you'll find 12 short standalone “fairy tales”, each set during a different holiday in every month of the year.

"Even August?" I hear you asking.

Yes, friend. Even August.

"But there isn't even a holiday in Aug—"

Don't worry about it. It's gonna be fine. I have, like, eight months to figure that out. Just start at December, and we'll all be fine. Okay?

Okay.

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acknowledgments

As an indie author working primarily on my own, I don’t have a big team to thank. However, there are a few people who have been incredibly supportive throughout this process, and without whom, this book would not be what it is.

In no particular order, those people are

THE CREW! You guys are INCREDIBLE and I don’t know where I would be without you.

LENA COOPER for continued expert-level proofreading

BECKY JAMES for proofreading and always-insightful feedback

THAT ONE GUY who called me Mata Hari outside a public bathroom in Chiapas one day and forever cemented the name in my imagination

TREVOR HOPE for steering the ship and fixing everything all the time

ALOY BONESNATCHER MCGEE for being the world’s most legendary dog

about the author

PART-TIME AUTHOR 🪶⚓ FULL-TIME PIRATE.

HI! I'M LIZ. I'm a freelance writer, indie author, and full-time, off-grid, live-aboard sailor. I’m currently sailing around the world with my boyfriend and my dog, turning my real-life adventures into speculative fiction.

I am extremely grateful to be able to explore the world as I do, and I love incorporating the experiences, places, and people I encounter on my travels into my work.

I also use my books as a means to explore themes of mental health, addiction, technology, climate change, and the looming collapse of society (but, like...in a fun way.)

When I'm not penning novels about the impending apocalypse, I work as a freelance content writer specializing in articles about code, music theory, and off-grid living. On the rare occasion I'm not writing, you can find me swimming, hiking, telling my dog I love her for the bazillionth time today, or watching Taskmaster.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Content Warning

Map

Passage

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

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Acknowledgments

About the Author