The Girl Who Dared to Think 3: The Girl Who Dared to Descend

by Bella Forrest

  “I’m sorry, Leo, I’m out as well,” Quess said, folding his arms over his chest. “You forget, I’ve lived inside the Core. The fact that we managed to get in and out once was a fluke, and even then, they got Maddox in the process. Couple that with the fact that Lionel Scipio didn’t leave a manual called ‘How to Replace Scipio,’ or a list of locations where we could find the other AIs, and I just don’t think it’s going to be possible.”

  “I see.” Leo gazed around and then nodded. “Well then, will you at least agree to help me look while you are still here?”

  “Of course,” I said quickly, forestalling everyone else. “Maybe once we learn more about Lacey and her group, and determine that they actually are working to prevent attacks on Scipio, we can arrange to leave you with her when we go. And if not her, then someone else willing to take up your cause. I owe you at least that much, for what you’re doing for Grey.”

  He inclined his head toward me, and then took a step back, but I could feel the disappointment radiating from him. I wanted to say something, to explain it better, in a way that he could understand, but Quess stopped me by asking another question.

  “Hey, since Lacey is bringing us nets, how are we going to explain Leo’s net? Or the fact that Tian has an adult one, and not one meant for a child?”

  I blinked. I had to remind myself that I was tired, and had had a very long and challenging day, because that was an observation I should’ve made long ago. All residents were implanted with a net from the age of two for security purposes, but the net for children was only used to prohibit movement inside the Tower and monitor emotional growth. This was to establish a baseline for Scipio to use to create one’s rank during the second implantation that occurred at the age of fifteen—the age one started their apprenticeship to a department.

  Tian wasn’t old enough for an adult net, but a child’s version would restrict her movement, sounding an alarm whenever she crossed into an area she wasn’t allowed in. Because she was using an adult one, however, her lack of emotional maturity would play havoc with her ranking, so we needed to keep her on a strict regimen of Paragon to make sure she wouldn’t get caught.

  I ran a hand over my face, and thought about how we could accomplish that.

  “We tell Lacey that you’re going to do the implantations,” I finally said. “You’ll have to figure out a way to transfer Grey’s net ID credentials into the net Leo is in, so as not to raise any suspicions, and then give Tian the one meant for Grey. Is it possible?”

  I looked between Grey and Leo, and Leo was the one who nodded. “It is possible to download the ID into the net. Quess will have to help me, but just in placing the net they provide on the back of Grey’s neck. I can download his data and permissions without hurting myself.”

  I nodded. That meant he could remain hidden in the eyes of the Tower. Scanners were everywhere, searching for ones or those without a net, and if they discovered him and what he actually was, who knew what would happen? The fact that it was possible to put the credentials into the net was a relief, as it meant we could continue to hide Leo while he worked on restoring Grey’s mind.

  “As for Tian, well, we can use the net meant for Grey. If they give us the IDs and nets separately—which they should, as pre-programming chips is the fastest way to make sure that you don’t put the wrong net in the skull—then I can just tweak the permissions before I put it in. It won’t be hard.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure Lacey won’t give us too much pushback,” I said.

  Still, everything laid out in front of us was based on more what ifs than I thought any of us were comfortable with. One “no” from Lacey, and the jig was up.

  I looked around the room. Everyone was tired, and afraid, and on the verge of becoming demoralized. Even though we now had a plan of action, the lingering threat of the unknown still loomed over us. I needed to say something to them, to fill them with confidence.

  “Guys, I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. But we have managed to do some impossible things in our short time together. I know that being separated is going to be hard, but we’re still going to make this work. We need to be patient, and watchful, but we’re going to get through this. I promised you all I would do everything in my power to keep you safe, and I intend to carry through on that promise. Whatever obstacles are in our way, we will overcome them. I have no doubt that together, we can do anything.”

  I still had reservations about being the leader, but in that moment, during my speech, I could see my words rekindling the spark of determination in my small, bedraggled group, and for a moment, those misgivings faded away and all I could feel was pride. We were scared, outnumbered, and had been through a lot.

  But we weren’t done. Not by a long shot.

  8

  I swallowed, worked more moisture into my mouth… and swallowed again.

  It was just a door. It shouldn’t have represented any problems in terms of opening, but for the past two minutes, I had been standing outside it, wrestling with exactly how I should open it.

  A knock was polite, but incredibly formal. Knocking followed by opening it was more like what a really close neighbor would do. Just opening it was something someone accepted as family would do.

  With my parents, however, I existed in some sort of nebulous area between all of those things. I wasn’t unknown to them; I had lived with them all my life, the last six weeks not withstanding. But then again, we weren’t exactly close—especially considering I knew they had been willing to write me off.

  And now I had to head back inside and face the music. Oh, I was more than afraid—I was terrified. I was also angry, hurt, sad, and a whole range of other emotions that all added together to make me jumpy and anxious. It was only a week, but I dreaded any more interactions with them. They had spent my entire life making me feel inferior, and I couldn’t see a future in which they did anything but that.

