by Rosiee Thor
“I find that hard to believe.” She stopped fighting the handcuffs. “Tell me, do you not know or do you simply not care that your father is the reason you need a TICCER?”
Nathaniel bit his lip. “You can’t blame him for saving his only son. Tech may not be legal, and it may not be safe, but it has kept me alive.”
“If you think your father’s only crime against you was putting tech in your chest, then you’re missing the bigger picture.”
“What bigger picture?” Nathaniel asked before he could stop himself.
“You’re not asking the right questions,” Anna said, fixing him with ocean eyes—chaotic, like waves in a storm. “It isn’t why he gave you a TICCER that matters; it’s why he needed to at all.”
Nathaniel’s chest constricted in protest. It mattered. His father had put Nathaniel first. It proved his father cared, even if he’d only done it once.
“Why do you think you’re the only one in the entire Settlement with the same tech as all of us living outside it?” Anna pressed on. “You don’t think it’s just chance, do you?”
Nathaniel came to a stop outside the door to his father’s study. That was exactly what he’d thought. He’d been born with a rare heart condition, one the medical treatments of Earth Adjacent could not fix. His father, in a striking act of love, had cast aside his biases against tech in order to save him.
“I do.” Removing the key from the crack above the door, Nathaniel unlocked the study, sending Anna stumbling inside. “I really, truly do.”
But he didn’t.
Nathaniel’s hands shook as he locked the door on her, his captive, his gift to his father. That’s what she was—an offering to the man he admired, proof of his commitment and capability. She was the key to his father’s respect.
But she was also the key to his past, questions left unasked and unanswered through all the years.
His father would not have let such obvious trickery sway him. His father would have killed her already. But his father hadn’t caught the Technician; Nathaniel had.
Eliza’s bags were packed. With what, she couldn’t be sure. Aside from the three overdresses she owned, and of course the blade she used far less than she would have liked, Eliza had little in the way of possessions and certainly not enough to fill so many cases. The rest of her apartment had been scrubbed bare, erasing her years of habitation. Someone else would live there soon—a lord’s daughter, or a newly minted couple.
Or the Queen’s new set of Eyes.
Eliza’s stomach twisted. The Queen would lift up some new girl, some new nobody, and give her Eliza’s home, Eliza’s job, Eliza’s life. The Queen would not feel the loss for even a moment, while Eliza would be left alone. She’d risen so high, only to be sent down further than she’d started. To become a Planetary after all this, to be denied the recognition she deserved—well, it only meant she’d have to scramble and scrape her way back to the top.
She’d earn her crown, never mind the Queen didn’t wear one. When Eliza sat on the throne, she wanted everyone who’d ever looked at her with pity or disgust to remember her face, remember how she’d gotten there.
Running a hand over her hair, pulled into coiffure, Eliza tried to imagine finding metal, the weight of cold silver against her brow. She imagined herself ruling the Tower, all eyes on her.
Eliza was used to watching, not being watched, but in her new position on Earth Adjacent, fiancée to the Commissioner’s son, she would be a public figure, at the center of society. She would have to find a way to get used to it.
Eyeing a circular box atop the cluster of trunks and bags by the door, Eliza crossed the room and flipped up the lid. A delicate, wide-brimmed tea hat rested inside, confectionary pink with crimson roses clustered on one side.
It wasn’t a crown, but it would do for now.
Before she could pin it in place, a knock sounded and the door to her apartment swung open. No one entered her room without permission—or key card for that matter—but a gentleman she didn’t recognize stood in the doorway, a sharp jaw and salt-and-pepper hair that had once been a dusty brown.
“Pardon me,” he said, clearing his throat.
Eliza dropped the hat.
The man bent to pick it up. “I’m looking for Eliza—is that you?”
She took the hat and pinned it in place, eyeing him shrewdly. “You’re the courier? You can take these, I suppose.” She pointed to the bags, but the man only stared. “You are here to take me to the ship, yes?”
