Date: 2016-06-15 08:39:55+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Fantasy; Paranormal; Science Fiction; Dystopia; Young Adult
Description: With a Talent like Mind Manipulation, Talia Lyons has always been able to talk her way out of any sticky situation. Not this time. This time Talia's impulsive nature has landed her on Vault, UNITED's prison island in the Isle of Exile. But when a new group called the Privileged threatens everyone she loves, Talia cannot sit idly by. Prison break, anyone?

Inescapable

Sophie Davis

Copyright © 2016 by Sophie Davis Books

Smashwords Edition

Talented (Talented Saga #1)

Caged (Talented Saga #2)

Hunted (Talented Saga #3)

Captivated (A Talented Novella)

Created (Talented Saga #4)

Exiled: Kenly’s Story (Talented Saga #5)

Unforgettable (Talented Saga #6)

Inescapable (Talented Saga #7)

Undeniable (Talented Saga #8)…Coming Soon

Pawn (Nightmares Trilogy #1)

Sacrifice (Nightmares Trilogy #2)…Coming Soon

Checkmate (Nightmares Trilogy #3)…Coming Soon

Fragile Façade (Blind Barriers Trilogy #1)

Platinum Prey (Blind Barriers Trilogy #2)

Vacant Voices (Blind Barriers Trilogy #3)…Coming Soon

The Syndicate (Timewaves Series #1)

Atlic (Timewaves Series #2)…Coming Soon

Prologue

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

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

About Sophie Davis

Isle of Exile

Four Days Before the Vote

“The United States can accommodate ten thousand of the refugees,” Ian Crane declared.

“Oh, is that all?” Amberly Azevedo, the Portuguese councilwoman, asked dryly. She arched her dark eyebrows. “I would think a country the size of yours could welcome more.”

The American representative to the UNITED council ignored Amberly’s snide remark, addressing the rest of the assembly instead. Delegates from each member country were gathered around an expansive conference table, either physically or via hologram, for the impromptu meeting.

“The combined effects of the battle against TOXIC and the introduction of Created talents have altered the political climate in my country. I’m sure all of you have seen a similar impact in your own,” Ian stated.

Several of the UNITED councilmembers nodded in agreement.

“The American people are wary of the Talented these days,” Ian continued. “The ‘norms’—a term that is gaining popularity—regard all Talented as a threat; they aren’t able to distinguish between natural-born Talents and the chaos-loving Created.

“Nonetheless, our government still intends to treat the Talented favorably, just as we always have. They will be granted the same rights and privileges as every other American citizen, regardless of the Joint Nations’ decision on the Coexistence Treaty.” Ian’s gaze landed on Amberly. “That being said, there is simply not room or funding for more than ten thousand refugees.”

“That number is very generous, Ian,” Victoria Walburton said firmly. The head of the UNITED council eyed Amberly contemptuously. The two women had been at odds since the meeting started, and Victoria was certain that the animosity would escalate before the session concluded.

Turning to the German representative, Victoria posed the same question she had to Ian Crane. “Councilman Neumann, how many refugees can your country accommodate?”

The man tented his short holographic fingers and stared back at Victoria from beneath caterpillar-like eyebrows. “The German government feels this talk of refugees is premature,” he replied, carefully avoiding the question.

Victoria sighed, masking her irritation with a thin-lipped smile.

“That is not what I asked, Alois,” she said calmly. “UNITED needs to prepare for the worst-case scenario, no matter how remote the possibility may seem. If the Coexistence Treaty is not upheld, UNITED is facing the very real issue of where to house nearly one hundred thousand Talented citizens.”

“Honestly Victoria, how likely is it that the Joint Nations will vote against the treaty?” inquired Councilwoman Charlene Prinsloo, the South African representative. “It is my understanding that they willingly approved UNITED’s petition to delay the vote by thirty days, granting us the additional time to campaign for the treaty’s renewal in the wake of the Created. Many of the Joint Nations’ delegates have also publically supported our efforts. They have regularly attended peace rallies. Several even held formal gatherings in their home territories to dispel the people’s fears. Those are not the actions of adversaries, but rather allies. I am inclined to agree with Alois—the discussion of housing refugees is inappropriate at this juncture. The Joint Nations has always passed the Coexistence Treaty. Do you really think it will be so different this time?”

“The odds of failure are slim…” Victoria started reluctantly. There was no point in lying; the council had the same data that she did. “But I—”

“I believe you mean that the odds of failure are negligible,” interjected the Russian representative, a middle-aged man named Alexi Astakhov. “The current data calculates to only a fourteen percent chance that it will not be renewed. That is significantly more promising than the initial figure of,” Alexi consulted his communicator, “a seventy-seven percent likelihood of failure.”

It was true that the odds of success had increased, due to both never-ending peace rallies and the capture and containment of several hundred Created. But Victoria couldn’t forget the feeling of terror that had overcome her when she’d read the preliminary numbers almost thirty days ago. They’d had less than a one-in-four chance of preventing total exile of all Talented from the countries represented by the Joint Nations. In no uncertain terms, it would be utterly devastating to their race if the treaty was not renewed; their fight for acceptance would become an all-out war for survival.

“I would hardly call fourteen percent ‘negligible,’” a soft male voice spoke up. “That figure is three times higher than the data from any of the previous voting years. UNITED does have cause for concern, and devising a plan to protect our brethren is never a waste of time. After all, is it not our duty to serve and protect the Talented citizens of the world? I cannot recall a time when they have needed us more.”

Victoria spared a grateful glance at the speaker, Councilman Michael Tanaka. Though quiet and reserved, the Japanese representative had a commanding presence. Michael was the most sensible of her colleagues, and Victoria was thankful for his support.

“Well said, Michael,” Ian replied approvingly.

Several of the other councilmembers nodded in agreement, though not everyone was done arguing.

“But isn’t it likely that the odds of success will continue to grow? Just as they have done every day for the last month?” Alexi asked, undeterred by Michael’s statements. Again, the Russian councilman consulted his communicator. “Agent Erikson Kelley has made impressive strides towards counteracting the unrest caused by the rogue Created. Public opinion has quadrupled over the last month. And, judging by their actions, a majority of the Joint Nations’ delegates appear to be in favor of renewal. So why convene the council now? What are you not telling us?” Alexi’s dark eyes studied Victoria intently, as though searching for signs of deception.

Praying for the patience to make it through the meeting without mauling one of her colleagues, Victoria clasped her hands tightly. Being a Morpher, when her claws came out, there was nothing metaphoric about it. Victoria offered Councilman Astakhov a cold smile.

“I have told you all I know about the treaty vote, Alexi,” she said firmly. “I convened the council because, as Michael said, it is our duty to serve and protect the Talented. Part of that duty is to anticipate potential issues and devise solutions before a minor concern becomes an epic crisis.

“Yes, the treaty is likely to pass as of this moment,” Victoria continued evenly, once again addressing the entire table. “But even if that is to happen, even if the outcome that we are all hoping for and working towards comes to fruition, the terms and conditions of the treaty might be altered or appended. The Joint Nations may decide to downgrade the few rights and privileges we’re explicitly granted, to appease the very vocal factions who want our kind to be exiled entirely. Many of the countries that choose not to have a delegate on this council will jump at the opportunity to lawfully treat Talents like rubbish. Even if the treaty passes, thousands of Talented may still be displaced. Shouldn’t we prepare for every scenario?”

The Russian delegate audibly scoffed at Victoria’s words.

“Or they could choose to elevate our status to equal citizens in all member nations, as this council has asked for them to do,” Alexi argued. “If the Joint Nations’ representatives are truly our allies, as Charlene purports, I believe there is a good chance that this vote will finally grant us totally equality.”

“Of course total equality is the outcome UNITED is hoping for,” Victoria countered, annoyed by Alexi’s need to constantly undermine her. She raked her icy gaze over the Russian councilman. “But need I remind you that this council has proposed those exact same amendments every year the treaty renewal is up for a vote? Never once has the Joint Nations seriously considered upgrading our status. I do not hold my breath that this year, of all years, will be the one to turn our dreams into reality.”

Every second that passed without accomplishing anything was a moment they didn’t have to waste, and Victoria’s frustration was mounting. She couldn’t believe that Alexi was stubbornly holding up the meeting for the sake of being argumentative; the odds of total exile were statistically higher than the odds of total equality, so it was simply illogical to plan for the latter while ignoring the former.

It wasn’t that Victoria didn’t understand the reticence of the council to spend time planning for a worst-case scenario. In fact, she was painfully aware of the pressing matters that vied for their attention in these final critical days. What irritated Victoria was that many of the delegates, like Alexi, were choosing to hide their heads in the sand, skating along on optimism and hope. Ignoring reality was a luxury they simply could not afford.

Victoria had reached the end of her patience. She rose slowly to her feet, placing her palms flat against the glass table and staring daggers at Alexi Astakhov. Then Victoria panned the rest of the conference table, holding each set of eyes for several heartbeats before continuing.

“As head of this council, I do not need to justify my actions. Whether you agree or disagree with the purpose of this meeting is of no consequence. My authority here is not a power that I take lightly, but I will use it to uphold the oath we took to protect the Talented. We are all here, and the sooner we get the numbers settled, the sooner we can move on to other matters.” Victoria smoothed nonexistent wrinkles in her tailored jacket and eased back down into her chair. “Now, I ask you again, Councilman Neumann, how many Talented will Germany welcome? Do you have accommodations prepared?”

Alois Neumann bristled. “There is an old football stadium in Leipzig that is no longer in use. It is scheduled for demolition early next year, but I suppose we can delay that event, if need be. I believe that the capacity would be approximately eight hundred people. We will erect temporary encampments in the stadium until we are able to secure more permanent housing.”

Victoria entered the figure into the data-tracking program on her communicator, and then turned to Charlene.

“Councilwoman Prinsloo? Do you have a figure for South Africa? Where will refugees be housed?”

“The Naidoo Wildlife Reserve for Exotic and Endangered Animals is a privately owned and operated preservation center outside of Pretoria that has offered sanctuary to displaced Talents in the past,” Charlene began. “The current head of operations is Talented, so I do believe she would be amenable to repeating the goodwill gesture. I will confirm this with her when we are finished here. They previously took in nearly two thousand refugees during the last civil uprising in Botswana. It is safe to assume their capacity would be the same now.”

“Does the South African government have public facilities available to house refugees?” Victoria pressed. South Africa had always been a Talent-friendly nation, so Victoria found their government’s reluctance to offer assistance odd.

“At most, we can provide for an additional five hundred Talented,” Charlene replied, emphasizing the last word.

It was a problem Victoria had anticipated. While every country with a representative on the UNITED council would open their doors to the Talented, some would not extend the same courtesy to the Created. In general, that was fine, since UNITED planned to keep the majority of the Created in containment on the Isle of Exile until they were able to “cure” them by reversing the effects of the creation drug. But space was a limited commodity on the islands, and Victoria had hoped that a few other countries would set up containment facilities of their own. At least she could count on the U.S. in that respect. Ian Crane had several notable doctors and scientists on his payroll who were already working diligently to develop a reversal drug. They would likely welcome Created, if for no other reason than to have more test subjects for their research.

“That brings South Africa’s total to twenty-five hundred Talented,” Victoria confirmed, entering the number. Charlene opened her mouth to speak, but Victoria cut her off. “I understand; no Created will be sent to you.”

Councilwoman Prinsloo nodded, satisfied, and Victoria moved on to the Frenchman sitting on Charlene’s right. Barbar Belaire held up three fingers.

“France will take three thousand. We are still deciding on the best location for a temporary camp. Depending on our selection, it may be possible for my country to accommodate more. I will know definitively by tomorrow,” Barbar said, his tone all business.

“Thank you, Barbar,” Victoria replied gratefully, her attention already moving on to the next council member.

As she continued around the table, it pleased Victoria to learn that an overwhelming majority of the council members already had concrete plans in place for the possibility of mass relocation. The Japanese government was not only graciously accepting three thousand people, but their soldiers were primed to provide military escorts for each of the refugees from their current locations, ensuring the safe travels of their new citizens.

Switzerland was also preparing for the possibility of failure, and had spent the past thirty days repairing homes and restoring facilities in the deserted town of Interlaken. The two thousand refugees that could be accommodated there would be more fortunate than others; they’d be living a world away from persecution in their own town of Talents, nestled among the beautiful Swiss Alps.

It took just over an hour—much longer than anticipated—for Victoria to collect the necessary information from each council member. As she weighed the numbers with a sinking heart, Michael Tanka spoke up.

“It appears we are lacking accommodations for twenty-five thousand Talents,” the Japanese councilman said quietly, his higher reasoning ability having calculated the figures as quickly as her communicator. “However, we have yet to factor in any available space on the islands.”

All eyes turned to Victoria. Though the capacity of the Isle should have been the council’s first talking point, she’d purposefully held off. Victoria had been hoping to avoid the discussion that the totals now necessitated.

“The Isle of Exile has space for fifteen thousand refugees,” Victoria said, directing her response to Michael. “That figure includes the new accommodations on the uninhabited islands, Hope and Newhaven, as well as the tent encampments we voted to erect at the last meeting.”

“Oh, the Isle has room for more than that,” Amberly interjected knowingly.

And so it begins, Victoria thought. This was the moment she’d been dreading since Amberly first presented Proposition 2690—the Portuguese councilwoman’s solution to the shortage of refugee housing options.

Victoria schooled her expression into a blank mask, steeling herself for the argument looming on the horizon.

“Or, rather, the Isle can make room for more,” Amberly baited.

Curious mutterings rippled around the conference table. Instead of elaborating, Amberly looked to the head of the table and smiled thinly at Victoria.

Resigned to being the messenger—the messenger that at least half of the council would undoubtedly want to shoot after reading Proposition 2690—Victoria tapped a sequence of keys on the tabletop comm system.

“Councilwoman Azevedo has made a formal proposition that she wishes to put before the council,” Victoria began. “I have just sent a copy to each of your communicators. Take a moment to read through the document, and then we will discuss.”

Victoria knew the precise instant that the fastest readers at the table finished wading through the boilerplate legalese at the beginning of the proposal and reached the merits of Amberly’s scheme; the moment was marked with shocked gasps, indignant scoffs, and Michael uttering a quiet prayer in Japanese.

Sensing that the time had come to plead her case, Amberly stood, effectively drawing the council’s undivided attention.

“As you all are aware, UNITED devotes an entire island of the Isle of Exile to housing criminals—Vault,” she began. “Currently, there are forty-five hundred detainees on Vault. Each and every one of these Talents was found guilty of breaking our laws. Even with all of us welcoming as many refugees as our countries can accommodate, there are roughly ten thousand that we do not have places for. Those ten thousand are innocent men, women, and children. By downsizing Vault’s population, we can provide homes for almost half of those guiltless Talents.”

The room was so quiet in the wake of her words; it was as though a vacuum had sucked all of the sound out of it. Though some of the council members’ feelings about Amberly’s words were evident on their faces, others were impossible for Victoria to get a read on. The fact she couldn’t tell what many were thinking was unnerving.

If only my pesky little manipulator was here, Victoria thought, then nearly laughed at the irony. Because Talia Lyons was one of the prisoners in question. She was on Level Five of Vault.

The councilwoman from South Africa was the first to break the silence.

“By this term, ‘downsizing,’ we are to understand that you are advocating for the execution of all prisoners?” Charlene asked, shaking her head incredulously. “Surely you are not serious about this, Amberly. We cannot even consider such an extreme measure.”

