by Amie Kaufman
“How?” Jules breathes.
“Mink.”
“You stole it from her?”
I’d take offense at the skepticism in his voice, except that it’s Mink, and I doubt the most skilled pickpocket in the world could fool her. “She slipped it to me. On purpose.”
The reply leaves him speechless, his brows drawn in. I turn and lean back against the wall. Atlanta and Dex are watching us still, though they didn’t see the keycard. Dex’s expression is hard to read, but Atlanta’s is clear enough. Her eyes are narrowed and not at all friendly.
“It’s a trap,” Jules says softly. “It’s Mink. The cameras will see us and we’ll be caught immediately.”
“Normally I’d agree, but why bother?” I keep my voice to a whisper, barely above a breath. “We’re arrested already. They’re not going to kill us or move us for trying to escape, they’ll just bring us back here. What does she get out of that?”
“Nothing good.”
Mia shrugs. “They were at one another’s throats in there. Maybe she’s just trying to discredit De Luca for that power play? Who cares why, so long as it gets us out?”
“Or she’s bypassing the whole petition thing and taking us for herself, and she’ll be waiting for us with her own team of armed guards when we stroll out through the gate. We’ll just be trading one jail cell for another.”
“Maybe—but Jules, it’s either trust her or rot here while aliens take over our planet.” She glances over her shoulder at Atlanta and Dex, who are watching us even though our voices are too low to be overheard.
Jules shakes his head, expression grim. “Don’t forget this is the woman who manipulated us both into being her pawns from the moment we left Earth.”
“I remember.” My voice is taut, and Jules’s expression flickers with a faint, apologetic smile. “But do we have a choice?”
He glances at our cellmates and then back. “If we break out, we’ll be fugitives. All hope of convincing anyone we’re telling the truth will be gone.”
“Jules, we literally handed them two aliens and they still don’t believe us. No one’s going to—no one in the IA, anyway.” My stomach is in knots, hating the words I’m saying, hating everything about this. Part of me wants to give up—to just sit here in this cell, with Jules, while the world burns. I draw a shaking breath. “We thought we were done—but we’re not. We have to keep fighting.”
Jules gazes at me, his face like a mirror reflecting my own exhaustion back at me. “What can we possibly do?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. Maybe we could get to Prague, maybe even disguise ourselves some way and get in to see your father.” I bite my lip to keep from adding, One more time. Because he actually does have a chance of seeing his family before … before whatever the Undying are planning actually happens.
I’ll never see Evie again.
Jules is gazing at me distantly, like he wants to listen to me, and isn’t letting himself. I focus on him, trying to put the mental image of my baby sister far, far at the back of my mind. “Jules, think. We’re in Spain, right? How far is that from Prague?”
“I think we’re in Catalonia, actually—most of the guards here are speaking Catalan. They’re very different languages, although they share a lot of the same roots, just as Spanish and French—”
Ordinarily he’s irresistible when he goes off on one of his linguistic or historical tangents. This time, I speak swiftly to head him off. “How far, Jules?”
Jules’s brow furrows, his eyes going distant as he performs his mental calculations. “I’m not sure. Maybe fifteen hundred kilometers, as the crow flies. We could be there in a couple days if we had a car. Do you know how to hotwire one?”
I raise an eyebrow, amused by his assumption that I’m well-versed in everything criminal. “If I could, do you know how to drive one?”
He blinks. “Don’t you? The skimmer bike on Gaia—”
“Not the same thing.” As much as I hate to disabuse him of the notion that I can do everything, I don’t much like the idea of careening across Europe in a stolen car with no idea what I’m doing. Before we can take this increasingly implausible idea any further, Jules’s head lifts abruptly, and he touches my arm. Following his gaze, I meet Atlanta’s eyes, which are fixed on us so intently I feel a shiver run down my spine. They’re on the opposite side of the cell, and Jules and I have been speaking far too quietly for them to hear—and yet I’d swear that the look in her eye was recognition and understanding.