The man blinked once, twice, thrice, then lifted one of her bags. “Right this way.”
Eliza paused at the door and took one last look at the room. She would leave behind absolutely nothing, yet it felt like everything. Eliza always knew how to make an entrance, but leaving … Leaving was an entirely different art.
Eliza turned, pushing down the swell in her throat and the pain beneath her ribs. She would move, one foot in front of the other, until there was nowhere to go, nowhere to climb.
“So, Earth Adjacent,” the man said, waiting for her to catch up. “Are you looking forward to your visit?”
Eliza’s head snapped up. “My visit?” More like banishment. “I don’t imagine the Queen would have ordered quite so many bags packed if it were only a visit.”
The man smiled slightly, readjusting her bag in his arms. “Quite right—the Queen certainly knows how to communicate her intent.”
Eliza choked back a response, unsure if she intended to laugh or to chastise. Surely even a Planetary knew better than to speak in such a manner about their Queen.
“I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself and not think of our planet as a chore.” He slowed his pace as they approached the upper ring. “Once you’re on the surface, I suspect you’ll see things differently.”
Who was this man to predict her thoughts and opinions? Eliza halted, casting her gaze over him once more. He wore a crisp suit, clean and recently pressed. He stood tall, as though pride, not bones, held him together. And he spoke clearly, patiently.
“You’re not the courier, are you?”
“Eliza!” The Queen’s voice carried across the hall. She walked toward them, steps smooth and even as though she were floating. “I see you’ve met your new host.”
Eliza’s eyes found the man-who-was-not-the-courier’s. Her stomach dropped.
“Commissioner, how kind of you to avoid me.” The Queen wrapped her gloved hand around the man’s arm, drumming her fingers against his sleeve. “I’m afraid it won’t do, but I appreciate the gesture all the same.”
“Commissioner.” Eliza let the word pass through her lips, not a greeting, not an accusation, just a word. To her, it still had no meaning—not yet.
The Commissioner bowed his head ever so slightly, a frown weaving its way across his lips. “Please, Mother, you’ll make me seem inhospitable to my future daughter-in-law.” He unhooked his arm from hers. “Allow me to escort Miss Eliza aboard, then I’ll join you for an early tea.”
Though Eliza couldn’t see the Queen’s face, she could imagine the sort of expression that might rest behind her veil just from the set of the Queen’s shoulders—off-kilter, holding tension on the left. Eliza did not envy the wrath the Commissioner would face once behind closed doors.
Tension practically sang through the air between them, making Eliza both wish to disappear and to watch their exchange continue. The things she might learn—the weaknesses she might discover—could be vital in her quest to outdo him, to become the favored child, shared blood or not.
“Very well,” the Queen said, releasing him and stepping back.
“After you.” The Commissioner gestured toward a slate-gray door ahead of them.
Eliza waited a beat, knowing she would not earn an invitation. This was it. This was the doorway to her new life, her new task. Ahead was an expanse of stars, a world she didn’t know, and a boy she didn’t love. Behind her was the Queen—silent.
Eliza took a step. And then another, and another. Stil
l, the Queen said nothing. Eliza turned to look over her shoulder, holding her breath.
“She’ll never say it,” the Commissioner murmured so only she could hear.
Breath failed her, lungs shattering into a million shards. But she couldn’t fall apart now. This would be Eliza’s last chance to show her quality before she descended to Earth. She would stand tall; she would stand strong. Beside the Queen’s natural son, she would not break.
Eliza would see the Queen again someday, and she’d ensure the Queen knew how truly loyal she could be.
Anna had walked into a trap she’d seen clear as day. She’d jumped into it readily like a bird from its perch, except a bird could fly, and Anna could only hope the ground below her would be soft. Optimism had infected her worse than any disease. Where had her cynicism gone, her mistrust, her caution? Anyone might have seen Nathaniel for what he was—Thatcher certainly had—but Anna had overlooked it, forgiven it, all for the small hope that he genuinely needed her help.