“I am quite serious,” Amberly replied calmly. “Executing convicted criminals—some of whom are exceptionally dangerous—to make room for innocent citizens is not extreme at all. It is the logical resolution to our problem. The only resolution.”

“Victoria,” Barbar implored, an apprehensive glint in his eyes. “I do appreciate UNITED’s desire to have a plan in place. Pledging accommodations for the refugees in our home territories makes sense. This, however,” he gestured dismissively to the proposal on his comm screen, “is not a decision the council needs to make today. If the vote goes against the Talented, then we can revisit Councilwoman Azevedo’s proposition. But certainly not before then. This is far too radical to decide on without definitive cause.”

“The vote is in only four days,” Amberly snapped irritably. “When might we have time to discuss this again?”

“The treaty allows a three-day grace period for those with abilities to relocate,” Barbar countered. “If the need arises, we can vote on whether to execute the prisoners during that window of time.”

Though she’d been reticent to speak up, wanting to instead gauge the council’s attitude towards Amberly’s proposition, Victoria knew she needed to interject before they launched into another pointless debate.

“Should the treaty fail to pass, UNITED needs to announce the names of the lottery winners immediately,” Victoria interceded. “The full list of names. We will then need to organize the relocations and provide travel accommodations without delay. In this scenario—and I pray we don’t live to see such horrific circumstances—UNITED’s resources will be stretched extremely thin. This council will not have the luxury of debating Proposition 2690 at that time; we will all be tremendously occupied with the fallout and keeping the peace. Executing over four thousand people would also require time for preparations—it is not as if they will instantaneously disappear. Therefore, as much as it pains me to even consider such drastic measures, the council does need to reach a decision on this today.”

An eerie silence fell over the room. Every pair of eyes, save one, returned to the proposition document, reading it again with more attention to the details. Amberly’s gaze was focused intently on Victoria, her arrogant smile tugging the corners of her mouth upwards.

She’s enjoying this, Victoria thought, swallowing her disgust before it showed on her face.

“Is there not another solution?” Michael finally asked. “Perhaps we could house more Talents on the residential islands? The suites are quite large; couldn’t we put more people in each of them, beyond the standard capacity?”

Several council members quickly chimed in with their approval.

“I agree with Michael, Madame Chair—there simply must be other options on the Isle,” the Columbian delegate spoke up. “These refugees don’t need every creature comfort, they will be grateful for a place to lay their head and a warm meal. This is simply an interim solution of course, but it is far preferable to the alternative.”

Victoria smiled sadly. “Housing more Talents than the standard capacity of our residential floors has already been accounted for in the numbers. The cryptos used a myriad of factors to calculate the number of available spots on the Isle of Exile, including your proposed solution. Essentially, no one will have his or her own bedroom, let alone an entire apartment. Myself included. The islands will truly be at maximum capacity with another fifteen thousand citizens.”

Michael shook his head grimly. “I see.”

“Then let us vote on Proposition 2690,” Amberly said loudly. Her smoky gaze made a quick trip around the conference table, conviction emanating from her like a particularly pungent perfume. “It will reduce the number of those homeless innocents to just over four thousand.”

“I do not believe we have finished discussion of this matter, Councilwoman Azevedo,” Michael said.

“All this council does is talk. It is time we take action!” Alexi snapped, pounding his meaty fist on the table in front of him. The gesture lacked the punch it otherwise might have packed, since he was present only in holographic form. “I second the motion.”

Charlene shook her head. “We cannot make a decision of this magnitude rashly. You are asking this council to sanction the deaths of over four thousand people—”

“Criminals. They are convicted criminals, Charlene,” Amberly interrupted.

“Be that as it may, they are people. I, for one, am not comfortable authorizing their executions until we have discussed all other possibilities,” Charlene fired back, quickly becoming as annoyed as Amberly. “Surely all five thousand of those people aren’t violent offenders. All five thousand do not deserve to die for their mistakes.”

“Further discussion is pointless, a waste of our valuable time,” Alois Neumann interjected, waving his hand in the air dismissively. “In four days, the Joint Nations will vote in favor of renewing the Coexistence Treaty, just as they have done many times before. Failure might have been a concern a month ago, but our offensive actions have successfully combated the damage inflicted by the Created.”

“What is your point, Alois?” Ian demanded, drumming his fingers irritably on the table.

“That our decision will not matter,” Alois replied simply, as though the answer was obvious. “That more talking will do nothing but cause arguments between us. The minutes for these meetings are classified, so no one outside of this room will ever even know we considered executing prisoners. Let us vote now, and then we can all go about our daily business. Amberly has made a motion, Alexi has seconded it; the formalities are complete. Madame Councilwoman, will you kindly call for the vote?”

Victoria rubbed her temples wearily. Tempers were running hot, and patience was running short. The meeting had already taken up more time in Victoria’s day than she had to spare. Still, she did not think a vote was a good idea quite yet. Because Alois was wrong. The council’s decision on whether or not to execute the prisoners did matter. There was a fourteen percent chance that it would matter a great deal.

“What other alternatives, Michael?” Amberly demanded. “Where, besides Vault, can we place that many refugees? We are not magicians. We cannot conjure a new island overnight.” Amberly threw her arms up dramatically. “To me, it is simple: Innocents versus criminals. There is not room for both.”

“Not all of their crimes are severe,” Michael pointed out.

“And the refugees haven’t committed any crimes at all,” Amberly countered, smoky gray eyes flashing dangerously.

“What about only executing the dangerous prisoners, those with talents capable of causing grave harm?” Charlene asked, directing her question towards Victoria. “How many additional refugees would we be able to take if we limit the proposed action to those on Levels Four and Five?”

“Twenty-eight hundred,” Victoria rattled off the number from memory.

“That number is paltry compared to the five thousand spaces for innocents that would be freed up by executing all of the prisoners,” Amberly snapped, her accent thickening with every increment of anger. “Innocents. In the eyes of the law, and of each of your government’s justice workers, they have committed no crimes and broken no laws. The nearly five thousand refugees we’re discussing are decent, hardworking individuals. They do not deserve to be left to intolerant jackals like the Poachers, not to mention the hate groups who will be out in droves for Talented blood. Honestly Charlene, can you sit there and say that convicted criminals have more of a right to clothing, food, shelter, and safety? Because, to me, your hesitancy on this issue says you do place more value on our prisoners’ lives than those of the refugees.”

Amberly leaned forward and stared unflinchingly around the long, oval table, meeting each set of eyes in turn.

Crane trained his midnight eyes on Victoria’s gold ones, his lips pursed in a grim expression. Victoria knew they were thinking the same thing: Amberly’s passionate arguments and careful word choice were helping many of the council members overcome their moral dilemmas.

The problem was, for the very first time in her life, Victoria Walburton did not know what the “right” decision was. She herself was uncertain. Though she’d made countless tough calls throughout her tenure as head of the UNITED council, Victoria had never once looked back and regretted those decisions. This time, Victoria knew she would regret whatever action UNITED took. Protecting some Talented came at the expense of destroying others. It was a no-win scenario.

“These are dark days for this organization, for the Talented, for the norms, and for the world as a whole,” Crane was saying. “The Joint Nations are about to vote on whether to banish an entire race of people. Now, you, Councilwoman Azevedo, are asking us, the very people tasked with protecting that race, to vote on k—”

Amberly leapt to her feet. “I am asking this council to vote to save innocent lives!” she roared. The claws literally came out, sprouting from Amberly’s nail beds with violent force. She raked them down the table, leaving deep groves in the wood. The Portuguese councilwoman turned the full force of her wrath on Ian Crane. Almond-shaped eyes narrowed to slits, glowing yellow irises peeking out from between heavily shadowed lids.

“You are too sentimental, my dear Ian.” Amberly’s voice was low and throaty. “It all comes down to one person for you, one criminal. You have no care for any of the other prisoners on Vault. You care only about the fate of one extremely dangerous little girl.”

The room fell silent on the heels of Amberly’s accusation. Several of the council members looked at Crane inquiringly, genuinely curious if he planned to vote against Proposition 2690 solely to protect a single person.

“Do you deny it?” Amberly charged. “Can you honestly say that you care what happens to anyone else on Vault?”

“Yes,” Crane replied evenly, refusing to rise to Amberly’s rage. “I agree with Councilman Tanaka. There is a wide range of laws in our society—from insubordination to assault, from simple theft to murder. Most of the prisoners committed relatively minor infractions, with very few convicted of violent offenses. All have been tried and sentenced justly. Now you want to just vacate the terms of those sentences? In favor of death sentences for all?”

“Natalia Lyons is a highly skilled assassin, capable of manipulating others to suit her own desires and killing with no remorse. When you combine those abilities with the crime of insubordination, it adds up to one of the most dangerous prisoners on Vault. That girl does not deserve your compassion or this council’s leniency,” Amberly bellowed. She slammed her palms on the table and leaned forward, whiskers erupting near the corners of her mouth like a bad case of teenage acne.

“Natalia Lyons has no bearing on this discussion,” Michael interjected. “This is not to be—”

“Natalia Lyons has every bearing on this decision if that is the only reason Ian is refusing to see logic,” Amberly fired back.

“Perhaps we are considering this too starkly in shades of black and white,” Charlene pointed out, striving for diplomacy despite the tigress sitting beside her. “Perhaps we should review each prisoner’s file, and make our decisions on a case-by-case basis.”

“There is not time to dissect five thousand prisoner files, it’s all or nothing.” Amberly hissed at Charlene before turning her ire back on Crane. “That girl has caused us too many problems already. You started a war for her, Ian. You dragged UNITED into that war. I will not let her influence another decision we make.”

“Now, Amberly,” Michael began pleadingly. “That is not fair. TOXIC needed to be dealt with, we all knew that. Ian and Agent Lyons merely provided us with cause to take action. And the means to do so, if you recall.”

“Enough!” Victoria declared, as she stood, unable to remain complacent for another moment. The situation was deteriorating before her eyes. If allowed to continue, Amberly was going to morph into a very corporeal lioness and attack Crane’s virtual image. “I had hoped we could all remain professionals as we face the most real threat to our existence we have ever known, but I will not sit idly by while you turn on each other. As Ian said, these are dark times for our kind. The decision we make here, today,” she punctuated the words with a finger jab to the table, cracking her last unbroken nail, “will follow this council for the rest of time. There is no ‘right’ choice. There is no ‘wrong’ choice. But we do have to make a choice.”

Starting with Amberly, Victoria met and held each council member’s eyes for several beats. She could not force them to vote one way or another, but she could make damned sure that they took pause before casting that vote.

“Councilwoman Azevedo has made a motion that we vote on Proposition 2690. Councilman Astakhov has seconded that motion. Are there any objections? Any need for further discussion of the proposition laid before this council?”

No one spoke, but several people shook their heads.

“Very well. In accordance with UNITED protocols, I, Victoria Walburton, head of the UNITED council, formally commence voting on Proposition 2690, put forth by Councilwoman Amberly Azevedo of Portugal. This proposition falls under our Imminent Threat protocols, therefore no council member may abstain from voting. Councilwoman Charlene Prinsloo of South Africa has proposed amending 2690 to provide for the executions of only Level Four and Level Five prisoners incarcerated on Vault, as opposed to the totality of the prison population. As head of the council, I hereby rule to include the amended version of 2690 as an alternative to a yay or nay vote on the proposition.”

Victoria paused to gauge the council members’ reactions to her last statement. Including the alternative option was a spur of the moment decision, but she thought the addition important, and possibly the best compromise.

“This will be an open vote,” Victoria continued calmly. “When I call your name, you will have three options: ‘yay’, indicating a vote for 2690 in its original incarnation; ‘nay’, indicating a vote against the entire proposition; or ‘amended’, indicating a vote in favor of Councilwoman Prinsloo’s addendums. Once again, abstention is not an option. Neither is elaboration. The time for discussion has concluded. Am I clear?” The UNITED council members nodded in unison. “Good. Councilwoman Amberly Azevedo, your vote, if you please?”

Unsurprisingly, Amberly voted in the affirmative.

From there, Victoria posed the same question to each of the remaining nineteen members of the council.

“Four votes in favor of passing the original proposal, eight votes in favor of passing 2690 with the amendments, and eight against the proposition altogether,” Victoria declared when she finished tabulating the votes.

“I suppose that means the decision is yours, Madame Councilwoman,” Michael Tanaka said quietly, his tone reverent.

As head of the UNITED council, Victoria only cast a vote when there was a tie.

In a way, it seemed as though her years in politics and her upbringing in an old, aristocratic family had all been practice for this very moment, for this very critical decision. Nothing she had done up until this point in her life or career, and nothing she would do afterwards, would be as heavily scrutinized and debated. She did not care whether people thought her weak or cruel. All that mattered in her mind was that she could live with her choice.

Victoria took a deep breath, filling the hollow space inside of her with tense air.

“Amended,” she said quietly. “We will execute those on Levels Four and Five.”

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Four Days Before the Vote

“You are not focusing! Concentration is key! Again!” the woman’s disembodied voice snapped, her cold tone echoing in the small, sterile room.

Cressa Karmine’s hands trembled and she swayed on her feet. She was so tired. So painfully tired. If they would only let her rest, just lie down for a few minutes, she knew she could do better. She didn’t know how long she’d been inside the exam room—hours, if her level of fatigue was any indication. Using her abilities was exhausting, more strenuous on her muscles than any rigorous physical activity like running, rock climbing, or mountain biking.

“A-gain,” the voice repeated, carefully enunciating the single word as if Cressa was hard of hearing, or maybe just too dense to understand the command.

Cressa fought to keep her expression neutral, a simple act that was becoming increasingly harder the more time that passed. But she had to keep it together, had to make sure that the Dame knew she could handle this.

Though Cressa had yet to see the woman behind the Privileged, she knew for a fact that Dame de Glace was all-seeing. The wall panels, the ceiling tiles, even the floorboards were her eyes and ears; the Dame was always watching, always spying, always aware of everything that happened inside the Institut pour les Privilegies.

Sometimes Cressa believed the Dame’s powers went a step further; the woman knew things that went beyond the realm of possibility. It was as if she saw into the minds of her students and knew their innermost thoughts, their deepest desires, and their greatest fears.

Which was precisely the truth, of course. The Dame possessed many gifts, even more than those Cressa would eventually acquire, and telepathy and mind control were a given.

The thought made Cressa shiver. How was it possible that someone she’d never even seen had such power over her? Had such power over everyone?

Closing her eyes, Cressa pushed the thoughts of the Dame from her mind, inhaled deeply, and flexed her long, slender fingers.

You can do this, she thought. You must do this.

And that was the truth of it. To advance to the next phase, 2P, Cressa had to complete this one simple task. Failure was not an option; those who failed to advance were released.

Her fatigued muscles gave another involuntary shudder. She fought the wave of terror threatening to overtake her. She had been chosen for this. She deserved this. She would prove herself worthy.

“Envision the switch. Imagine the switch moving. Flip the switch,” a voice that was not Cressa’s chanted inside of her head. The voice that day was male, young, and brimming with uncertainty. Cressa did not feel the rush of calm reassurance that had accompanied the mental commands during her previous tests. Nor did she feel the undercurrent of encouragement that this time, this time, she would be able to perform her simple task. Instead, she found the voice distracting and more than a little annoying. She wanted him, whomever he was, to go the hell away and let her concentrate.