Dex pushes away from the wall, swinging his arms and pacing slowly. His steps have a measured deliberation that chills my blood—he moves like a predator. “You two are pretty close-like, huh?”
Jules stiffens at my side, and I lean sideways to nudge him unobtrusively before he can say anything idealistic and provocative and, well, Jules-ish. Atlanta and Dex have hardly spoken since we were captured, and if I can get one of them to say something that conflicts with the tale they told our wardens, it might be enough to raise doubts about their origins. Maybe they’d redo the cheek swab, or even take a blood sample—there’s no way they can fake having the right color blood.
Right?
Hell, if his reflexes weren’t so much better than mine, I’d try just punching him in the nose. Instead, I play for time, try to draw out a response from him that’s somehow wrong.
“We got close, working together on Gaia.” I tilt my head and flash a wan, tired smile their way. “Like you guys did, right?”
Dex smiles back, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “We raised up together, we’ve always been close-like. Think they’ll let us out for exercise? Primitive system.” That last is muttered partially under his breath. He’s busy pulling off his shirt, uncovering his dark blue undershirt and a tattoo that spreads across the rounded curve of his shoulder. It’s gorgeous work, the blue and green and violet arms of a galaxy swirling toward a glowing center. But it’s so human I could tear my hair out with frustration.
Their façades are so flawless—except they aren’t, not really, because Jules and I can see all the little ways in which they’re just not quite right. But short of seeing them bleed blue, all anyone else will see is a couple of teenagers. Maybe a little odd, maybe a little off-putting. But human.
Too thrown to continue, I turn away. I stop upon seeing Jules’s face, though—his skin has gone ashen, and his eyes are fixed on Dex. The other boy seems unaffected by Jules’s stare, but Atlanta’s eyes narrow and flicker between the two of them.
Taking Jules by the arm, I pull him back to our corner and lower my voice again. “What’s going on?”
“His arm,” mumbles Jules in a strangled voice.
I glance back at them. Dex has dropped to the floor and started doing a series of pushups, except that his hands are balled into fists instead of flat on the floor. The tattoo is oddly three-dimensional in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. “What about it?”
“Nautilus.” The word is almost inaudible.
I blink at him. “Jules, it’s a galaxy. A lot of spiral galaxies line up with that Fibonacci thing.”
But Jules’s gaze is fixed, his face transformed. “And what about how he saw us before launch and didn’t say anything?”
I know why Jules wants this to be true. To connect this alien with his theory that someone in the long, long history of the Undying race felt some human empathy for the inhabitants of the planet they planned to invade. That they planted the symbol in the original broadcast to warn us, that the spirals like nautilus shells carved into the temple walls were messages from a long-dead ally.
I know why he wants to think that we might find living proof of that theory in Dex, to think that the spiral shape hidden in his tattoo means we’re not alone.
He wants it, because he needs to think there’s still hope.
I sigh, making a show of stretching out my shoulders as I duck my head and whisper back, “Those symbols in the temple are fifty thousand years old. You think the
guy who carved those spirals to warn us about the Undying’s plan is still alive, and sharing a cell with us in Cat-landia?”
“Catalonia.” Correcting me seems to restore him somewhat, for he looks a bit less like someone’s just walked over his grave. “And no, although who knows what their life span is like, I guess nothing’s impossible. But it’s too much of a coincidence.”
“For a member of a spacefaring civilization to have a galaxy tattoo?” I let my breath out and shake my head. “Forget the tattoo. We need to focus on busting out of this joint.”
Before I can continue, the distant clank of a door brings all our heads swinging toward the glass wall. Footsteps sound soon after, and a guard appears with a stack of trays. It’s the same one from earlier, the one who seemed nervous—and he still does, his eyes lingering on the Undying teens as he approaches. He checks to make sure we’re all far enough from the glass before swiping his keycard, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Atlanta and Dex.
Maybe he sees what we see. Human, but then again, not so very human after all. Just … off, ever so slightly. Like they’re computer generated, not quite real, though you couldn’t tell someone exactly why.