Was she truly so desperate to be needed?
Anna put her face in her hands, the question in her mind more abrasive than the metal cuffs that bound her. Scrunching her nose, she glared at the steel. If only she could remove them, she might be able to find a way out of this mess.
Nathaniel had taken her bag full of useful tools, even remembering to take the small Allen wrench she kept in her shirt pocket, but perhaps she could find a suitable lockpick inside her prison, which looked to be more of an office than a jail cell. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and a solitary desk stood in the middle of the room, littered with papers and ink.
Anna stepped away from the door and into the room, scouring her vision for anything thin and pointy—a sewing needle or hatpin would do nicely, but as she reached the desk, it was clear she’d find nothing of the sort. On a black plate, letters etched in gold, were the words Commissioner Oliver Fremont.
Of all the offices Nathaniel might have locked her in, it was the Commissioner’s. All things considered, it was much smaller than she would have thought. The Commissioner, while conservative in his politics, seemed the sort for extravagance, judging by the enormous chandelier in the entrance hall. So why did the Commissioner hide in a windowless prison of dark wood and dusty books?
Anna wouldn’t die in a place like this. With any luck, she wouldn’t die at all.
With a flick of her fingers, she opened the top drawer of the desk. Sorting through its contents took longer than she’d expected with her maneuverability limited by the handcuffs. Not since she had accidentally slammed her thumb with a hammer when she was eleven had she struggled so much with the simple task of holding things.
The first drawer held mostly paper—a few letters and hastily scribbled notes Anna didn’t bother with. Nothing there would help with her current predicament. The second drawer held mostly writing utensils. Perhaps a stylus would do the trick, but before she could reach inside to sort through the pens, she caught sight of a circular metal device. She’d never seen any tech like it before.
While removing it from the drawer, Anna noticed a flashing red light. Her curious fingers flitted across the metal toward it. Did it flash in a discernable pattern, spelling out a code? A dial with four slots rested just below it, spelling nonsense. Her mind buzzed with the desire to unravel the mystery—but no, she didn’t have time for diversions. Nathaniel could be back at any moment with his father. She needed to get out of this office.
She needed to return to Roman.
Horror gripped her insides at the thought of Roman alone. How long would he stand outside the Settlement, waiting for her return? Certainly he’d go home if she didn’t come back soon, but with his incision so irritated, would he make it back in one piece? Worse still was the possibility that he wouldn’t return home at all—that he’d come looking for her.
She was the one who was supposed to protect him.
Anna flipped the device over. If she could loosen one of the screws holding it together, she might be able to use it to pry the handcuffs off her wrists. She dug a thumbnail into the screw head and went to work. She’d torn through two fingernails and rubbed her wrists raw by the time she loosened the screw, but it was enough to free her of her confines. Flexing her wrists, Anna exhaled heavily. She’d done it. Now to take on the door.
But curiosity overtook her, and she snatched up the device. The second screw took half as long to loosen, and soon she was pulling the bottom off the device to reveal a complex web of circuitry the likes of which Anna had never seen before.
She leaned closer, mapping the tech with her mind. If the Commissioner was so against steam power and mechanical limbs, what was he doing with tech like this? It wasn’t just post-industrial; it looked post-post-industrial. It looked like the kind of tech that had taken down Former Earth, the kind the Commissioner supposedly feared above all else.
Anna’s stomach twisted, coiling and curving back and forth like the circuitry. A voice in her head told her to put it down, leave it where she’d found it, and never look back, but the voice sounded an awful lot like Thatcher. Only a few hours ago, that alone would have been enough to spur her on. Her grandfather’s orders irked her nearly as much as the Commissioner’s Tech Decrees as of late. But Thatcher had been right about Nathaniel, and Anna had been wrong.
Anna wouldn’t be wrong again. She set the device back inside the Commissioner’s drawer. She could let this mystery go unsolved … for now.
