He extends his hand toward me. I look down to see a dandelion lying in his open palm, its fragile white fibers still intact.
I stare at it, unsure what to do. I’m afraid of what it will mean if I take it. But I’m more afraid of what it will mean if I don’t.
I gently pinch the stem between my fingers, flinching slightly when my skin touches his.
He nods too many times for it to look natural. Then we start back to camp.
With the heavy shadows that follow us, the ten-minute walk feels like an hour. The air is so thick around us, it’s like walking through mud. The ground seems to sprout fingers that grip my ankles, making it nearly impossible to take another step.
When we finally reach my tent, he doesn’t make any move to accompany me inside. Not that I expected him to. Not that there’s any reason for him to.
Still, it disappoints me.
And I hate myself for it.
Lyzender has already started to walk away.
“He’s not perfect,” I say to his back. He stops but doesn’t turn around. “He has a temper. I don’t know where it comes from, but he can’t control it. He becomes irrational. Fueled by anger and rage. You can’t calm him down. It’s like something takes over him. Something living and breathing inside of him.”
I watch Lyzender’s shoulders rise and fall with his steady breath.
What do I hope he’ll say to me now?
I don’t know.
I don’t even know why I told him what I did.
At the very least, I pray that he’ll face me again. So that I can see if my words have changed him. Swept away some of the weariness from his features. Erased some of the burden from his eyes.
But like so many of my prayers lately, this one also goes unanswered.
And I watch Lyzender walk away.
50
ILLOGICAL
By morning light, the camp is abuzz with activity once again. Everyone is preparing for the big day. The day I help a group of rebels destroy my home.
I lie on my bed, holding the stem of the dandelion Lyzender gave me. I’m not sure how it survived the night. I take it as a good omen. Maybe it means I’ll somehow survive this day.
Dr. A doesn’t believe in omens. He doesn’t believe in signs.
I can picture him now, snatching the dandelion away, crushing the soft fibers between his fingers.
“Omens are for people who lack a solid understanding of science,” he would say. “Who lack logic.”
I want to yell back at him that logic can’t help me now. In my mind, I’ve played out every possible logical outcome of this day and none of them are good. All of them mean disaster and the death of people I love.
The glitch with logic. I need something else now. I need something that defies common sense.
I need a miracle.
A shuffle of footsteps outside my tent alerts me to a visitor. I set the dandelion carefully back down on the table. Sevan enters a moment later, his expression grim. Despite all the lies he’s told me, he’s not like Paddok and the others. I can see it in his somber eyes. He’s not celebrating this day. He’s mourning it like me.
He must have people on that compound he cares about. He must not want to see them all perish. So why is he letting this happen? Why isn’t he trying to stop it?
He steps toward me and opens his palm, revealing a nutrition capsule. “Take this,” he urges. “You’ll need your strength.”
That’s the understatement of the century.
I don’t hesitate. I place the tiny pill on my tongue and swallow.
“And take this, too.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small silver cube drive.
My cube drive. The one Lyzender buried in the earth for me.
I sit up. “How did you—?” I begin to ask.
But Sevan is already rushing to explain. “It was in your pocket when we took you. I was directed to search you and throw away anything that might emit a signal, but I kept this. I turned it off so it couldn’t be traced but Klo said it was probably too small to register anyway.” He holds it out to me. “I thought you might want it back.”
I stare at the cube drive. It looks even smaller in Sevan’s large palm. I think about the memories that were once stored on it. Memories taken from my own mind. Then I look up at Sevan and his dark, weary eyes, and I think about how tiny this drive is compared to the server bunker. How many memories are trapped down there? Memories stolen by Diotech and altered by Sevan’s hands.
I take the drive and slip it into my pocket.
He flashes me a gentle smile. “I’ll be out here when you’re ready.” Then he leaves.
I pick up the dandelion from the table and hold it in front of my lips. I’m supposed to make a wish. That’s what people used to do with dandelions. But I don’t know what to wish for anymore. Everything my heart wants feels like a betrayal to someone.
So I just suck in a breath and blow.
The feathery seeds scatter throughout the tent before settling like dust at my feet.
I stand and, careful not to step on them, slowly walk outside, into the fresh morning air. Sevan offers his arm and leads me through the camp, to where a hovercopter is waiting to take me home.
51
REQUESTS
The device is smaller than I imagined. It’s encased in a sturdy metal box that Klo carries delicately on to the hovercopter.
Fifteen people are accompanying me to the compound: Paddok, Klo, Jase, Lyzender, Davish, Nem, and nine others I’ve never formally met. I’m relieved when I find out that Niko isn’t one of them. A relief I probably shouldn’t feel, but do all the same.
Every single one of my chaperones carries a firearm stolen from the past.
I point to Lyzender, who is packing a bag with supplies. “Why is he going?” I whisper to Sevan.
“He insisted. I’m assuming it was part of his arrangement with Paddok.”