“Envision the switch. Imagine the switch moving. Flip the switch,” the boy repeated unsteadily.

Cressa tried to block him out, but the more resistance she put up, the harder he pushed.

“Envision the switch. Imagine the switch moving. Flip the switch.”

Cold sweat beaded along Cressa’s hairline and trickled down her spine to pool at the small of her back. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, as though she was running uphill at high altitude instead of standing perfectly still in a cool, damp room. The slight tremble in her hands spread like a virus, crawling up her arms and down her legs until her entire body shook with such force that she swore she heard her bones rattle.

Knees weak and legs quivering, Cressa groped blindly for something to lean on. She stumbled several steps to the right and her outstretched fingers jammed into a hard, smooth surface.

The wall, she thought with relief.

But the surface was too smooth, her palms too sweaty, and her hand slid down the length of it. Unable to support her weight any longer, Cressa’s knees buckled. She sank to the damp floor, defeated.

“Damn it, girl. All you have to do is turn on the fucking light! How hard is it to turn on the fucking light?” The voice inside her head was frantic, its owner panicked to the point of hysteria. His emotions leaked into Cressa. She absorbed his fear and dread like a dry sponge in a rainstorm.

Inexplicably, his fear invigorated Cressa. She became angry. No, not angry. Furious.

“Shut up!” Cressa thundered mentally.

Climbing first to one knee and then the other, she narrowed her gaze on her target, though the light switch by the door was invisible in the all-consuming darkness.

“Envision the switch. Imagine the switch moving. Flip the switch,” the boy repeated, every syllable oozing conviction that neither he nor Cressa truly felt.

“Screw you,” Cressa hissed. The words were raspy and pained, like a death rattle, when they slid past her cracked lips, yet they boomed in her mind as though spoken through a megaphone.

Fear lanced through Cressa’s chest, making her gasp audibly. Her legs threatened to give out again. And then, an epiphany. The fear she was experiencing was not her own. It belonged to the boy. He was the one terrified by the prospect of Cressa’s failure, because her ineptitude reflected badly on him.

Cressa was unsure how she knew the precise thoughts running through the boy’s head. In that moment, the how didn’t matter.

Forget about him. Focus on you, Cressa told herself, envisioning a large metal shield dropping down from the inside of her skull to protect her brain.

It worked. Cressa was no longer scared. She could do this. She knew it just as surely as she knew her own name.

Blinding white light exploded from every corner of the room. After being in the dark for so long, each ray that struck her corneas felt like salt in an open wound. Cressa didn’t dare blink. She’d waited too long for this, and she was going to savor each and every excruciating second.

The administrator’s voice returned through the room’s speakers, warmth infusing her every word where only coldness had been before.

“Well done, Cressa Karmine. Welcome to Phase Two, daughter.”

Talia

Vault, Isle of Exile

Four Days Before the Vote

My opponent’s right hook connected with my jawline, the force of her blow causing my head to snap backwards. For a woman nearly twice my age, Victoria Walburton packed one hell of a punch.

I dipped my chin to one side, wiping a thin smear of blood on the shoulder of a gray tee with INMATE emblazoned across the front.

“You hit like a girl, Madame Councilwoman,” I grunted, even as her next blow landed in my left side, directly on my bruised ribcage.

“You fight like a child in her first schoolyard tussle,” Victoria countered. “What’s next, Lyons? Are you going to pull my hair?”

The councilwoman aimed for my solar plexus, amber eyes betraying the maneuver a moment too soon.

I’ll show you a schoolyard tussle, I thought. Deflecting the incoming assault with a sharp, quick combo kick. One foot batted away her gloved hand, an instant before the other found a home in her impressive six-pack.

The air whooshed from Victoria’s lungs. She stumbled backwards several paces, shaking the hand I’d kicked.

“Point to you, Talia,” the older woman conceded, her British accent more pronounced than usual. “Nice shot.”

“Um, I think you mean two points,” I jabbed, grinning like a fool.

Bent at the waist, the ends of her auburn ponytail sticking to one sweaty cheek, Victoria rubbed a flowering red blossom on her abdomen—evidence that my kick, though barefoot, had done real damage.

My smile grew even wider, my cheeks aching from all the gloating I was doing. Well-deserved gloating, since it wasn’t every day that I scored such an impressive blow on my opponent. Our daily sparring matches had proved the councilwoman was more than a glad-handing politician; the woman was a formidable fighter and worthy adversary. Most days Victoria left me face down on the mats, gasping for air.

“Because you are losing so abysmally, I shall grant you two points,” Victoria relented. She eyed my expression critically. “Has no one ever told you that pride is a sin?”

“It’s not the worst one I’ve committed.”

My comment didn’t evoke even the tiniest hint of amusement. If anything, Victoria’s demeanor became more grim than usual. Come to think of it, in the hour we’d spent together that morning, the councilwoman had been remarkably grave, as though her mind was a million miles away. Only the bumps and bruises she gave me wiped the troubled expression from her thin lips, though it always returned.

As my curiosity got the best of me, I decided to ask her about it.

“What’s up? You seem bothered. I mean, more bothered than usual.”

Without warning, Victoria’s fist flew towards my face. I raised my hands at the last second and took the hit on my forearms. Victoria bounced on the balls of her feet, neatly dodging my retaliatory punches.

“In case you have forgotten, Talia—” she grunted as I landed a roundhouse kick to her shoulder, backing her into one corner of the exercise cube. Wheezing for breath, she continued, “The Joint Nations will vote on the Coexistence Treaty in four days. So yes, I’m more than a little bothered by the prospect of failure and our race being wiped out.”

Lashing out with one of her long legs, the councilwoman caught me behind the knees. Though my legs buckled from the blow, I instinctively kept my body from falling to the mats. Her golden irises flashed with alarm as a warning expression flit across Victoria’s otherwise stoic features. I hesitated, eyeing her skeptically. The councilwoman backed away, retreating farther towards the glass wall.

After leaning against it for a moment, Victoria straightened to her full height, nearly a head taller than my paltry five-foot-nothing. “Shall we say a draw for today?”

“A draw?” I scoffed, feigning incredulity. I put up my gloved hands and assumed a fighting stance. “You’re crazier than I am if you think that’s happening. A forfeit is the only way I’m letting you walk out of here without another round.”

“Technically, Talia, you suffer from poor judgment, not mental illness,” Victoria said dryly.

“Not yet.”

We blanched simultaneously, both hearing the unspoken words in our minds as though we shared the thought. In a way, that was sort of the case. The thought had been mine; one I found so troubling that I’d unintentionally projected it to Victoria.

Victoria leveled a disapproving glare on me, expression cold enough to freeze the sweat on my face. Her mental voice flashed in my head: “Careful, Talia. That makes twice in the last hour. You are getting sloppy.”

Twice?

Apparently I was still projecting my thoughts, because Victoria responded mentally.

“You should have fallen when I kicked you behind the knees,” she sent.

Realization dawned. Without even thinking, I’d used telekinesis to keep myself upright. Using my mental abilities to inadvertently project my thoughts to Victoria wasn’t so bad, since the always-watching eyes of Vault wouldn’t have noticed. But the use of telekinesis would be apparent to anyone watching closely.

Wow, I really was getting sloppy. My talents were supposed to be dormant while I was a prisoner. Using them at all, much less in a visible manner, was a huge faux pas. One that would cause a great deal of trouble for several of us, if it was discovered.

“Talia?” Victoria prompted aloud.

I sucked in air and plastered on a manic smile meant to disguise my unease.

“I’ll be more careful,” I sent, then quickly raised my mental shields.

“I mean, if you have more important things to do than relive your glory days down here with me, I guess we could continue this tomorrow or whenever,” I flippantly said aloud, unlacing my sparring gloves.

“Believe it or not, I do have other matters that require my attention.” Following my lead, Victoria began peeling off her gloves. “Which brings me to the purpose of my visit.”

My curiosity instantly piqued. Yes, I was that bored.

But Victoria didn’t usually have an agenda when she visited me on Vault, other than blowing off steam with a worthy opponent. Since I wasn’t permitted social visits on Level Five, Victoria’s presence at the prison was supposedly for official purposes only; the other councilmembers believed she spent time with me each morning to press me for information regarding the whereabouts of Kenly Baker. Except, Victoria hadn’t once asked me about my former mentee.

While there was a long list of crimes on my rap sheet, all of which contributed in one way or another to my arrest, my decision to let Kenly go free was ultimately the reason for my incarceration. Like so many of us from TOXIC, Kenly had been infected with the creation drug. According to protocol, once we’d rescued her from her captors, Kenly should’ve been contained for observation and eventual treatment to reverse the effects of the drug. But after all she’d gone through at the hands of the Poachers—an organization specializing in the capture and sale of Talents—I couldn’t stomach the thought of Kenly contained in a medical cube. She’d suffered enough.

So, I’d traded Kenly’s freedom for my own. At the time, I didn’t know that was the choice I was making. Nonetheless, even with the added advantage of hindsight, I didn’t regret letting her go instead of turning Kenly over to UNITED.

“Talia?” Victoria snapped again, looking slightly concerned by my prolonged silence.

I quirked an eyebrow. “The purpose of your visit? You mean you’re not here solely to amuse me? Prison life is so dull.”

She didn’t laugh.

“As we speak, Agent Kelley is en route to a peace rally in New York City.” Victoria’s tone was measured, though I detected the faintest trace of sympathy in her steely gaze. “Though he has one more scheduled appearance after this one, the night before the vote, the council has decided that it would be best for him to return to the islands until then.”

That got my attention. Victoria never shared news of Erik aloud. Even mentally, she rarely did more than assure me that he was okay. It took all of my willpower to keep my excitement visibly contained. But if Erik was returning to the Isle of Exile, I would finally be able to communicate with him.

While he was traveling around, acting as UNITED’s poster boy for the Created, he was out of the range that my mental abilities could reach. Erik’s own abilities were strong enough to reach me no matter his geographical location, but I’d blocked him from entering my headspace when I was first imprisoned.

Initially, I didn’t want him to see how bad Vault truly was; I didn’t want him to see the miserable conditions I was living in, day in and day out. Because I didn’t want Erik to feel guilty about my current predicament. Rescuing Anya, his ex-girlfriend, from the Poachers was one of several contributing factors to my incarceration, and Erik was the type to feel responsible, even when it came to my own rash actions.

Blocking him was a decision I regretted every day. By the time I was ready to swallow my pride and let him in—truly, when my loneliness and longing for him had overcome the fear of making him feel guilty—Erik had stopped reaching out, and I couldn’t reach him.

Thankfully, I would finally be able to when he was back on the islands. I missed Erik so much that it physically hurt. Hearing his voice inside my head would be like a soothing balm on my singed soul.

“I’m glad he’ll be back; Erik will be much safer on Eden,” I said to Victoria. With some effort, I’d managed to make my tone as calm and controlled as hers.

“I have petitioned the council on your behalf for a visitation exception,” she announced, surprising the hell out of me. Victoria’s level gaze never wavered as she studied me for a reaction.

“And?” I prompted, voice barely above a whisper. Hope was a luxury I no longer allowed myself. Disappointment too often followed.

“It was a battle. One that became rather ugly, if I am being honest,” Victoria continued. “However, because Agent Kelley is vital to this organization, his continued devotion to our cause is imperative. No one wants him unhappy, and we are all painfully aware that nothing would make him happier than seeing you.”

“So…” I ventured. “Is that a yes?”

Victoria’s smile was uncharacteristically warm. “It is.”

“Seriously?” I blurted the word before I could stop myself.

“Seriously,” she answered, the corners of her mouth quirking up even farther. “You have been granted one hour of supervised visitation tomorrow morning.” Victoria turned to the man standing silently on the other side of the bars of the exercise cell. “Agent Yocum will play chaperone.”

Agent Niccoli Yocum gave a small nod of affirmation. Though his body was angled slightly towards Victoria, my guard’s dark sunglasses—yes, he wore them inside—made it difficult to tell where he was actually looking.

“Unless, of course, you have an objection?” Victoria raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow in question.

“I don’t suppose a private visit is on the table?” I chanced.

“The only other option on the table is my supervision,” Victoria replied.

I waved a hand dismissively in Yocum’s direction. “I suppose he’ll do.”

The briefest of smirks flitted across his face at my words—a victory for me. One of my favorite pastimes on Vault—okay, my only one—was prompting my guard to break his stoic exterior, even if only momentarily.

As far as jailers went, Agent Yocum was actually much better than I’d expected. Since being sentenced to an indeterminate amount of time on Vault, I’d come to think of Nicci—he hated when I called him that, so naturally I did so as frequently as possible—as a kind-of-sort-of friend. Victoria had assigned him to me as a personal guard, tasking him with both my containment and my protection.

I might have been UNITED’s prisoner, but I was still quite valuable to them. Way too valuable to let something happen to me, whether from the guards or my fellow prisoners.

An alarm sounded. A pleasant mechanical voice came over the loud speaker.

“Meal One will be delivered in ten minutes. Thank you, and have a wonderful day.”

My eyes darted to Agent Yocum just as quickly as my mood plummeted.

“Time to go?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded once and withdrew handcuffs from his belt.

Even as I felt the weight of another twenty-three hours alone descending upon me, I returned my attention to Victoria. “Thank you.” The two simple words rolled off of my tongue with considerable effort.

“You are welcome.” Victoria’s expression softened. “I know we are out of time, but I wanted to let you know, I included Alexander McDonough in the visitation petition….”

Her words brought a soft glow of hope to the darkness that had overtaken me, though it didn’t last long.

“I am sorry, Talia,” Victoria said gently. “The council denied the request.”

I nodded dismally in response.

Alex was a spunky little boy with more power in his tiny child’s pinky finger than most Talents would ever experience. More than the Created, for that matter. Alex’s parents—Donavon, my ex-boyfriend, and Kandice, the girl he’d cheated on me with—were both gone, so the little guy was an orphan. Both had died violently at the hands of TOXIC—Kandice while protecting Alex, and Donavon while protecting me.

On her deathbed, I’d promised Kandice that her sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain, and that I’d make sure Alex was okay. I’d made Donavon a similar promise, to protect Alex at all costs.

Craptastic job you’re doing with the whole protection gig, I thought, surveying the small exercise cell with its walls of reinforced glass surrounded by steel bars. Epic fail, Tals.

My self-chastising thoughts and overwhelming guilt were apparently too strong to keep to myself, because Victoria’s stoic expression softened once more.

“Alex is well, I promise,” Victoria offered. “Earon Kelley is a wonderful guardian, and I have been overseeing his education personally.”

I rolled my eyes. “Education? He’s a toddler, Victoria. He doesn’t need education yet. He needs to be a kid.”

“He is a child with exceptional gifts, Talia. As you know, it is very rare for someone so young to exhibit such talent. His power ratings are unquantifiable. That sort of power needs to be honed, polished, and channeled correctly.” Victoria held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue. “I have no interest in exploiting a young child, Talia, I merely wish to provide some guidance. We do work some with his abilities, but his curriculum is focused on the arts right now. Despite Alex’s limitations, his artistic abilities are quite impressive already. I am sure you will agree once you have seen the pictures he has made you, I will be sure to send them along with Mr. Kelley tomorrow.”

“I already know they are,” I said, a note of pride creeping into my voice.