First Anna needed to escape this office, leave the Settlement, and bring Roman home—if she could get to him in time.
Patience had never been one of Nathaniel’s strengths. His father would return soon, and Nathaniel wanted to be sure the first thing he heard was that his son had captured the Technician. But as the hours wore on and Nathaniel tired from pacing, he began to wonder if his father would come home at all. Perhaps he already had.
What if his father returned to his study without Nathaniel? What would he do with the girl inside? He probably wouldn’t even know she was the Technician. More important, he wouldn’t know that it was Nathaniel, not his officers, who’d caught her.
Nathaniel couldn’t just stand and wait in the foyer any longer. Casting a furtive glance back at the front door, which remained stubbornly shut, he made his way back through the halls. Likely, she would be hungry by now. He could bring her a slice of bread—there would be no harm in some kindness.
With a plate of bread in hand, Nathaniel exited the kitchen. He dallied over whether to add jam to the plate, but he reminded himself that Anna was a prisoner, not a guest. He needn’t offer her hospitality. As he walked, however, Nathaniel’s breathing turned shallow, unsure if he should risk facing her again.
She was smart, she was savvy, and she was something else he couldn’t define. It was in the way she stood taller than him but looked at him like an equal. She was hard like metal, and also soft like warm rain. She escaped his understanding—he could see her branches and leaves, but miles of twisted roots lay beneath her surface.
Whatever her nature, she was definitely dangerous. The danger came not from her fists, but her words. She wielded Nathaniel’s own uncertainty against him with uncanny skill; she’d already sown the seeds of doubt in his mind. He would have to steel himself against her words.
But when he rounded the corner and the study came into view, all thoughts of courtesy fled his mind. The door was open, a set of shiny handcuffs hanging from the handle.
The plate slipped from Nathaniel’s hand and clattered to the ground. Ceramic shattered at his feet, spreading sharp splinters every which way, but Nathaniel didn’t have time to clean them up.
She’d escaped through some trickery. Had he forgotten to lock the door? No, he distinctly remembered turning the key in the lock.
He should have stayed to guard the door.
Snatching the handcuffs from the handle, Nathaniel sped off. She couldn’t have gone far with him standing guard over the main entrance. He could still catch her. He could
still fix this.
Nathaniel tore through the halls and past the stairs. Wrenching the front door open, he caught sight of red hair as it disappeared behind a hedge. Two officers flanked the garden’s only exit. He had her cornered. But just as a smile stretched onto his lips, she reappeared just above the hedge.
She was climbing the fence.
Nathaniel cursed and sped back the way he’d come. He knew that climbing would only set him farther behind. His upper body strength was laughable. If she got the better of him because he couldn’t climb a blasted fence, Nathaniel resolved to dedicate himself to a physical regimen in addition to his academics.
He set off after the outlaw. Running had always landed Nathaniel in trouble before—not with his father, but with his heart. He hoped now that Anna had fixed it, it would help him catch her. The officers at the gate gave him odd looks but did not impede his progress. One of them called after him, but Nathaniel couldn’t hear his words, only wind and determination sounded against his ears.
Nathaniel made his way toward the Settlement exit. He’d lost track of Anna as soon as they’d entered the busier streets near the market district, but even if she hid somewhere inside the Settlement, she’d have to pass through the exit eventually. He didn’t care how long it took; he would sit by the gate all night if he had to. The Technician wouldn’t evade him again.
But as he approached the gate, dodging through the crowd and knocking into more than one disgruntled shopper, Nathaniel saw a flash of coppery hair in the street before him. His pulse quickened and he pushed past a family blocking his view.
He caught sight of her speaking to one of the officers, handing him a slip of paper from her pocket.
“Stop!” Nathaniel yelled, but the wind drowned out his words.
The officer gestured for her to pass, and Nathaniel’s stomach dropped. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Anna crossed over from the Settlement into her own, lawless world.
With a shout, Nathaniel launched himself toward her. He barreled down the street, his feet pounding against the stone.