Something about the way Sevan says the word makes me instantly suspicious. “What kind of arrangement?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Some sort of deal was struck when he joined up. That’s all I’ve been told. I’m not surprised, though. Why would he jeopardize his life hopping through time without getting something in return?”
“Jeopardize his life?”
“I thought you knew,” he says in surprise. “The transession gene? It kills you. And quite painfully from what I’ve heard. It’s why it was banned. No Normate system can withstand the strain.”
“But I thought…” My voice fades.
It suddenly occurs to me that I didn’t think this through. Of course, I know what the transession gene can do. I’m the one who nursed Lyzender when he was sick. I’m the one who risked everything to save his life. When he told me Cody had reengineered the gene, I guess I just assumed he had also figured out a way to make it safe. I never even considered the possibility that Lyzender might get sick again. Why would he purposefully choose to go through that a second time? He could die. He will die if he doesn’t get another dose of the Repressor from Diotech.
“All I know is,” Sevan goes on, oblivious to the internal battle waging in my mind, “it must have been one hell of a request.”
Sevan is staring pointedly at me. I meet his gaze. “What?”
“What?” he repeats, almost laughing. “Are you really that warped that you can’t figure it out?”
“You said you didn’t know!”
“I can take a wild guess and bet two billion dollars that I’m right.”
“You think it’s me,” I say, kicking the dirt. “You think he’s doing this for me.”
“Can you think of anything else?”
I turn my attention back to Lyzender. Xaria is now dramatically throwing her arms around his neck and crying into his shoulder.
Sevan follows my gaze. “Think again.”
Lyzender disentangles himself from her, casting a hasty glance at me. His expression is dark and unreadable. He kisses her cheek,
murmurs something I can’t hear, and jogs up the stairs of the hover.
I think back to the conversation Lyzender and I had in the tent. I accused him of striking a deal with Paddok. I asked him what he was getting in return for his help. He swore there was no deal. That he was only doing this because their goals aligned.
Was he lying to me then?
My head starts to throb at the thought. I can’t keep track of everyone’s deception. I can’t figure out who is telling the truth and who is telling me what they want me to hear.
Or are they the exact same thing?
“You don’t know anything,” I say to Sevan, pushing past him toward the hovercopter.
I hesitate at the base of the stairs. Jase is ready to nudge me with his shotgun. I grab the handrail and hoist myself up the first step. But I’m yanked back down by a hand on my wrist. I spin around to find Xaria glaring at me like the world is ending and it’s my fault. I think she’s going to scream at me again, like she did in the tent, but her face softens and when she speaks, her voice breaks a little.
“Whatever he’s thinking of doing, don’t let him do it.”
I forcefully pry my wrist from her grasp. It takes way too much effort for my liking. “I don’t have the slightest idea what he’s thinking of doing, nor do I care.”
I start to turn back but this time it’s her desperate plea that stops me.
“Then let him go,” she says.
“What?”
“If you don’t love him, let him go. Let him be with someone who cares about him.”
“I’m not stopping him from doing anything,” I shoot back, irritation sharpening my words.
“But you are.” Her eyes are welling with tears now. It makes her look so much younger. Like a broken doll. “You are and you don’t even realize it. Do you know how hard I worked to make him forget about you, to help him move on from the girl who smashed his heart into a thousand pieces?”
I press my lips together, saying nothing. This girl has treated me horribly ever since I arrived. Why should I have any sympathy for her now?
“And it was working!” she cries. “I was finally getting through to him. Then you showed up and he fell apart again. Like someone set off a bomb inside of him.”
I find her word choice ironic given what’s about to happen.
I bark out a laugh. “You act like it was my choice to be here. Trust me, there are so many places I’d rather be.”
“He’s hanging on to something,” she says, and for the first time I see the pain in her eyes. It’s magnified by the tears. “He’s still foolish enough to think he can fix you, but now it’s time for someone to fix him. I can do that. But first, you need to let him go. Please.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I did that a long time ago.”
I continue up the stairs and disappear inside the hover. It’s larger than the ones we rode in during the tour. The SWICK TRANSPORTATION logo on the side indicates it was originally intended for transporting cargo. Not people. The sixteen seats look like they were added as an afterthought. I take the only empty one. It’s next to Lyzender. He’s twisted his body so that he can see out the window, his head resting dejectedly against the glass.
“We’re clear for departure,” Paddok says into her walkie.
Klo engages the autopilot system. Like he did with the Slate, I imagine he’s already scrambled the craft’s signals.
“What was that about?” Lyzender asks me without looking up.
I realize from his vantage point he must have seen me talking to Xaria.
“She thinks she can fix you,” I mumble, pressing back into the seat and closing my eyes as a painful chill shudders through me. The hovercopter lifts into the air, dropping my stomach.
Lyzender keeps his forehead glued to the window. “She’s wrong.”
He says it so quietly, I wonder if he even intended for me to hear.
52
SURPRISES
Twenty minutes after we’ve left the camp, the center of the hover floor splits open, revealing an auxiliary smaller craft attached to the belly. A series of blinking lights and screens flash from below. Klo jumps in and starts running system checks.