  So… to knock, or not to knock. Of all my problems, this was the only one I couldn’t seem to make any headway on. I had gotten Lacey to agree to let Quess install our new nets, and then given her the description of the two Inquisition agents who had been in the room with Devon, as well as a breakdown of what they talked about. I had even assigned Zoe and Eric the point position on Paragon distribution for the twenty-nine people who had been recruited by Roark, so high five to me for still having the wherewithal to process what needed to be done.

  But this friggin’ door…

  I sighed and shook my head. I was overthinking things. They would’ve already been notified that I was returning to them. Granted, it would’ve been at most two hours ago, but that announcement also would’ve included information exonerating me… so they couldn’t be angry, right? I had finally done a service for the Tower, both in their eyes (I hoped) and mine, so… maybe they would finally accept me?

  My stomach roiled at the possibility, and I swallowed again, my nervousness doubling. I could take their anger, or disappointment, or flat-out negativity. But what if they praised me?

  It had only ever happened once, to my recollection, and that was after I woke from my Medica-induced fugue state to find that some sort of Tower-friendly version of me had commandeered my life for a week. I’d called her Prim and hated her, but my parents… Well, they had loved Prim.

  I glared at the door, the memory making me angry. They had accepted that drugged, bland version of me, and even welcomed her in a way that they had never welcomed me. I tried to remind myself that I was only here until I turned twenty-one. After that, it was private housing—just as soon as I was promoted, which Lacey assured me would happen tomorrow, considering my celebrity-hero status. And because Scipio had automatically gifted us each with a rank of ten for our service, that meant I was probably going to jump right to Knight Elite, possibly even Knight Commander.

  Glancing down at my wrist, I suppressed an irritated sigh and turned the indicator away, hiding the bright blue glow of the double digits. I was about to step back into a life whe
re all social interaction was decided by those stupid numbers: how you were treated, how you were expected to act, and how you were supposed to treat others. And with a ten, I would have to conduct myself flawlessly.

  Which in the language of the Tower meant being a jerk to everyone lower than myself.

  Oh, and of course, the ten wasn’t permanent—it would drop with bad behavior, just like before. Just like it always had. My emotions were being scrutinized, my service being monitored. Scipio’s eyes were back on me, always watching, always judging.

  In that moment, I suddenly wanted to cry. All of this felt like one gigantic step backward. Lacey’s addition to our deal was incredibly frustrating on so many levels, because while I was sure that her little power play was for the benefit of the Tower, it didn’t change the fact that I didn’t want to be here. I had fulfilled my end of the bargain. Lacey should’ve upheld hers and just let us go!

  I clenched my hands into fists and rolled my neck back and forth, forcing myself to calm down.

  “You’re tired,” I whispered to myself. “The last forty-eight hours have been an emotional rollercoaster. Just open the door, get this crap over with, and then you can sleep until tomorrow.”

  Even with my pep talk, though, it took me a few seconds to reach out and open the door. I hated the fact that my hands were shaking.

  The door slid open, and I automatically stepped back when my father was just… there. Inches from the other side, his hand reaching for the button on the inside to open it, his cheeks and forehead as red as the bright crimson uniform he was wearing.

  I looked past his shoulder and saw my mother pacing back and forth in the common area, gnawing on her thumbnail. Both of them looked tired—but my father looked angry, while my mother looked worried.

  My dad sucked in a sharp breath when his gaze finally sharpened on me, and I grew very still, my heart pounding. I waited for him to say something, but when he just stared, I lifted my chin and summoned up enough courage for two words.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He continued to stare at me, his mouth a flat line under his beard. “I’m late for my shift,” he finally said, giving me a pointed look.

  My stomach sank, but his response actually steadied me some. This was… normal, for lack of a better word. My parents’ thousand little cruelties toward me over the years were really par for the course.

  Only this time was different. This time, I was different. So much had happened in the short time I’d been away from him, and I found myself neither afraid of him nor hurt by his words.

  And when I really thought about it, I realized it was because I was no longer living my life for their approval. Their entire way of thinking was based on a lie, and I knew them well enough to know that it would take Scipio himself to convince them that the entire Tower was falling apart. I’d never be able to get past “Scipio is broken” before my father or mother would strike me, call me a liar, send me to my room without a meal, report my behavior to my supervisor… The list was endless.

  But to my own surprise, in that moment, I suddenly realized that they didn’t hold any real power over me. And they wouldn’t, unless I let them.

  I stepped to one side and pasted a congenial smile on my lips. “My apologies. Don’t want to stand in your way.”

  His brows came together, and he regarded me with no small amount of suspicion. “What’s going on, here?”

  I smiled more deeply. “Nothing,” I said. “Have a nice shift.”

  He stepped slowly out into the hall, as if he were afraid I was going to strike him down right then and there. I waited, patiently, and then slipped by him and headed inside, not even bothering with any additional platitudes.

  My mother had stopped her pacing when she heard my voice, and now she was watching me walk toward her. Her face was pale and drawn, and tufts of her normally pristine black hair—same color as mine was once again, thanks to Lacey—were sprouting uncharacteristically, in every direction possible.

  “Mom,” I said, coming to a stop in front of her. I looked past her toward my room, and then back to her. “I see Dad’s glad I’m back.”