The “limitation” she was referring to was not at all uncommon for a Remote Viewer; Alex was born blind. Instead of traditional sight, he saw the world through visions that he then drew with an eerie precision that had always unnerved me.

“His new tutor, Sasha Zostov, was a special needs instructor at the Academy of the Gifted in Budapest,” Victoria continued. “Alex seems fond of her, and Earon is pleased with the arrangement.”

The slip was subtle. I might’ve missed it, had I not already been suspicious; she’d called Erik’s father by his first name. Not “Mr. Kelley.” Victoria had formality and etiquette rammed down her throat while growing up, and therefore did not refer to male acquaintances by their first names. But I’d caught her doing so several times lately with Mr. Kelley.

Erik is going to freak, I thought with a grin. For a brief moment, I considered dipping in to Victoria’s head for sordid details that I could use to torture him.

A warning flashed fast and fierce across Victoria’s sweaty face. My smile, as well as my desire to infiltrate Victoria’s thoughts for confirmation of my suspicions, withered and died a quick death. Two words blazed a path inside my head: “Do Not.”

I really needed to get a handle on my newfound problems with projecting. Solitude had made me careless.

“I look forward to meeting the tutor,” I said absently. “She sounds like a real catch.”

A delicate wrinkle formed between Victoria’s brows as she frowned. “Not only is Ms. Zostov a gifted Viewer, she is also fluent in six languages. She is well-respected and highly sought after, we are lucky to have her.”

Victoria sounded defensive, and I realized she’d misread my sincerity for sarcasm. It was an understandable mistake, since most of the comments that came out of my mouth these days were sarcastic, but I didn’t bother correcting her.

“Why did Zostov leave the Academy?” I asked. I was definitely curious about Alex’s new tutor, but I was also embarrassingly desperate to keep the councilwoman talking a little longer. Though Victoria and I had never seen eye-to-eye, and I wasn’t her favorite person, her company and conversation were far better than twiddling my thumbs in my cell over a piping hot plate of gruel.

Victoria’s frown deepened at my question. “Excuse me?”

“You said she’s highly sought-after, so why did she leave the Academy in Budapest?” I repeated.

“Oh, right.” Victoria sighed, absently rubbing the blossoming bruise on her stomach from my kick. “After news of the Created and the experiments done at the McDonough School became public, Hungary’s government voted to close all of the country’s gifted institutions. It was a highly controversial decision, since those schools were privately funded.”

“That sucks,” I said, feeling sad for Alex’s new tutor, her colleagues, and all the Talented kids who no longer had a safe space. The world was a crazy place at the moment.

“Even worse, the instructors were detained and interrogated by the Hungarian government, ostensibly to determine whether the same types of experiments were being performed in their schools.” Victoria’s lips thinned to show how distasteful she found the prospect. “The interrogation methods were not pleasant.”

“Psychic interrogation never is,” I agreed quietly.

It was a fact I knew all too well, having performed several psychic interrogations myself. The techniques were so risky that I’d utterly broken the brain of someone once.

“I am afraid the techniques employed were nothing quite so humane,” Victoria replied. “They used primal methods that are more likely to result in a confession made under extreme duress, rather than finding the actual truth of a situation.”

I cringed. Physical torture—the preferred interrogation method of bloodthirsty psychopaths.

“I’m sure she will be a great tutor for Alex,” I replied quietly, quickly steering our conversation away from unpleasantness.

Victoria’s gaze narrowed suspiciously.

“Seriously, I meant that,” I continued. “And thank you for doing it. He’s a very special child, and not just because he’s powerful. I care….” I had to clear my throat. “I care about him a lot. I know I—”

“I understand, Talia,” Victoria interrupted, saving me from the embarrassment that was pricking the corners of my eyes. “Earon and I are doing everything possible to make sure all of his needs are being met.”

“Thank you,” I repeated.

Outside the exercise cell, Agent Yocum rattled his cuffs. I sighed and nodded; playtime was over. When he waved me forward, I automatically slid my hands through the rectangular opening in the bars. Yocum snapped the cuffs around my wrists from the other side of the bars, and then unlocked the exercise cell. Taking my arm, he began to lead me towards cellblock five—home of the highly dangerous offenders.

“Talia?”

I paused but didn’t turn around. Even though I knew it was an absurd reaction, given everything else I’d experienced in my life, being handcuffed and shuffled around filled me with shame.

“Yes, Victoria?”

“I left some reading materials in your cell. I thought maybe we could discuss them on my next visit.”

Feeling both curious and suspicious, I did look over my shoulder this time.

“Like a book club meeting?” I asked.

Though I caught a fleeting glimpse of Victoria’s smile before she pulled a sweatshirt over her head, it was gone by the time she pulled the garment in to place. Brushing stray strands of auburn hair back from her face, the head of UNITED met my gaze.

“Not exactly.” Victoria paused, her expression becoming strained. “I believe, as I always have, that you are very valuable to UNITED. After your latest transgression, not all council members agree with me. If you want to see Alex, or to see Erik without a chaperone ever again, it is imperative that you prove my faith in you is not misplaced.”

Erik

New York City, New York

Four Days Before the Vote

“Smile, kid—that’s what they’re paying you for.”

Agent Miles DeSanto gave me a sidelong glance as he smoothly navigated the helicopter onto a landing pad at UNITED’s New York base.

I shifted in my seat, loosened the knot on my tie, played with my suit jacket, fastened and unfastened the buttons, basically did anything possible to keep my fingers busy. Smiling for the masses was getting old, and I was anxious to get the peace rally over with already.

Nonetheless, I turned to Miles, parted my lips, and gave him a toothy grin.

He chuckled. “Gonna have to do better than that, kid. ‘Cause that’s just creepy, you look like a maniac.

I feel like a maniac, I thought.

As UNITED’s poster child for the Created, I was supposed to show the world that we were harmless, friendly, and just like the norms. Except, I wasn’t harmless. And since the creation drug, I wasn’t all that amiable, either. All in all, I was nothing like the norms.

My created powers made me something different, something dangerous; a monster dressed up in a suit.

“You can do this, you’ve got this. It’s just like last time. Smile, shake hands, kiss babies. Make them love you.” Penny Crane put a hand on my shoulder as she flooded my mind with reassurances. Then, a calming wave washed over me, erasing my doubts and easing the tension in my muscles. Memories of Talia—easily the most amazing girl in the whole world—filled my head. On the beach in California, Talia wading in the waves as her chestnut curls framed her heart-shaped face. Festivis Day, with Talia dancing and singing in the streets of Washington, D.C. Waking up on Eden with Talia beside me each morning, watching her in those precious moments before her violet eyes opened.

The helicopter skids touched down on the landing strip, jostling me slightly in my seat and pulling me from the visions of Talia. Through the window, I glimpsed the gathered crowd of supporters and haters alike, already surging toward the front of the building where the aircraft had landed. Reality came crashing back with jarring force. It had been nearly one month since I’d last seen Talia in person, and our parting was not one of my happier memories.

Nor were the countless nights in random hotel rooms around the world when I’d tried contacting Talia using my mental abilities. Tried, and failed. Either the drugs on Vault made mental communication impossible, or my girlfriend had purposely blocked my attempts. Eventually, the anguish of being separated from Talia—particularly when I desperately needed her support—was too much to keep getting my hopes up, and I stopped trying to reach her.

Guilt made my chest tighten.

Yes, I needed Talia. But she needed me, too. Particularly now. Why had I stopped trying? Why had I given up so easily?

It doesn’t matter now. Tomorrow you will see her. Tomorrow you can apologize for being such a crappy boyfriend.

As a reward for my good behavior, and a bribe for an additional peace rally on the night before the vote, Victoria had moved heaven and earth to get me a visit with Talia. Though it would be a supervised meeting, I didn’t care. I just wanted to see her, to know that was she okay.

Finally setting my eyes on Talia—the real Talia, not some image I’d conjured in my head—would be enough to get me through until her release. Whenever that would be.

Penny’s hand was still resting on my shoulder, but her mind was no longer linked with mine, so she was unaware of the dark turn my thoughts had taken. Patting her hand, I sent a wave of gratitude her way. The small reprieve she’d given me was more helpful than she knew.

Over and over again throughout our diplomatic travels, Talia’s best friend had provided me with those calming waves that kept me moving forward. Though she was no substitute for Talia, Penny’s presence had proved to be a total lifesaver.

Miles turned to face me again, his dark eyes sympathetic and expression grim.

“Game time, buddy,” he said.

“Game time,” I echoed hollowly. With a deep breath, I steeled myself for the mayhem that was about to descend upon my handlers and me.

Just this one last time before seeing Talia, I reminded myself. You can handle this.

When I emerged from the helicopter, five UNITED agents converged on me like a swarm of bees surrounding their queen. The reason for the over-the-top security was twofold: to protect me from angry norms who would have preferred my head on a spike rather than my shoulders; and also to protect the norms from me, in the event I flipped my shit.

Brushing by the other agents, Miles appeared by my side. He nudged me in the ribs and gave me a knowing look. “Smile,” he hissed. “That’s your adoring public down there. After today, after you get through this, it’s back to the islands. Just keep that in mind for the next hour.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one they want to put in their pocket and take home like a souvenir, or the one they want to string up by his toes and flay alive,” I grumbled.

“Yeah, well, that’s why UNITED picked you, kid. For better or worse, you inspire people to do all sorts of crazy shit.”

After taking an elevator down to the lobby of the UNITED building, I plastered on the best smile I could muster, knowing full well that it didn’t reach my eyes. Nodding to indicate I was ready for the guards to open the doors, I slammed my mental barriers into place, effectively cutting off the flood of emotions from the crowds outside.

We began to make our way from the building to the stage in an adjacent plaza, my protection detail a synchronized unit that moved as one. A wide path had been roped off for us, but the surging crowd pushed in on the barriers from both sides, all straining to catch a closer look at me.

The throngs of people at the New York rally were no different from the crowds in Vienna, Bangkok, Rome, Alberta, Dubai, and numerous other cities around the world. People—norms, Talented, and even some ballsy Created—came out in droves to hear me speak. Me. Like I was a political candidate on the campaign trail.

Though I absolutely was not a politician, I was sort of campaigning, in a sense; I was soliciting votes on behalf of my people. The Coexistence Treaty was up for renewal, and it was my job to convince the norms that both the Talented and the Created were capable of safely continuing to live among them.

Though “Poster Child” captured my role, I’d been given an official, pedantic title, too: Diplomatic Relations Officer for the Expansion of Goodwill and Understanding. Needless to say, I didn’t use it very often. I couldn’t even go by a cool acronym, because DROEGU wasn’t a word in any language. I’d looked it up, just to be sure.

“We love you, Erikson!” a girl shouted from the crowd, grabbing my attention.

Erikson was my real first name, while Erik was a nickname I’d been using for as long I could remember. Now that I was so important—also famous, hot shit, or whatever other snide descriptor Miles offered up —Victoria insisted that I use my formal, given name in public. Even after almost a month, I wasn’t quite used to it.

I glanced in the direction the girl’s voice had come from, more out of habit than actual curiosity. Making eye contact with the people near me was a rookie move—it was much easier and friendlier to bustle past under the pretense of being busy or late, rather than dismiss or ignore the attendees—and I instantly regretted it.

A guy about my age in the front of the crowd held a digital sign as large as his wingspan. The words Marry me, Erikson alternated with Powerfuls Deserve Praise, Not Persecution in green and red flashing letters. When he saw me looking, the guy began jumping up and down and screaming my name as though I was a member of the latest pop music group. Even without the Australian national flag emblazoned on his t-shirt, I would have known his country of origin by his sign—“Powerfuls” was the Australian equivalent of “Talented.”

Declarations of love were, as I’d quickly learned, par for the course at these rallies. Girls and guys who knew nothing about me as a person suddenly announced that they loved me, wanted to marry me, and asked to have my little dark-haired, turquoise eyed babies. Yes, signs in the crowd actually requested impregnation. To say that the whole dog-and-pony show was overwhelming was putting it mildly.

“Just smile, kid,” Miles reminded me again as he followed my gaze toward the sea of gawkers.

His gifts didn’t include telepathy, and I wasn’t projecting my thoughts onto him; Miles just knew me that well. After spending eighteen hours together every day for the last month, he damn well should have.

“Demon spawn! God hates you! The bible doesn’t speak of your kind, you’re an abomination!”

This chant and others like it were staples, too. Religious extremists, anti-Talented organizations, and hate groups with no other agenda than hating on people dissimilar to themselves came out in droves to yell profanities and slurs. As if that weren’t bad enough, they also threw everything and anything they could get their hands on at me. Just yesterday, a rotted onion meant for me exploded on Miles instead. It had taken him three showers and two gallons of tomato juice to eradicate the smell.

“Let’s pick up the pace, Agent Kelley,” one of my bodyguards called, his eyes never straying from the people clamoring to get closer to me.

“Whatever you say, Dan the Man,” I responded.

His face betrayed no emotion, though I knew he hated when I called him that. It was sort of the point.

Miles elbowed me in the ribs again, and then spoke directly into my ear. Even then, he still needed to shout to be heard over the crowd. “It’s not their fault, kid. Cut them some slack.”

My subtle annoyance at being saddled with protection detail had turned into obvious resentment over time. I wasn’t a helpless child. I wasn’t a weak man. I was a trained assassin. A solider who’d been to war and survived unspeakable torture. Not one of my bodyguards could say the same. And yet, UNITED thought them more capable of protecting me than I was.

“I’ll make you deal, Miles,” I said. “When you stop calling me ‘kid,’ I’ll start addressing the goon squad by their real names.”

“Dan the Man it is,” Miles pronounced.

Ahead, the makeshift stage came into view. From a white awning, the flags of each member country of the Joint Nations flapped in the breeze. UNITED’s emblem was emblazed on a backdrop to the rear of the stage. Ten chairs sat to the right and left of the podium, with a place card on each seat cushion to indicate whose important ass was to sit there.

If the crowd lining the tarmac was impressive, the one in front of the stage was downright awe-inspiring. A sea of heads stretched as far as the eye could see in the enormous open space of Rockefeller Center. Signs and flags rose high above the throngs, showing off the bearer’s support for one organization or another.

When we’d covered about half the distance to the stage, steady movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I glanced to the right, and felt my mouth curve into a genuine smile. A small girl, roughly waist-high to those around her, had ducked under the rope barrier blocking off our walkway. I was the only one who’d noticed her so far, probably because she stayed just on my side of the rope, instead of straying too far into the no-fly zone.

When she turned her head from side to side to take in the spectacle before her, sunlight highlighted threads of pure gold in her chocolate ringlets. From where she scampered fifteen feet ahead of us, I could see her golden irises when they landed on me. Smooth, tanned skin dotted with a smattering of freckles covered a bone structure that was almost too perfect to be real. She raised one slender arm and waved, a smile as dazzling as any I’d ever seen lighting her face.

“I love you, Erik,” she called in a melodic voice that, against all odds, reached my ears.

Reflexively, I smiled and waved back.

Miles was the first of my entourage to follow my gaze. The others quickly joined him, each bodyguard dismissing the little girl as harmless the moment they saw her.

“I want to say hello,” I told no one in particular.

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” Dan the Man declared. “We should keep moving.”

Protocol strictly forbade interactions with the crowd, and Victoria had coached me on remaining polite, but distant. She was afraid a fanatic might assault me, either maliciously or sexually. I wasn’t as concerned with the haters; I was confident in my ability to hold my own in a fight. It was more the sexual advances that made me cautious—Talia was currently a model prisoner, but if she got word that someone made a move on me, she might well sink Vault to avenge my honor.