“What is that?” I ask Lyzender, who is out of his seat, leaning over the gap in the floor.
“It’s your hoverpod.”
My hoverpod?
Meaning, I’m riding in that? By myself?
“We’re good to go,” Klo announces, climbing back out. He gives me a grin. “You won’t plummet to the earth in a fiery crash. I checked.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, although maybe that would be the best scenario at this point.
Paddok jerks her chin in my direction, ordering me to get in. There’s no point in arguing now. This is happening. Fighting is out of the question in my condition.
I move toward the pod but Lyzender grabs my arm. “Wait.”
Paddok rolls her eyes. “We don’t have time for this. Klo’s scrambling loop will only last another thirty minutes.”
“I know!” Lyzender snaps, irritated. “Just give me a glitching minute, will you?”
He pulls me to the far back corner of the craft. The interior of the hover is small enough that everyone can hear what he’s saying, but the extra inch of privacy does seem to make a difference. If only to make me more uncomfortable. I fidget with my empty hands.
Is this a goodbye speech? If it is, I need to put a stop to it. I’m not sure I can get through it.
“Sevan told you why all these people hate Diotech.” He rushes through the words, racing to get them out before Paddok rips me away. “You remember all the stories he told you?”
I nod, but don’t look up.
How could I forget that horrific tour of the camp? Vas’s disfigured face. Davish’s heavy heart. The resentment that Nem carries around like a weight strapped to his back.
“But you haven’t heard the story about why I hate Diotech.”
“I know,” I mumble.
Suddenly his hand is on my chin, lifting my face to him. “No,” he growls. “You don’t.”
You would think I’d have gotten used to his hostility by now. This new hardened Lyzender. But it still makes some lost, abandoned part of me ache. Like a deeply buried scar that never healed. That still throbs when it rains.
“You think you know, but you’re wrong. You only know whatever warped, twisted version they convinced you was real.”
He lets go of my chin but I don’t turn away.
“What did they make you believe?” he asks. “That I stole you? That I forced you to leave against your will?”
I open my mouth to argue that it’s not just a belief. It’s the truth. But the only thing that comes out is a shiver.
“Seraphina.”
“Sera,” I whisper.
“Seraphina,” he repeats insistently. “I hate them for what they did to you. For what they continue to do to you. Even now. They lie to you. They manipulate you. They brainwash you. I didn’t steal you. They stole you. They stole your whole life. Then they stole you from me.”
I want to close my eyes to him. Close my ears to him. Shut it all off.
“Okay,” Paddok says impatiently, stepping between us and taking me by the arm. “That’s enough soap opera for today. When are you going to get it through your head, Lyzender. She’s one of them. Through and through. You’re wasting your breath.”
I’m guided toward the hatch. I step down the five-rung ladder and lower myself into the seat in the center of the pod. The space is small and cramped, only big enough for one passenger. It’s clear from the bare-bones command center in front of me that this is an autopiloted device. No human interference is allowed or intended.
“You okay down there?”
I look up to see Klo hunched over the opening, his hands on his knees. He sweeps his dark blue hair out of his eyes.
“Fine,” I mumble.
“Remember,” Paddok is saying to Klo somewhere above me, “everything by the boo
k until we’re clear. Don’t hack her in. They need to grant the pod access. They need to think we’re following their commands to the letter. No movement on our part until the gas is released.”
Gas?
The air inside this tiny contraption starts to suffocate me.
What gas?
What is she talking about? Is this the missing piece I’ve been trying to figure out? Is this how they plan to get past Director Raze? With some kind of poisonous gas?
Then I remember what Lyzender told me at the lake. About Paddok’s son.
“Before the latest batch could be sold to the government, it had to be fully tested. On both adults and children. So a drone carrying the gas was delivered to the playground of an elementary school. Fifty-two students were killed.”
Fear kicks my pulse into overdrive. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. She’s going to kill them all. She’s going to murder them the same way she thinks they murdered her son!
“Got it, boss lady.” Klo nods. Then he looks back at me, his finger on the button to close the top. “How long can you hold your breath?” He laughs. “Just kidding.”
The lid to the pod starts to seal. I hear a scrambling above me. “Flux. Wait!” Lyzender says, his face suddenly appearing in the closing gap. Something about his wide, unblinking eyes sends a wave of anxiety through my gut. Is he not as certain about this plan as Paddok seems to be?
“Seraphina,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.” It sounds like a promise. One that he’s making more to himself than to me.
Lyzender’s mouth opens as he begins to say something else, but the pod seals shut, silencing his words. Concealing his face.
I stare helplessly at the darkened ceiling.
And then I let out a scream that ruptures the sky.
PART 4
THE UNDOING
53
DETACHED
There once was a time when human beings traveled the world in giant metal birds. With steel wings and tails. They flew thirty thousand feet above the ground. They tore through the air, etching white scribbles into the sky.
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