  Her mouth worked, and I could see her struggling with the words.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m only here until I’m twenty-one, which I’m pretty sure is close, although I’m still not entirely certain what the date is.”

  “March third,” my mother replied automatically, and I was pleased to see that she still had command of her voice.

  The math was incredibly easy, considering I was born March tenth. We always celebrated it on Alex’s birthday, though, which was technically March ninth, since she had delivered him pre-midnight while I was delivered post. But Zoe had always made sure to celebrate mine with me in private.

  “You see?” I said with a grin, ignoring the disappointment that resulted from her announcement. I had hoped the time back with my parents would only last for a few short days, but I could endure. “A week is easy. We don’t even have to talk to each other if you don’t want to.”

  “I…” She faltered, and then shook her head. “Well, I mean… It’s going to be an adjustment having you back, is all. I mean, now you’re a hero, when before you were…”

  “A criminal?” I supplied helpfully. “Yeah—much easier to believe than hero. Don’t worry, Mom. I promise to revert back to my criminal ways soon enough. Wouldn’t want your expectations of me to grow too high.”

  My mother gaped, before she finally realized that I was being openly sarcastic with her, and then the anger flitted in. “How dare you speak to me that way! I am your mother, Liana Castell. You will treat me with respect.”

  I nodded at her, and then shook my head. “You know what? No. I came to this realization, y’know, when I was in the process of running and fighting for my life and the lives of my friends, that respect should only be given when it is earned. I talked to Alex, and he told me how you two reacted when I was implicated in Gerome’s murder.”

  My mother’s eyes widened, and she had the good grace to look moderately guilty. “What else could I do? Scipio tells us that—”

  “When your own daughter is accused of murder that you just go along with it? Warn your son not to have contact with her ever again? I mean, did you ever once consider that I might not be guilty?”

  “How could I have known that all of this was on Scipio’s orders?” my mother exploded, finally fed up with my blasé behavior. “I mean, you’re a Squire, and your rank at the time was positively abysmal. Why would Scipio ever choose you for a mission like that?”

  The answer, of course, was that he hadn’t. But that didn’t change the fact that my mother was missing the point.

  And I wasn’t inclined to spell it out for her. So I chose the path of pettiness, and I took an inordinate amount of pleasure in it. “Careful, Mother. That sounds suspiciously like you’re questioning Scipio’s decisions. Are you trying to tell me that the great, infallible Scipio might be flawed?”

  Okay, I might have layered the sarcasm on a bit thick at the end, but I couldn’t help it. My entire life, my mother and father had followed Scipio’s laws and edicts to the letter, reminding me constantly that we had to put our trust and faith in him. But now that their daughter was being openly hailed as a hero for revealing and removing a corrupt councilor, on the orders of the great machine himself… well, that apparently was a deal breaker.

  And yeah, it hurt and it made me angry.

  My mother’s hand flew out to slap me for my insolence, and for the first time in my life, I lifted my arm and blocked the blow. Her anger faded some as she took a step back, and I pressed forward.

  “You never get to hit me again,” I growled. “You never get to touch me again. In fact, after this, we are going to embrace that not-talking plan, and I’ll petition my new supervisor to expedite the process so I can get out of here. But you and me? We’re done. We were done the second you chose the Tower over me. Which pretty much was the second I was born, so… sorry it
took me twenty years to figure it out.”

  I stopped and sucked a deep breath in while my mother stared at me, literally speechless. I took one final look at her and announced, “I’m going to bed. I’ll stay out of your way until my birthday or the transfer—whichever comes first.”

  And then I left her there. Walked to my room and closed the door.

  As I rested my back against the door, I let my eyes drift closed… and then broke down. The tears came fast and fierce, and within moments it was like a combination of bitter anger and crushing despair had reached up and wrapped a colossal hand around my lungs and throat, silencing any cries except for the wheezing.

  I hated that I was crying, but I couldn’t help it. Even though I had managed to keep it together, keep my wits about me, and finally stand up to my mother… couldn’t she have at least pretended to care about what I had been through the last three weeks? Even buying into the lie, I couldn’t wrap my head around what kind of parent would behave so coldly to their child after finding out what I had supposedly been up to. All I wanted, more than anything in the world, was for them to love and accept me—but now that I had shot my mouth off to my mom, I realized that there wasn’t going to be any going back. Ever.

  So I cried in mourning for both a relationship that could never be, and for the death of the one that was, and with it came everything else. Roark’s death. Cali’s death. Losing Maddox. Grey. Fear. Pain. Grief. Everything that had been burning a hole inside me, kept as tightly under wraps as I could possibly keep it, exploded out, right there on my bedroom floor.

  It took a while, but I managed to cry all of the pain away, biting my hand at times to keep from making too much noise. Once it had passed, I looked around my room numbly, suddenly tired beyond all words. All of my belongings were now in cartons, even the bedding, and stacked on top of my desk and bed.

  My parents hadn’t bothered to unpack my stuff, and as I started opening boxes, I found myself wondering how long it had taken them before they packed it up in the first place. Had it remained for the short time they thought I was dead, or had they done it immediately after I’d left?