I smiled. At one time, her fierce jealousy, though not entirely her own fault, had been a point of contention in our relationship. Tamped down, it was actually pretty hot.

“She’s a kid. If he wants to ruffle her curls, let him.” Miles’s gruff voice pulled me from daydreams of my girlfriend.

My gaze refocused on the little girl, causing an almost comedic double take. Atop the shoulders of the small girl was not the cherubic face of the beautiful child I’d seen just moments before. This face was older—that of a teenager, at least. A wide-gauge ring with black dice on either end was threaded through her nose like a bull, each die showing one dot—snake eyes. Thick blue liner ringed her eyes, tails winging from the corners towards her temples and punctuated with rhinestones. The chocolate curls were still there, but spiky blue bangs hung low on her forehead.

Then I blinked, and the little angelic face was back.

“You’re losing it, dude,” I mumbled.

“Say something, kid?” Miles asked.

I cleared my throat. “Nah. Well, yes, I did.” I turned to the other agent. “Look, Dan, I know it’s against protocol, but like Miles said, she’s a harmless kid. Isn’t kissing babies part of my job?”

A hand settled on my shoulder. “I don’t know, Erik. We’re already behind schedule as it is,” Penny said.

I sensed the hesitancy in her voice. She cared about protocol as much as I did, which was not at all. I lowered my mental shields and reached out to her.

“What’s up?” I sent.

“I’m getting a weird vibe. I can’t really describe it.”

“From the kid?” I asked, wondering if Penny and I had experienced a shared delusional.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know. From that general area. Does that make sense?”

“Make a decision, kid,” Miles said. “I’m in charge here, and I’m making the call. You want a photop with some rugrat, go for it. Just make it quick. Like the girlie said, we’re already running late.”

Penny scoffed. Miles referred to her as “girlie” just as he always called me “kid.” She wasn’t a fan of the nickname.

“Let’s—” I started to say.

The child darted forward, her arms stretched wide as if preparing to hug the first person she encountered.

My security detail moved to meet her advance head-on, one cohesive unit of military force ready to pounce on a harmless child.

I rushed to put my body between the little girl and the swarm of UNITED agents. Quicker and more lithe than my counterparts, I reached her first. Kneeling down in front of her, I kept a reassuring smile firmly in place.

“Don’t mind them. They’re a bunch of baboons,” I told her.

My mind was still linked with Penny’s, and suddenly her emotions were pouring into me. Anxiety, confusion, fear.

The little girl beamed, though the gesture was somehow anything but adorable. She looked crazed. Those golden eyes flickered, the blue-rimmed lids and rhinestone facial adornments appearing for a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it instant.

“Are you Talented?” I asked her.

Her maniacal smile grew impossibly wider, the corners of her mouth now stretching inhumanly across her small face. The girl shook her head slowly.

“Erik, no!” Penny screeched inside my head, her panic flooding through my mind.

In an icy voice that sounded much too old for the small child I’d seen, the girl whispered her reply: “Privileged.”

Pain exploded inside my skull. And then, the world went black.

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Four Days Before the Vote

Two senior cadets, one male and one female, entered the testing room. They both wore navy pants and jackets with white piping that reminded Cressa of the dress uniforms worn by soldiers back home. Cressa recognized the pair from pictures she was shown during her introductory lesson on the Institute’s history and current hierarchical structure; the girl was Leslie Abbot, and the boy was Gregor Ivan. As the top 8Ps, Leslie and Gregor were being groomed as future leaders of the next generation of Privileged.

“Congratulations, Cressa Karmine.” Leslie spoke in perfect English that was laced with a slight accent, hinting to her Scandinavian roots. “By successfully using telekinesis, you have passed Phase One of the program. Your work in this area is not complete, however. During Phase Two, you will continue to hone your telekinetic abilities. Additionally, you will receive a new gift—the power of light manipulation. Madame Brink, the Phase Two instructor, will teach you how to use this ability and ensure adequate proficiency to pass your exam and progress to Phase Three. Do you understand?”

Still shaking from exertion, Cressa attempted a smile. Leslie did not return the gesture.

“Yes, ma’am, I understand,” Cressa stuttered, recalling the lecture on addressing all higher-ranked individuals, even cadets, as either “sir” or “ma’am.”

“Phase Two begins now,” Gregor declared, his first words since entering the room. The older boy’s voice was flat and emotionless, as though all the humanity had been bled out of him. “You will come with us.”

With that, the duo turned in unison and exited. On unsteady legs, Cressa hurried to catch up.

Outside the testing room, the hallway was barren and sterile, just as it had been when Cressa entered hours before. Neither Leslie nor Gregor spoke as they navigated the maze of corridors, the soft clicking of their shoes on the hard linoleum the only sound besides Cressa’s labored breathing.

A million questions for the senior cadets were on the tip of Cressa’s tongue, but she swallowed her curiosity. The instructor for Phase One, Madame Gillis, had been very clear about the fact that unsolicited inquires were not tolerated. At the Institute, information was earned, and parsed out on a need-to-know basis. As a cadet advanced through each of the eight Phases of the program, he or she learned a little more about the inner-workings of the Institute and the Dame’s vision for the Privileged.

Phase One cadets, or 1Ps, were told just enough to know that the Institute prided itself on secrecy and exclusivity. Rules and regulations were also stressed, with blind obedience and unwavering loyalty topping the very long list. Before she was given the telekinetic ability that marked her status as a 1P, Cressa had been required to memorize the extensive list of mandates.

This was not a control issue—at least, not entirely—but a safety precaution. The admissions process was extremely selective and only the very best candidates were awarded a spot. Nonetheless, many cadets never made it past Phase One, and very few completed the entire program. The Dame worried the failures may divulge the Institute’s secrets to those who opposed her vision. By keeping the cadets in the dark, the Dame was able to minimize that risk.

Even after being accepted, all Cressa’s parents had been able to tell her was that once she became Privileged, she would be special beyond compare. After completing the program, Cressa would be a leader in the new world order, and her family would be rewarded with the highest status in this utopian society. Though details were scarce, her mom and dad had eagerly accepted when the Institute contacted them to say they wanted Cressa, and her journey into the unknown had quickly begun.

Ahead of her, Leslie and Gregor stopped at the end of the hallway, where elevator doors sat open. Leslie tapped her foot impatiently as Cressa hurried to catch up to them. Despite her aching muscles, Cressa broke into a jog.

“Sorry,” she panted apologetically.

Leslie stared down her straight nose at Cressa, her silver eyes emotionless. With a wave of her hand, the 8P girl motioned Cressa through the open doors. Tentatively, Cressa stepped onto the elevator, Leslie and Gregor directly behind her.

There were no buttons inside the car, just a small screen for biometric scanning. Leslie did the honors, placing her hand flat against the smooth surface. There was a flash of blue light as the scanner inside the compartment read Leslie’s fingerprints, and then the elevator doors slid shut soundlessly.

“Cadet Leslie Abbot, 8P,” a mechanical voice announced.

“Medical bay,” Leslie Abbot replied, enunciating each syllable clearly.

Cressa’s stomach, still dangerously queasy, dropped to her feet even before the car began moving. She’d assumed Leslie and Gregor were taking her back to her dorm room to collect her limited belongings for relocation to the 2P floor. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.

Gregor’s terse words floated through Cressa’s mind: Phase Two begins now. Did that mean that Cressa was about to receive her next ability?

It must, Cressa decided. That was the only reason to take her to med bay at such a late hour. Routine blood tests and body scans could have waited until morning, particularly since the Institute preached the importance of proper sleep. Extensive research had shown that an individual’s abilities were strongest after exactly eight hours and fifteen minutes of rest, so the cadets were required to get just that—no more, no less.

The realization that she was minutes away from gaining another ability came with mixed emotions.

On the one hand, Cressa was positively giddy at the thought of manipulating light—the Phase Two ability. Once injected with the talent signature for it, she would be able to move the molecules in her body so quickly that she’d become invisible to the naked eye. That was, in a word, awesome.

But in order to receive her next ability, Cressa had to go through the transference procedure. Having experienced it once already, Cressa knew what was in store for her; it wasn’t pleasant.

“You have arrived at the medical bay,” the elevator’s mechanical voice proclaimed as the doors slid open, interrupting Cressa’s wandering thoughts. She felt another lurch in her gut, and sweat began beading along her hairline.

“This way.” Leslie exited the elevator and waved Cressa forward. “Hurry now, Dr. Masterson does not like to be kept waiting.”

Cressa’s heart actually skipped a beat at the mention of the formidable doctor.

Definitely not a checkup, she thought despondently. Dr. Masterson was head of the Institute’s medical division, and therefore too important to perform routine evaluations.

Ahead of her, Leslie and Gregor walked in perfect unison, their steps synced as though they’d practiced marching side-by-side. Cressa lagged behind, her feet feeling leaden.

“I have Cressa Karmine for Dr. Masterson,” Leslie told the redhead behind the frosted glass desk of the med bay’s intake booth.

The young tech tapped the screen in front of her. “Karmine is here for her Phase Two injection, is that correct?”

Leslie nodded in confirmation.

“Proceed to cubicle five. The doctor will meet you there,” the redhead replied.

She pressed a green button on the right side of her desk, and a set of double doors beneath the Medical Bay sign opened. Leslie and Gregor positioned themselves on either side of Cressa, herding her through the entrance. Though neither 8P touched her, Cressa got the distinct impression that they were there to ensure she didn’t make a break for it.

Guess I’m not the first cadet to have nightmares about the transference, Cressa thought, feeling a little better.

The med tech gave her a superficial smile that lacked genuine warmth as Cressa passed by her desk. “Congratulations, Cadet Karmine,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Cressa replied tightly.

The doors to med bay snapped shut as soon as Cressa, Leslie, and Gregor had crossed the threshold. Cressa flinched as the sound echoed down the silent corridor.

“There is no need to be nervous,” Gregor intoned, his assurances sounding hollow and rehearsed. “This procedure will be similar to the previous one, only much shorter, since you already have a foundation for abilities. Now that your body has proved a willing host for one, it is unlikely that it will reject a second one.”

This did not soothe Cressa in the least. “Unlikely” was fairly low on the certainty spectrum in Cressa’s opinion. If anything, Gregor’s reminder that there were no guarantees when it came to transference made her even more anxious.

The last time she’d walked down that very same corridor, Cressa had been more excited than nervous. This time, fear dwarfed the small amount of enthusiasm she felt about taking the next step towards becoming Privileged. Only minutes ago, Cressa had been desperate to learn what the next Phase of the program had in store for her. Now, she found herself longing for the comforts of home, a small part of her wishing that she’d never been accepted to the Institute.

The transference will not last forever, she chided herself. Being Privileged will.

The main corridor of med bay was lined with glass cubicles. Leslie and Gregor led Cressa past the first few, which were all frosted over to indicate that they were occupied. Cressa wondered who was inside. Other 1Ps preparing to move on to Phase Two? 7Ps receiving their final injections?

The trio stopped outside the entrance to cubicle five. The sliding glass door was open, providing Cressa a clear view of the exam room. The sight of the incubation chamber caused her to suck in a breath, memories of pain flooding her mind. Panic made her ribs feel as though they were compressing her lungs.

Not again. I can’t survive it again, Cressa thought. Her eyes darted frantically up and down the corridor, desperately seeking escape options.

“Do you wish to advance to Phase Two, Cressa Karmine?” Leslie asked in a flat tone. She must have considered it a rhetorical question, because the 8P didn’t wait for Cressa to respond. “If you do, I suggest you walk inside right now. Failure to progress carries very serious consequences. I assure you, the repercussions for quitting are decidedly more unpleasant than the transference procedure.”

Cressa swallowed thickly, finding her mouth drier than the desert at midday. She’d heard the whispers of senior cadets about classmates who’d failed their exams too many times and been dismissed from the program as a result. They were referred to as the disgraced. Among the myriad of rumored consequences to being disgraced, some even said they became test subjects for cadets in the highest Phases of the program. Like most rumors, Cressa believed the usage of those who failed to advance as practice dummies was wild speculation. For all she knew, the Dame herself might have started it, to dissuade cadets from quitting. Still, Cressa had no desire to find out what would happen if she refused to continue with the program.

Cressa wondered again whether she’d made the right decision in coming to the Institute. There were so many strictly-enforced rules, a stark contrast to her former boarding school in Boston. There, the headmaster had been all too happy to look the other way when one of his students—all young, wealthy scions—committed an infraction. Even the worst offenses were forgiven with a sizable donation to the school.

The Institute was vastly different in that respect. The Karmine fortune and Cressa’s impressive lineage had gained her admission, but no amount of money would compel her continued participation in the program. Only adopting the Institute’s rubric, receiving new abilities, learning to use her gifts, and passing her exams could ensure Cressa remained a cadet.

Fortunately, Cressa did not have a lot of time to dwell on the matter. Dr. Masterson suddenly exited the cubicle across from number five, stopping to greet the trio in the hallway.

“Cadet Karmine, it is wonderful to see you back so soon,” she said. Despite the warmth of the words themselves, Masterson’s voice held startlingly little emotion. Addressing Leslie, she continued, “Cadet Abbot, I understand you will be shadowing me during the procedure?”

Spine ramrod straight, hands clasped behind her back, Leslie nodded curtly.

“Yes, ma’am. My facility scores indicate an aptitude for both science and mathematics, so I am currently being considered for a position in the medical department.”

After completing the program, cadets had two basic paths they could follow: administrative or fieldwork. The admin track was extremely broad and encompassed everything from teaching to recruitment. Fieldwork also had a wide range of applications, though the details were classified at nearly all the cadet levels. Even though Cressa knew nothing about the latter path, she hoped she’d eventually be on it; she’d prefer to be out in the world, making a difference.

“I would welcome a girl of your caliber,” Dr. Masterson told Leslie. Then she turned to Gregor, and Cressa noticed a small, beige disc over the doctor’s right temple. It was no larger than Cressa’s thumbnail and blended in almost seamlessly with Dr. Masterson’s skin. Curious, Cressa squinted for a better look. As if sensing Cressa’s gaze, the doctor quickly smoothed her blue-black hair over the disc and continued speaking to Gregor.

“Cadet Ivan, it is my understanding that your manipulation abilities are progressing nicely, and that you are considering a future in our neuro-therapy unit?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gregor replied stiffly.

“Wonderful,” Dr. Masterson replied, though her tone was still flat as ever. “There is a newly minted 2P male in cubicle eight, a Cadet Leonard. The injection procedure is complete and was successful, though the cadet may be suffering adjustment rejection. Dr. Wythe is speaking with him now to determine whether a mental block is appropriate at this juncture; I believe it would advantageous for you to observe.”

“Thank you, ma’am. It would be an honor,” Gregor said deferentially. With that, he turned and headed for cubicle eight.

Cressa watched him walk away, once again filling with dread. She’d never heard of a mental block. It sounded ominous, particularly when used in the same breath as a phrase like “adjustment rejection.” In Cressa’s mind, the latter was just a clinical way of saying that Cadet Leonard wasn’t picking up what the Institute was putting down. Even though Cressa couldn’t recall meeting the cadet in question, her heart went out to him. Doubts were normal. Cressa had experienced them herself, as she imagined every other cadet did. But the Dame demanded one hundred percent loyalty and devotion, and it appeared her underlings were prepared to take drastic measures to ensure compliance.