The guard sets the four trays on the floor and straightens slowly, still watching the Undying. Atlanta follows the movement, and after meeting his gaze for a few seconds, jerks forward in a feint with a hiss of air between her teeth. It’s a tiny movement, but it nonetheless sends the guard scrambling backward, hitting the far wall of the corridor and fumbling for the sidearm at his belt. Seeing that Atlanta’s still standing in place, he straightens and swipes the door closed again, his hand still resting on the grip of the gun.
Atlanta’s grinning, finding amusement in his fear, but Dex isn’t laughing. He’s watching the guard, and his brows are drawn in. If he were human—properly human, like me and Jules—I’d say he felt sorry for the man.
We don’t speak again, dividing up the four trays and retreating to our opposite ends of the cell to eat. It’s not until we’re mostly done that Dex, quicker to eat than the rest of us, tosses his empty tray aside with a clatter of plastic and leans back against the wall.
“Do the numbers 3-0-0 and the letters C and S mean anything to you?” The question is almost pleasant, warmed with mild curiosity. When I look up, he’s got a small, food-stained scrap of paper held between his fingertips. He’s keeping his hand low, out of sight of the cameras.
They must have passed the paper back and forth while we were distracted by our food, as Atlanta doesn’t look surprised by the question—she’s watching us for any sign of comprehension.
Jules gazes across the cell at him and then gets to his feet. He steps slowly and deliberately—no sudden movements—toward Dex, who rises effortlessly to meet him. The boy grasps his hand, placing the paper in it, then sits again, watching Jules expectantly.
Jules throws him an intent look, but it’s brief, and then he’s striding quickly back toward me. Wordlessly, he hands me the paper, which bears the handwritten message 300CS. There’s a slight gap between the numbers and the letters that could be a space—or just an anomaly of handwriting. It certainly doesn’t mean anything to me, but Jules suddenly stiffens.
“What?” I breathe the word as softly as I can.
“Charlotte Stapleton. C. S.”
It’s from Mink? She couldn’t speak privately during our interrogation, and I don’t think she walked into that room expecting to slip me her keycard. There was a fifty-fifty chance the note would’ve ended up on one of our trays. She must’ve thought it was a gamble worth taking, since it wouldn’t mean anything to Dex or Atlanta.
It’s another set of instructions. The start of another path to walk. A new maze.
“I’m getting really tired of puzzles,” I whisper.
Jules huffs a quick breath, amused but not quite a laugh, his eyes warming a little as he glances at me. “I know the feeling.”
“A password, maybe? If there’s a door somewhere that doesn’t open for the keycard and needs a numeric code?”
Jules furrows his brow, inspecting the paper again, turning it over in his hands. “Even low-security passcodes have four numerals, not three. And this is the IA.”
“Maybe there’s more to it. She’s basically a spy, right? Maybe it’s in invisible ink or whatever.”
Jules glances at me, his lips twitching. “You watch too many movies, Mia.” But nevertheless, he holds the paper up to the fluorescent light, which does nothing but illuminate a translucent section of the paper stained by grease. Perhaps someone will see him do it on the camera, but it’s clearly just a piece of paper. No doubt they’ll think he had it in his pocket.
Then he flicks the LED on his wrist unit on, and tries holding the paper over the display. He sighs, and moves to turn it off again—and freezes as I seize his arm.
“Wait.” I move his other hand a little, then rotate his wrist so we can see the display. It reads 2:49 a.m. I can feel the muscle in his forearm contract as he sees it too. I don’t have to explain—we’ve been solving far more complex riddles for weeks, and he’s even better at it than I am.
“We don’t know it’s a time.”
“If it is, we have eleven minutes.”
Jules lowers his arm, keeping his voice to a whisper. “Until what? She comes riding to our rescue?”
I glance over at the two Undying, watching us like they can hear every word. A chilling thought flickers to life—maybe they can hear every word. A human wouldn’t be able to, but the whole reason we’re here is because they’re not human at all. Maybe they’re just pretending not to hear us for the sake of the cameras.