“It is already quite late in the day, it would be best if we got started,” Dr. Masterson told Cressa.

Fighting the urge to make a run for it, Cressa nodded mutely and followed the doctor inside the exam room.

The incubation chamber sat in the middle of the space, looking as harmless and non-threatening as a baby lamb. Still, Cressa felt as though the machine was taunting her with its quiet whirring noises and bright buttons. As she engaged in a staring match with the machine, the sound of Leslie closing the door made Cressa jump. The glass walls of the room frosted over, effectively shielding her from the outside world.

This should have made Cressa feel better; at least no one aside from Leslie and the doctor would be able to ogle her while she was locked inside the chamber. Instead, the opaque walls made Cressa feel trapped. She took several deep, calming breaths, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth like her guru had shown her back home.

Eye on the prize, she thought. This is what you’re here for.

Dr. Masterson pointed to the solitary chair in the corner of the room, where a medical smock sat folded on the cushioned seat. “You may change now, Cadet Karmine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cressa crossed to the chair, heart pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest. She pulled the privacy curtain that hung from the ceiling closed and started to undress.

“How did you feel during your test today?” Dr. Masterson called from the other side.

“Pretty good,” Cressa lied. The entire time she’d been in that dark room, she’d felt shaky and on edge. Her stomach had ached and her head throbbed. But there was no way Cressa was going to admit discomfort. She didn’t want the doctor to think she was complaining or showing signs of weakness, just in case those might be grounds for dismissal.

“You did not experience any trouble at all?” Masterson persisted. “You felt completely normal?”

“Yes, I was fine,” Cressa answered.

“Your vitals indicated otherwise,” Dr. Masterson replied, the faintest hint of amusement in her tone.

Cringing at being caught in a lie, she slid the strange silky fabric of the smock over her head. How did she know what my vitals were during the test? Cressa wondered. She hadn’t been wearing sensors.

“It is normal to experience a wide range of physical symptoms when using your abilities,” Masterson continued, sounding as if she were awkwardly reading from cue cards. “In fact, we expect it. An elevated heart rate, increased temperature, heightened agitation—these are all perfectly acceptable responses when employing your talents. In fact, the strength of these symptoms is directly correlated to the strength of your gifts. An absence of these side effects would indicate that the recipient may not be compatible with her new powers.”

“O-oh,” Cressa replied, for lack of anything else to say.

“In the future, it is imperative that you are honest with me,” the doctor said. “The exam rooms measure your vital signs during the exams. For instance, if your temperature increases, the thermal receptors in the room are able to detect that increase. All the data is tracked, allowing me to monitor and understand your response to the serum. So, as you can see, lying is pointless.”

Dressed in the smock, Cressa emerged from behind the privacy curtain to find Dr. Masterson studying a monitor mounted on the wall. Numbers and letters scrolled across the screen, all of which were gibberish to Cressa.

“These are your levels from the first implantation,” Dr. Masterson explained, though she didn’t elaborate further. She nodded toward the dreaded chamber. “Shall we begin?”

Knowing that it was actually time to enter it, memories flooded Cressa’s mind: lying on the cool, hard slab of plastic and staring up at the dome directly above her nose, the sides of the tube seeming to inch closer with each passing breath; the metallic feel of the chemicals running through her veins, searing her insides; stomach cramps that made her body convulse; hot flashes chasing cold sweats that stung her eyes and soaked through her smock.

Dr. Masterson’s firm touch on the small of her back brought Cressa back to the present.

You can do this. You lived through it once, you can survive it again. The end result justifies the torturous means.

“This second procedure will be much easier for your body to handle. We have already determined that you are a good host, and your performance during the Phase One exam proved that you retain power well. Just try to relax,” Dr. Masterson coached Cressa in soothing tones. “Cadet Abbot, your assistance would be greatly appreciated,” the doctor added as she guided Cressa towards the chamber.

The top half of the tube rose several feet into the air, creating enough space for Cressa to climb on to the table within. She drew in another deep breath and took the hand Dr. Masterson offered to help her up. The breathing exercise seemed to be working this time; Cressa felt calmer, more determined. She had come to the Institute to become Privileged. Though the journey was difficult, the reward was beyond her wildest dreams. She’d been chosen for this. It was her destiny.

Yes, Cressa thought, I am ready.

On the table, Cressa laid on her back and slid her arms into the cushioned tubes on either side of her. Leslie moved forward and began securing the restraint straps across Cress’s abdomen, thighs, and ankles.

The monitor came alive again as sensors lining the interior of the arm tubes immediately began tracking her vital signs. With a faint whirring sound, the imagers in the table took pictures of her insides.

Dr. Masterson studied all of the incoming data, nodding in approval. “Your temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate are all within acceptable ranges. The initial body scan shows that all of your internal organs are healthy and undamaged.” Still watching the numbers passing across the screen, she addressed Leslie. “Cadet Abbot, you may proceed.”

Leslie rounded the table to stand opposite the doctor. With one gloved finger, she smeared a cool gel across Cressa’s forehead, and then smoothed a strip of clear, malleable plastic over the substance. The gel warmed instantly on Cressa’s skin, which started to tingle after several seconds.

“No visible deterioration,” Dr. Masterson commented, studying images of Cressa's brain on the monitor. The doctor smiled down at her. “It appears you truly are an ideal host, Cadet Karmine. I see a bright future ahead of you.”

Pride swelled inside of Cressa at the doctor’s words. That was why she wanted to be Privileged—to cement her whole family’s place in the Dame’s carefully constructed new world. In that moment, she agreed with the doctor; the future was looking bright, indeed.

“Are you comfortable?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Cressa replied dutifully, feeling almost excited. The lingering tendrils of fear that tickled her subconscious were easy to ignore now. She simply focused on the future, and the ultimate goal of attaining Privileged status.

Dr. Masterson opened the small compartment in the right arm tube, directly over Cressa’s elbow. After spraying Cressa’s skin with a disinfecting agent, she retrieved a syringe from the refrigeration unit built into the wall beside her.

“This first injection is merely another dose of the telekinetic serum that I gave you previously, to fortify your abilities. You will likely have greatly enhanced telekinesis for the next several days, but then it will settle in.”

The prick was quick and virtually painless. Cressa felt an instant surge of adrenaline as the power rushed through her veins. Beeping sounds came from the monitor as her heart pounded and her muscles tightened all at once.

Without warning, fear lanced through Cressa, quickly decimating the hope and excitement. With the restraints holding her immobile in their crushing grip, she couldn’t move an inch, couldn’t guard against the pain, couldn’t fight or flee.

No. Not again. Tears welled in her eyes until her vision swam and the two women standing above her became blurs. Please stop, I want to stop. Make it stop.

“It will pass quickly,” Dr. Masterson assured Cressa. “What you are feeling is all very normal.”

Leslie said nothing, watching Cressa as though she were a fascinating science experiment.

Her head spinning violently, like a rogue tilt-a-whirl, Cressa barely heard Dr. Masterson’s next words. “And this one will give you the ability to manipulate light.”

Cressa felt the second needle pierce her skin, sending another rush of chemicals into her bloodstream. The effects were instantaneous. Her nausea increased tenfold. Pressure skyrocketed within her, as though her insides were expanding at an unsustainable rate. Her skull suddenly felt like it was too big, stretching her skin painfully until she was certain the bone would tear it to shreds.

Cressa screamed. She wanted to beg the doctor to stop, to just leave her alone, but she was no longer capable of forming words.

It was just like last time, only so much worse. The power—it was too much. Her body couldn’t handle it.

Frightened, dazed, and desperate to end the agony, Cressa began to thrash wildly, though the restraints hindered her movements. She felt as though every organ inside of her was trying to claw its way out. Involuntary spasms rocketed through her, Cressa’s back arching over and over, causing the straps to dig painfully into her. Her eyelids flapped open and closed, open and closed, open and closed in fast succession. The effect was so disorienting that Cressa felt certain the world was tilting too far on its axis. Bile blazed her esophagus, as though it would burn a hole right through.

I’m going to be sick, Cressa thought tearfully. I’m going to suffocate in my own vomit, but at least it will be over.

Then, just when she couldn’t imagine a situation more nightmarish than the one she was living through, it became exponentially worse. The chamber lid descended from above, sealing her in alone with the agony. Spots danced in her line of sight, creating bizarre constellations on the dome above. Cressa heard a faint click as the two halves of the chamber locked together. The sound echoed in her mind, taunting her. She would never escape. She would never again know the world outside of the plastic and pain. It was just her and the savagery, trapped together forever.

Cressa’s lids fluttered several more times before closing for good. Her mind couldn’t handle it. Another torturous jolt of pain wracked every neuron at once, and then the world turned black.

“Welcome back, Cadet Karmine,” Dr. Masterson’s cool voice said.

Cressa blinked rapidly until the doctor’s face came into focus. The chamber lid was retracted again, and the doctor was leaning over Cressa, wiping the goo from her forehead with a warm cloth.

“That did not take long at all. I am very impressed by your body’s ability to adapt to the foreign genetic material,” the doctor continued. She glanced up, addressing someone, presumably Leslie, on the other side of the room. “The smooth acceptance might be somewhat attributed to the fact both of Cadet Karmine’s gifts were from the same source, though only the telekinetic abilities were natural.”

Cressa turned her head to find Leslie staring at the monitor on the wall, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Is that normal, ma’am? For all of the abilities to come from the same source?” Leslie asked.

Expecting the doctor to admonish Leslie for asking questions without prompting, Cressa was surprised when Dr. Masterson replied without hesitation. Then again, this was sort of a lesson for Leslie, with Cressa as the live subject material.

“No. It is very rare, in fact. The source needs to be exceptionally powerful for the abilities to pass successfully to a recipient, since some of the potency will always be forfeited during the transference process. Few sources have more than one talent, and even fewer have more than one that is strong enough for our uses. So, most cadets receive abilities from multiple donors.

“Cadet Karmine is fortunate that the source I used for her telekinetic abilities also has strong, albeit created, light manipulating powers. Because of degradation we’ve seen in the past when implanting created powers, I added an enhancer to the formula to counteract the weakening of the ability. In our current test subjects, this has proven quite successful. I am very interested to see if this holds true with Cadet Karmine.”

Cressa hated how the doctor and Leslie were talking about her as though she weren’t present. It was bizarre, and just plain rude. Nonetheless, Cressa was also grateful for the new information. This was the most she’d learned about the injections by far.

Until that moment, Cressa hadn’t known that her newfound abilities came from another individual, who they were calling the “source.” Truthfully, she hadn’t much considered where they came from, simply assuming the abilities were generated in a lab somewhere. The more Cressa thought about it, the ickier she felt. Someone else’s “genetic material” was inside of her, someone else’s DNA. Someone else’s blood was giving Cressa talents.

Who was her source? Where was her source? How many sources were there? Where did they come from? What did they get in return?

Although Cressa didn’t know the exact number of students currently enrolled at the Institute, it was enough that Dr. Masterson would need a large number of sources to provide for them all. Did the Dame recruit those donors? Did they apply to become sources for the Privileged, just as Cressa’s parents applied for her admission?

Even if she found the nerve to ask, Cressa doubted that Dr. Masterson would give her straight answers to the new questions buzzing inside her head like annoying flies. She wished Leslie would press the doctor for information, since her inquiries would come across as educational instead of nosy. Leslie either already knew all about the sources and how they were selected, or she wasn’t curious, because the older girl didn’t probe the topic.

“How long was I out?” Cressa asked, the first words she’d spoken since waking. Sliding her arms free of the restraints, she rubbed her temples. The pounding in her head was nearly gone, and she no longer felt sick to her stomach. In fact, Cressa felt amazing, like she’d just woken up from a restful night’s sleep after a week at the spa.

“Less than an hour,” Dr. Masterson told her. “Take it slowly now. Do you feel dizzy?”

Cressa sat up, shaking her head in response. Only an hour—that wasn’t bad at all. The first time, she’d meandered in and out of consciousness for two days.

“The Phase Two injection is typically much easier for the recipient, though a one-hour adjustment period is the fastest I have ever seen, by far. I must say, it is quite extraordinary.” The doctor grabbed hold of Cressa’s chin firmly, forcefully turning her face from right to left and examining her with a critical eye. “Cadet Abbot, please pull up the skeletal images of source 4709.” Dr. Masterson continued to study Cressa, her grip becoming painful.

Cressa bit back a wince. As much as she hated the feel of the doctor’s cold, dry fingers against her skin, Cressa knew better than to argue or protest. She tried to relax under the doctor’s penetrating gaze, though it proved quite difficult. The scrutiny reminded her of the way ranchers examined livestock at auction. Cressa fully expected Dr. Masterson to pry her lips apart at any moment to count her teeth.

“Ah, yes, very good. Very good,” Dr. Masterson said, eyes flicking between Cressa and the monitor behind her. “You have the proper foundation for your source, should the need ever arise. The bone structure is not identical, but close enough to make the adjustments.” Then, as if realizing she’d spoken too freely, the doctor pulled her hand back and brusquely changed topics. “You are finished here, for now. You may get dressed, and then Cadet Abbot will take you to the 2P dorm.”

Eager to leave med bay before Dr. Masterson decided to make adjustments—whatever that meant—Cressa swung her legs over the side of the table and slid to the floor. She changed in record time, listening intently to the conversation between Dr. Masterson and Leslie. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly as informative as their earlier exchange.

“I am a little surprised that you are not more interested in fieldwork, Cadet Abbot,” Dr. Masterson began, over the clinking of vials. Though Cressa could only see silhouettes moving on the other side of the privacy curtain, she assumed the doctor was straightening the refrigeration unit.

“I believe I can do more good as a doctor, ma’am,” Leslie replied stiffly. “Unless you disagree?”

“No, no, not at all. It is just that I happen to know your source for mental manipulation is one of the most powerful we have. It would be a shame to not use it.” The doctor paused. “You are showing remarkable proficiency with the ability already. I am sure Cadet Karmine would agree. Perhaps I misspoke; having that talent in the medical profession could prove extremely beneficial, as you demonstrated earlier.”

Cressa emerged from behind the curtain, once again dressed in her regulation clothing.

“I would like to see you back in one week, Cadet Karmine. The more talents we implant, the more frequently my techs will need to perform checkups. We will also be tracking how your practical progress corresponds with the levels of abilities in your system.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cressa replied automatically.

“Thank you for your time, Doctor Masterson. Follow me, Cadet,” Leslie said, turning towards the door without waiting for a response.

Cressa followed Leslie into the hallway of the med bay, expecting to find it deserted. Instead, she saw Gregor and another boy exiting a cubicle nearby. The boy’s golden hair was a messy wreath around his head. His eyes were downcast, staring at his feet as he trudged towards Leslie and Cressa.

“Cadet Leonard, how are you feeling? Much better, I trust?” Dr. Masterson asked, stepping into the hallway behind the girls.

The boy standing beside Gregor glanced up, his crystal-clear blue eyes expressionless. Cressa gasped audibly. Not because of the boy’s vacant gaze, but because she recognized the tanned face and patrician nose. She’d seen that face too many times to count, plastered on e-boards, cinne posters, and wallscreens. Cressa even had a collage of retro images of the boy on the wall of her bedroom back home, as did most females between the ages of eleven of twenty-five.

His name was Kev Leon. He’d been the most famous young actor on the planet before his tragic death, only a month before.

Talia

Vault, Isle of Exile

Four Days Before the Vote

As Victoria promised, a thick folder was waiting on my bed when I returned to my cell. My curiosity piqued, I grabbed the file and took it over to the small table in one corner of my cell. Over my morning meal of greenish goo—supposedly oatmeal made from kelp, sans oats—and seaweed bacon, I began flipping through the pages.

Yocum sat in his usual chair in the opposite corner, making little noncommittal grunts in response to the rhetorical comments I posed every so often. After consuming as much of the breakfast as my stomach could safely handle without revolting, I stretched out on the bed and continued perusing the dense file.

Several hours of arduous study later, my vision was blurry, and the urge to rip out my hair was strong. Somehow, I was only halfway through the exceptionally dull and redundant reading material. So far, I’d learned that a town in nowhere France had been experiencing frequent power outages in the last several months. The electric company was baffled.

Or maybe they were happy; my French was rusty.

Regardless, livestock in that same rural town were also disappearing at a rapid rate. Farmers believed thieves were making off with their animals during the night. Authorities were unconcerned with the sudden rise in cattle abductions, merely suggesting that the farmers breed the remaining cows more frequently.

Like I said, painfully boring stuff.

“I fail to see the point of this,” I said aloud. “Why on earth would I care about any of this nonsense? I mean, cow thievery? Is that even a real crime?”

Yocum reluctantly looked up from his communicator. Judging by his rapid thumb movements, he was playing a game that had him engrossed.

“A very serious one, depending on the location,” he said in his stoic tone. “In rural areas that are still heavily contaminated, edible meat and drinkable milk are rare. Large-scale cow thefts could create a food shortage.”

“I guess,” I agreed grudgingly. “But why does UNITED care? Shouldn’t they be more worried about…well, anything? Like the lack of real food on the islands. Let me tell you, plant-based meat is no substitute for the real deal. If the Isle’s livestock was disappearing, then I could understand Victoria’s interest. But why would she send me stuff about this?”

Yocum shrugged and returned to his game.

“Lot of help you are,” I grumbled, flipping to the next document in the file.

It was yet another I-pub that Victoria had printed out for me. This one was a newspaper article focused on one of the farmers, Franz Duquesne, more than the actual thefts. A familiar name jumped out at me immediately: Selby Masterson.

Where had I heard that name before?

“Selby. Selby Masterson,” I said aloud, trying to jog my own memory.

Nothing.

Maybe I’d read the name, not heard it spoken? I stared at the two words, willing my brain to provide some insight. I felt a tickle at the base of my skull. Yes, I had definitely seen that name.

“Do you know a Selby Masterson?” I asked Yocum.

Transfixed by whatever was taking place on his communicator’s screen, my babysitter didn’t look up.

“Nothing?” I prompted.

“Can’t say I have,” he muttered.

“Thanks, Nicci. I really don’t know what I’d do without you and your wildly helpful ways,” I grumbled. Yocum spared a shrug, and I returned my attention to the I-pub.

According to the article, Selby was a local townswoman the reporter interviewed for this particularly hard-hitting piece of journalistic work. Ms. Masterson went on record to say that Mr. Duquesne was “a bit unstable” and “prone to ranting.” Apparently, good ole Franz even believed he’d been the victim of several alien abductions.

“Maybe once I get out, Victoria will let me take a fieldtrip to France,” I said to the uninterested Yocum. “It’s not every day you get to look into the mind of an alien abductee. Franz’s head is probably a fascinating place.”

Yocum didn’t seem to find the prospect at all interesting. In fact, he couldn’t have been more disinterested in me and my boring new store of knowledge.

Staring intently at the guard, I was tempted to compel him into conversing with me. Finally, after ignoring my penetrating stare for an impressively long time, Agent Yocum tore his gaze from the communicator in his hands. His expression was uncharacteristically grim, as though someone had just plucked the feathers from his pet canary.

“Did you lose your latest round of Bubble Kingdom?” I asked, barely suppressing a smile. “Or, wait, have you been abducted by an alien before? Oh, please, please tell me that you—”

“Agent Kelley was attacked.”

My snarky follow-up died on my lips.

“W-what?” I stammered. “Is he okay? When? What the hell happened? Who attacked him? I will kill them.”

Every thought on Erik, I couldn’t contain the stream of questions, concern, and anger bubbling up inside of me.

Yocum slid his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing pinprick black pupils surrounded by colorless irises. The first time I’d seen his eyes, the sight had been so unnerving that I’d actually spit milk all over my lumpy fauxt-meal. With Erik’s wellbeing occupying every corner of my brain, I barely registered the oddness.

“Councilwoman Walburton told you earlier that Agent Kelley was scheduled to speak at a peace rally in Manhattan this morning?” Yocum prompted.

“Yes, she did,” I replied, willing him to get to the point.

“It appears he was attacked there, on his way from the helicopter to the stage.”

My heart skipped several beats. This couldn’t be happening.

Victoria had assured me that Erik was surrounded by bodyguards at all times. From her descriptions, my boyfriend couldn’t shower without an audience. So how the hell could someone get close enough to attack him?

“Where was Erik’s protection detail during the attack?” I posed the question aloud. “Where was Miles? And Penny? Isn’t she with him? How badly is he injured? Oh, shit. Was Penny hurt, too?”

“Look, Talia…” Yocum began, gaze darting nervously around the small cell. There were no cameras in the interiors of the cell, only in the hallways of Vault, so I wasn’t sure what he was so worried about. Even if a camera with full audio was pointed directly at him with the entirety of UNITED’s council watching with rapt attention, I wouldn’t have cared.

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t you dare tell me the information is classified. Erik is my boyfriend. My family. I have a right to know what happened.”

Yocum gritted his teeth. “It’s not classified, but you know I’m not supposed to share news with you. As far as you’re concerned, these four walls,” he made a circle with his index finger meant to encompass the cell, “are your world. That’s it, nothing else.”

I slammed my fist on the thin mattress, causing the springs to groan.

“Erik is my world,” I snapped. The still air in the cell began to stir, ruffling the papers strewn on my bed. My temper was rising too fast, my emotions entering the red zone. And still, even being cognizant of it, I didn’t care. This was Erik we were talking about.

“Just tell me how badly he was hurt. If he’s going to be okay. I deserve that much. If you won’t divulge that information willingly, I’ll—”

“Easy, inmate,” Yocum barked, interrupting my tirade. “You need to calm down. Now. Look at me, Natalia.”

The use of my full name caught me by surprise. Still seething, though not quite so ready to peck out Yocum’s pigment-free eyes, I met his hard gaze.

“You need to listen to me, Talia. You are a prisoner. The day you set foot on Vault, you lost every single right and privilege you’ve ever known. In case you haven’t noticed, you are locked inside a cell. The reason for that is because the council needs you to learn obedience and humility, both of which are obviously difficult concepts for you.

“Look, I get it, okay? Believe me, I really do. I’ve read your file. Your entire life, you’ve been given leeway because you’re special. Your gifts give you value to those in charge—way more than any other Talent on UNITED’s payroll. But in here, you’re just like every other criminal. The sooner you accept that, the easier the rest of your time on Vault will be.”

His speech left me torn between attacking Yocum and dissolving into a sobbing mess. Everything he’d said was true, and it hit me hard.

Both as a TOXIC operative and a UNITED agent, those in power had made allowances for my outbursts, attitude, and impetuous nature. I’d been granted special treatment because of my abilities. I wasn’t blind to that fact; my only worth to all of them was the power I wielded. And yes, following the rules had never been an area in which I excelled. Insubordination was the reason I was currently locked inside a tin can.

But Yocum was wrong about me losing all my rights the day I came to Vault. I’d lost them before I’d ever heard of the Isle of Exile. Possibly never even possessed them at all. Because I’d forfeited any semblance of freedom the day I’d joined TOXIC’s ranks. From there, it had just gone downhill. And every time I thought I’d hit rock bottom, the world had shown me how much lower I could fall.

Seeing the tears shimmering in my eyes, Yocum’s expression softened.

“Shit. Please don’t cry, Talia,” he said quickly. “Look, since the Councilwoman permits you updates on Agent Kelley…he wasn’t seriously injured in the attack. That’s all I’m saying, though.”

Using my powers to compel the rest of the story out of the guard would have been easy, but Victoria was right; I needed to be much more careful about using my abilities on Vault. I still would if I needed to, but the sight of me upset seemed to be effectively melting Nicci’s icy resistance. Even though the tears were genuine, I wasn’t above using them to my advantage. Especially not when it came to Erik. So, I let the waterworks flow, sniffing noisily for good measure.

“Please, will you just tell me what happened?” I asked in a small voice, a little afraid I was going overboard with the pathetic act.

Yocum’s jaw was set in a hard line. “Seriously? I just told you that I’ve read your file, Talia. You’re a trained assassin, you’re battle-tested, and you have a reputation for meeting a fight head-on. A few harsh words don’t result in tears for a girl like you.”

Ugh.

Okay, the superfluous sniffles might have been overboard. I probably should’ve gone with manipulation.

“How would you feel if it was your wife?” I asked, switching tactics. “Or one of your children? You’d want to know.”

Yocum sighed. “Of course I would.”

I stared at him pointedly, letting the guard wage his internal debate in silence.

The emotions pouring off of Yocum were conflicted. Despite his lecture, my guard did feel bad for me. Plus, my comment about his family had hit home.

“Fine,” he relented after several long moments of contemplation. “But you’d better not let on that you know anything, even with Victoria.”

“I won’t, I swear,” I quickly promised.

“Like I said, Agent Kelley wasn’t seriously hurt.” Yocum paused as he scrolled through the messages on his communicator. “Looks like he’s got a concussion, some scrapes and bruises, and a couple of stitches—nothing life-threatening.”

“That’s good news, I guess,” I replied, careful to keep the anxiety out of my voice.

Just then, Yocum’s communicator buzzed. Since he had the exact same comm that I did before being tossed in a cell, I knew it meant he had a new message. After a few taps of his thumb, Yocum’s expression turned grim again.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“I’m sure it’s just a precaution,” the guard hedged.

“What is it?” I repeated. Since his hesitancy to share was obvious, I threw caution to the wind and put the slightest bit of compulsion behind my words.

“UNITED is sending a specialist to New York—a neuro-talent medical expert,” Yocum replied automatically. “The alert doesn’t say why, just that the doctor and his team have been dispatched to the base where they’re treating Agent Kelley.” Yocum looked up, clearly confused.

That made two of us. A concussion wasn’t serious enough to warrant a specialist. Unless Erik’s brain was hemorrhaging. Tamping down the panic that was simmering within me, I locked eyes with Yocum’s watery gaze.

“Tell me about the attack,” I said, keeping the command light and using just enough authority to ensure compliance. Though I wasn’t overly concerned with the personal consequences—Erik was worth whatever the Vault guards did to me—the ramifications for Yocum kept me from launching a full-scale invasion into his mind. If my non-dormant abilities were exposed to anyone other than my three cohorts, they’d all go down with me.

“The official statement says that Agent Kelley and his protective detail were en route from the transport helicopter to the stage when a crowd member slipped through the barriers and assaulted him,” Yocum began, reading the info from his communicator. “From both eyewitness statements and footage shot by the news crews covering the event, it appears as though the assailant detonated an explosive. They’re not sure though, because what would’ve been the blast radius was quite small. If it was an explosion, it was a relatively weak one. Only Agent Kelley and those closest to him at the time were wounded.” Yocum glanced up. “Agent Penelope Crane…is that your friend Penny?”

I nodded, suddenly unable to find words. My best friend was almost as impossible to live without as Erik—I wouldn’t be able to handle it if she’d been seriously hurt.

“Agent Crane is on the list of those without injuries—she’s fine,” Yocum announced.

I sagged with relief. My best friend had been trained as a Brain, so she wasn’t exactly tough physically. Though cuts, scrapes, and even broken bones were not a big deal for Erik and me, they were for Penny. Even though she no longer stayed at home base behind a computer, Penny still hadn’t adapted to handle physical pain the way Erik and I did.

In the midst of my relief, something occurred to me.

“Wait, go back. UNITED has already taken witness statements? And reviewed videos of the attack?” I asked.

Yocum consulted his communicator again, nodding as he read. “Looks like the agents with your boyfriend have been interviewed, but investigators are still talking to the civilians.”

“Then why don’t they know for sure whether an explosive was involved? I mean, it seems pretty cut and dry.”

“There was definitely an explosion of some sort,” Yocum confirmed, nodding readily. He hesitated before continuing. I was about to force him to keep talking, but it proved unnecessary. Yocum was so clearly baffled by the reports that he wanted to discuss the attack with someone, if only to garner a better understanding of what actually transpired. “The confusion is because no bomb fragments have been recovered. And not one of the victims was hit by shrapnel.”

“Interesting,” I mused. “What about the attacker? Is he dead? Have they examined the remains?”

Yocum shook his head, disbelief coloring his expression.

“The reports say the assailant was a child, a little girl. She was killed by the explosion.”

I gasped audibly. “That’s terrible. Why the hell would a little girl want to hurt Erik? Obviously someone put her up to it. But how could anyone do that to a kid?”

My thoughts turned to Alex, which just made the sadness multiply within me. What kind of evil was behind the attack that they would sacrifice an innocent child?

Shrugging, Yocum replied, “You might not feel that way once you hear the rest of the report. The investigating agents believe the child may have used her mind to blow herself up.” He paused, looking up at me with sorrow in his eyes as he connected the dots. “If she did in fact blow herself up, she wasn’t an innocent pawn. A pawn maybe, but one fully aware of what she was doing.”

Unable to articulate a response, I swore loudly. The situation was becoming more bizarre with every bit of info Yocum shared. If the investigators were correct, then Erik’s attacker was Talented. It made no sense, particularly when Erik was on a crusade to protect Talents from being exiled. What possible motive could she have had for attacking one of her own, let alone the guy who was trying to save us all?

Yocum nodded and repeated my profanity, adding, “My thoughts precisely.”

“How old was she?” I asked, a thought occurring to me.

“Sounds like she was somewhere between six and eight, though that’s purely based on visuals,” Yocum answered.

“Is it possible the girl was Created?” I asked. As far as I knew, I was the only natural Talent capable of causing such destruction with my mind. At least, the only one UNITED knew about. “That’s seems far too young to be part of Mac’s experiments, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“We won’t know that until they test her remains. No group has claimed credit yet, which is also really weird. Those hate groups love to boast about their exploits, and injuring Agent Kelley would’ve been considered quite the success,” Yocum pointed out.

“I hope they still consider it a success when I hunt them down,” I shot back.

“Unless someone takes credit, we might never know who was behind it, much less the reason for the attack.”

Realizing he was right, I let loose another string of obscenities. How were we supposed to fight back against a group that we knew nothing about?

My thoughts returned to the possibility of another Talent with mental abilities as strong as mine, natural or manmade. Without shrapnel to prove otherwise, the only explanation was that the girl definitely used herself as a human bomb. But it would have taken considerable power to do so, and an impressive amount of control. Only a strong, trained manipulator could pull that off, and there just weren’t that many of us out there.

Had Mac really infected someone so young with the creation drug, boosting her natural mental manipulation abilities? Or…

I didn’t even want to consider the alternative.

Did Mac inject her with my talent signature?