My gaze lifts to that pinhole in the corner, and then suddenly the meaning of Mink’s message clicks into place. “Jules—the reason we can’t just use the card she slipped us and walk out of here is because the second we go near that door, they’ll see us on the cameras and catch us again.”
“You think she’s telling us she’ll shut off the cameras then?” Jules doesn’t look over at the camera, though I see a muscle stand out in his neck with the effort of fighting that natural instinct. “It’s too risky. We’ve no idea that’s what she meant. And no idea if she actually means to help.”
“What’s our alternative?” I reach for his wrist again. 2:50 a.m. A part of me feels sick for what I’m about to say, especially because the likelihood of us even getting to Prague, much less getting into IA Headquarters, is so low it hurts. But I say it anyway. “You could see your father in just a couple days.”
Jules’s jaw clenches. He crumples up the paper and stuffs it into his pocket. Casually he gets to his feet, as if just stretching his legs, but I recognize the new sense of purpose there. He casts me a sidelong look. “That’s dirty pool, using my dad.”
“Do I ever play fair?”
Jules grins, and seeing his smile again is like feeling the sun on my face. He’s been through so much these past weeks, getting him to smile is a victory all its own.
Though we’ve got less than ten minutes left, the time seems to creep by with aching slowness. We’ve got no preparations to make, no gear to assemble or plans to finalize—our plan extends no further than “get through the door and reach the end of the corridor.” I can feel our fellow captives’ eyes following us as we move, stretching our legs and venting what nervous energy we can without raising suspicions. We want them to stay where they are—if we’re quick, we can swipe the card, get outside, and then lock them in behind us before they catch on.
Still, I’m at Jules’s side when his wrist unit reads 2:59 a.m., and I can’t help but join him in watching it, counting the seconds, and waiting.
3:00 a.m.
As one, we look up at the corner where the little black pinhole remains unchanged. There’s no convenient indicator light to turn off, no mechanical whirring down or telltale beep. If we’re wrong about Mink’s message—or about her intentions toward us—then half a dozen armed guards are going to be swarming down that corridor secon
ds after we open the door.
I slip the card from my pocket into my palm, and catch Jules’s eye. He checks his watch one more time, then nods at me. I swipe the card through as quietly as I can, heart pounding—either it won’t work, or it’s going to be a headlong rush to get through and lock the door again before the Undying have time for their freakish reflexes to kick in.
The door whooshes open, and Jules rushes us both through. My hand’s shaking as I reach back again, aiming for the card reader, and for a moment it looks like I’m about to miss it—and then the beep of a successful read sends the door slamming back into place.
Almost.
When the door stops in its track, Jules and I look up to find Atlanta and Dex in the doorway, Dex casually keeping the door open with one foot, Atlanta standing uncomfortably close, arms crossed, cold eyes unblinking as they fix on us.
I can’t think, pinned under that icy stare. My whole body freezes, and when Jules’s hand curls around my arm—for support, or comfort, I don’t know—I realize I’m shaking.
“Back away.” For a moment, I don’t recognize the speaker. Jules’s voice is hard, slick with fear and fury, and inch by inch, he’s moving between me and Atlanta. And in this moment, I don’t have it in me to stop him. “They think you’re regular kids right now. Run with us, and they’ll definitely look at your DNA samples—the whole world will know you’re not humans like us, and you and your friends won’t be able to hide anymore.”
Dex’s voice is just as slick, but there’s no trace of fear in it. “We’re shifting with you.” His eyes fix on Jules’s face, and I wonder if Jules feels the alien weight of it like I feel Atlanta’s. “You know this world—you’ll make sure we reach our destin.”
I finally get my heart going again and find my voice. “We’re not doing anything to help you. And we’re certainly not letting you out.”
Atlanta’s lip curls, and she mutters in distaste, “Protos. You’re every part as smug and self-serving as history says.”