“You said there’s footage?” I asked suddenly. My frantic question startled Yocum, who was still reading transmissions on his comm. Though I had absolutely zero desire to watch someone hurt Erik, I needed to see the assailant. Admittedly, the chances of me recognizing her were slim, even if she’d been part of TOXIC. Still, I had to know. Instead of answering, Yocum eyed me warily.

“Is the footage on your communicator?” I demanded.

“Yeah,” he reluctantly replied. “I’m guessing you want to see it?”

“Please?” I asked, pasting on a giant grin that probably looked more maniacal than inviting.

Yocum held up his communicator and mimed tossing it. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Cupping my hands, I easily caught the gentle throw.

“You’re the best,” I said, really meaning it. Even as I spoke, I was already scrolling through the incoming messages, searching for a link to the footage. When I found a confidential transmission with a video attachment, my finger hovered over the display screen. Did I truly want to see this?

Yes, I decided, pressing the play button.

My breath caught when a close-up of Erik’s face filled the small screen. For a long moment, I just stared at his handsome features, longing to run my fingers through his silky black hair and feel those beautiful lips on mine. I missed him so much it hurt.

Tomorrow, I reminded myself. You’ll see him tomorrow.

Tomorrow seemed very far away.

When the camera panned out, I saw a wide-angle view of a pathway cut through the crowded plaza, roped off on either side. Erik and Penny, surrounded by UNITED bodyguards, were making their way down the aisle. Agent Miles DeSanto, who I recognized from my fateful mission in London, kept whispering in Erik’s ear. The throngs were lined up against the rope on both sides, some reaching out towards my boyfriend, some holding signs, and many calling his name.

Being locked up on Vault, I hadn’t seen Erik in action in his new role as UNITED’s poster boy. My heart filled with pride at the sight. He came across as utterly in control, and yet still accessible. Angry protestors aside, the crowd loved him. Though I could tell Erik’s smile wasn’t whole-hearted, and he looked tired, he was playing the diplomatic role to perfection.

Without warning, he beamed genuinely as a curly-headed child ducked beneath the boundary rope. Erik stopped walking and engaged in a brief discussion with the other agents. Then, my boyfriend started towards the little girl.

My heart pounded as I studied her face intently. The delicate features were unfamiliar, drawing a sigh of relief even as I knew what was about to happen. Had I recognized her from TOXIC or the McDonough School, my fears about it being my talent signature would’ve consumed me. The thought of my abilities being transferred to a little girl, giving her the power she needed to become a suicidal murderess, made me sick.

I refocused on the video, rewinding and zooming in on the little girl.

Something about her eyes raised the hairs on the back of my neck. They were dead—completely devoid of any emotion and without a trace of the thoughts happening behind them. I’d seen that same blank stare on many of my fellow inmates. The girl was drugged, most likely with a chemical strong enough to eviscerate her thoughts and emotional connections to the world around her.

No way was this little girl working alone, I thought, concentrating on the details of the attack to distract myself from the possibility it was my powers that had hurt Erik.

Little girl, I repeated to myself mournfully. And yet, though the face staring up at me from the screen did appear young, I couldn’t help but feel as though I was looking at a mirage. There was something off about the child, besides the vacant expression that made me question how lucid the thoughts were beneath her mop of curls.

On screen, Erik knelt before the child. Every cell in my body wanted to scream at him to move away. Didn’t Erik see that the girl wasn’t right? Couldn’t he feel the weirdness radiating off of her? Just seeing her on a screen gave me chills, and Erik was all but holding her hand.

From somewhere off-screen, Penny suddenly lunged forward, reaching for Erik as though to pull him back.

She was too late.

Even though I knew what was coming, I had to clench my jaw to keep from shrieking when the dead-eyed child exploded.

The footage continued to roll, capturing the aftermath of the attack. Unable to watch the carnage—a mix of blood and felled agents, with my Erik in the middle of it all—I stopped the playback and set the device down in my lap. For a long minute, I stared quietly at the wall of my cell, trying to make sense of the attack.

“You okay?” Yocum finally asked quietly. “I don’t even know Agent Kelley, and I had a hard time seeing that.”

I nodded. “I’ve seen worse. I’m fine.”

I was so not fine. After finding Erik at Tramblewood, TOXIC’s maximum-security prison, bloody and beaten to within an inch of his life, I’d never wanted to see him hurt again. I never wanted him to be hurt again at all. Erik’s stint in Tramblewood had been entirely my fault. Now I couldn’t help but wonder if this attack had been, too.

“What’s your take on it?” Yocum asked. “You think the kid used mental talents to cause the explosion?”

A part of me automatically began to say something asinine like, “Thought I lost the right to have an opinion when that cell door hit me on the way in.” But the words died on my lips. I was too shaken for sarcasm.

The attack wasn’t serious, but the implications were. Someone had deliberately placed that child in Erik’s path with the intention of killing both of them, in addition to countless bystanders. They must have overestimated the power of the explosion, which was the only reason Erik was still alive. That same person also had no interest in being recognized as the source of the attack by claiming credit, instead preserving his anonymity.

These were all very bad signs.

“Talia? You sure you’re okay?” Yocum’s brow furrowed into a frown. “I’m sorry, I knew it was a bad idea to let you watch that.”

“No, really, I’m fine,” I assured him. “Just thinking. Thank you for letting me watch the video, I really do appreciate it. And yeah, I’m pretty sure that girl was the bomb, which is probably why Victoria is sending a brain guy to check out Erik. If the child’s talents were strong enough to pull this off, then they were definitely strong enough to infiltrate Erik’s mind.” I shook my head ruefully. “Not that a doctor will know what to look for. Run of the mill brain damage isn’t the issue. I should be there.”

“Come on, Talia. What can you do that a skilled specialist can’t?”

“A lot. Do you know how much power, how much control this type of thing takes? Few manipulators possess enough of either,” I replied, voicing my earlier thoughts.

“But you do,” Yocum said.

It wasn’t a question. Since Yocum had read my personnel file, he already knew I did; it undoubtedly included some of the more outrageous displays of my abilities.

“I do,” I agreed. “But more importantly, I know Erik. I know his mind. I would be able to tell if that girl screwed with it. I should be with him. I should have been there with him from the start, not in here.”

Anger blazed through me, even as guilt turned my stomach to lead. I wanted to hate Victoria and the rest of her council cronies for locking me away when my place was by Erik’s side. Yet, the person I was truly upset with was myself. It was my own fault that I wasn’t there when Erik needed me.

Maybe I could have prevented the attack. Maybe not. I’d never know. Either way, I was useless to Erik as long as I remained on Vault. I was useless to UNITED, too.

Suddenly, I had a strong desire to revisit the folder Victoria had left for me. I needed to prove my worth. Once I regained value in UNITED’s eyes, I would be allowed to return to Erik. And if that was what it took, I would become a model employee. I would make the council wonder how they’d ever survived without me.

“There is nothing you could have done,” Yocum said firmly, interrupting my mental wanderings. “This attack is no great surprise to anyone. Pushing the vote back made people extra anxious, especially the fanatics. The council thought it some great win to have this extra time, thought sending your boy out would assure victory.” Yocum shook his head. “I can’t say it’s the decision I would’ve made. In my opinion, for what it’s worth, they shou—”

“No one asked for your opinion,” a clipped voice declared, cutting him off.

Victoria’s crisp rebuke drained every ounce of color from Yocum’s face. He flew up out of his chair, standing at attention as the councilwoman entered my cell.

“Forgive me, ma’am,” Yocum said tightly.

The door closed behind Victoria, just as soundlessly as it had opened.

“As it happens, with the advantage of hindsight, I do not entirely disagree with you,” she replied, waving off Yocum’s apology. Looking wearier than I’d ever seen her, Victoria strode across my cell and sat beside me on the bed before continuing.

“Agent Kelley has done a brilliant job of swaying general public opinion, there is no doubting that. However, new anti-Talent organizations pop up every day, and it seems they are unyielding in their beliefs about the Talented and Created. Threats to Erik’s life have increased tenfold in the last week; many of those same groups are intent on silencing him before the vote. While this was not unexpected, it does make me wonder whether the council’s decision to use Erik as the face of our movement was not a tad hasty. We’d believed that implementing strict search protocols at the rallies would be sufficient, but it seems we were ignorant to all the potential risks Erik would face.”

“How is he?” I asked, nudging Yocum’s communicator beneath my leg. Victoria was lenient when it came to certain rules, but handing over a UNITED communicator was unlikely to be one of them. She seemed totally unsurprised by the fact Yocum told me about the attack, but there was no need to risk his job by telling her the extent of my knowledge.

“He was not seriously injured.” She held up a hand to halt my next question in its tracks. “I am sorry, Talia, that is all I know. Erik’s injuries are minor, relatively speaking. I have spoken with him, and he seems well. Until our specialized medical team evaluates him, I cannot tell you more.”

“Do you know who is responsible?” I demanded.

Being the head honcho at UNITED, Victoria was privy to all classified intel. If there was a list of suspects, she likely had it memorized.

Victoria scowled. “I do not. This is troubling, of course, because it means there is likely a new player in the game—one who wishes to remain under the radar.” Her frown deepened. “Personally, I believe only cowards hide behind a mask of anonymity.”

I didn’t contradict Victoria, though I didn’t agree with her. Not claiming responsibility meant the organization behind Erik’s assault was smart; bragging to the digital landscape was a surefire way to be caught. The method of attack, using a child suicide-bomber, meant they were also cold and calculating.

A highly dangerous combination.

“I assure you, we will find the culprit,” Victoria continued. “No rat can remain underground forever. It is only a matter of time before the mastermind behind this surfaces, even if I have to drag him from his hole myself.”

Victoria’s pronouncement left me speechless. More startling than her words were the emotions accompanying them. Regret, fear, and a little sorrow rolled off of her so intensely, I felt as though they were suffocating me.

“Will you let me know once the specialist has checked him out?” I asked, hating that I had to ask the favor of her. It was yet another reminder that I’d lost all control over my own life.

“I will let you know if they find any complications. Otherwise, he can tell you all about it himself,” Victoria replied. “As soon as Erik is cleared for travel, he will be flown directly to the islands. I do need to debrief him, so your reunion may be delayed slightly.”

“Will I still get to see him tomorrow?” I pressed.

Victoria’s smile was genuine. “You should know well enough by now that I keep all of my promises. Besides,” she waved her hand dismissively, “advocating for the visit was no picnic. After all of that, I would not have my efforts be for naught.”

“Thank you, Victoria,” I replied simply. Though Erik’s visit was purportedly for his benefit, Victoria had really been watching out for me lately. Three months ago, I would have laughed at the thought of UNITED’s head councilwoman helping me out in any way. Now, I couldn’t begin to express the depth of my appreciation for everything she’d done for me.

Nodding to the file folder open beside me on the bed, Victoria changed topics. “I see you have been looking over the information I left. What can you tell me?”

Though I wanted to talk about the attack in greater depth, Victoria’s demeanor suggested she was short on time. So, instead of discussing my theories and dissecting the inner workings of a would-be mass murderer’s mind, I pushed away the thoughts of Erik and switched gears.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking for,” I replied. “I mean, it all seems pretty straightforward. Power outages happen. Livestock thefts can’t be uncommon. I guess I just don’t see what is so noteworthy about them.” I paused and, mentally cataloguing the events I’d read about, added, “The alien abductions are interesting, though.”

“No one was abducted by men from space,” the councilwoman interjected.

“How do you know? It’s possible. People have been claiming abduction for hundreds of years, has to be some truth in it,” I reasoned.

“I know because there have been no unauthorized aircrafts within a hundred mile radius of the Duquesne farm in the months before or after the alleged abductions.”

“Cloaking capabilities,” I volleyed. “We have them, so extraterrestrials probably do, too.”

Yocum snorted, then feigned a coughing fit when Victoria shot him a glare that would’ve frozen the Dead Sea.

“Talia,” she warned, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she might be able to squeeze patience from her nostrils. “Please be serious.”

I might have pressed the issue, purely for my entertainment, but I knew Victoria was already having a hell of a day.

“Fine,” I relented, drawing out the syllable for good measure. “Probably not aliens. Seriously, though, if you tell me what I’m supposed to be looking for, I might have more luck with this. Why are these things even on your radar?”

“We closely monitor all of the areas within a hundred miles of the UNITED headquarters in Switzerland,” Victoria explained. “Particularly now, with the vote so close and many Created still on the loose. Given the fact that the electric company has no explanation for the power outages, we are not ruling out a rogue electrical manipulator.”

“But it doesn’t explain the cattle,” I concluded.

“Precisely. Do you see any connection between the events listed in the reports?” Victoria adjusted on my thin mattress so she was facing me directly, gesturing to the papers scattered between us.

“Um, maybe the thieves cut the power so no one could see them stealing the cows?” I ventured.

“It’s possible,” she replied, seeming doubtful.

“But not probable,” I finished for her, sighing. “That would likely have been unnecessary, given that the cows were out in a field, already in the dark.”

“I know this is an odd set of circumstances,” Victoria said, sensing my frustration. “But I do believe the events are all related. I am just not sure how they are related. I was hoping you might find the connection.”

“I see,” I stalled. This was my chance to prove my worth to UNITED, but I was coming up empty-handed. “Nothing comes to mind, but I’ll go through the articles and reports again. Do you think you could get me more information? Like maybe some personal blogs from people living in that region? Or copies of the police interviews with Franz and the other farmers involved? For that matter, all the police reports from this town over the last several months would be useful. It’s possible there are other related incidents that no one has connected with the power outages and thefts yet. If I have more dots to connect, the pattern will come quicker.”

“I can probably get you much of that by this evening,” Victoria answered, already tapping rapidly on her communicator.

Hesitating, I debated voicing the thought that kept echoing through my mind. After a long pause, I decided that it was time to be a team player.

“You do know I’m not the best person for this job, right?” I asked quietly. “I mean, I want the opportunity to prove myself to the council, and I really appreciate you giving me that chance. It’s just, there are countless people within UNITED who would be more capable of figuring this all out. One of your brains is definitely better suited.”

Victoria averted her gaze, waging an internal debate.

“This is strictly need-to-know,” she finally said. “We have leaks within UNITED. A lot of them, it seems. Classified internal information has been appearing online, and we have no idea how it’s getting out.” Though Victoria started to say something else, she must have thought better of it at the last instant, and clamped her lips shut.

Curious, I thought, probing Victoria’s mind to test her resistance. Apparently she’d been expecting the attempt, because her mental barriers were firmly in place. Naturally, this only made me more interested in finding out what she was holding back.

“Spies?” I suggested.

“Oh, we definitely have spies. But we know who most of them are.”

“And you let them stay?” I asked, confused.

“Keep your enemies close,” Victoria replied, with the faintest trace of a smile. “We just don’t let them anywhere near the truly confidential data. Those that we’ve tagged as spies don’t have access to the files that have been disseminated online. One item in particular that showed up isn’t even available to all of the councilmembers.”

“So if it’s not someone on the inside, maybe hackers are getting in to the UNITED data system? Someone did breach my communicator during the auction,” I reminded her. In London, when my team and I infiltrated the Poachers’ auction to rescue Kenly, someone had been sending creepy messages to my UNITED-issued communicator.

The source had been listed as “Unknown”—something that shouldn’t have been possible on the UNITED comm system—but I was pretty sure I knew who’d messaged me: Ernest Tate, a former acquaintance of mine from the McDonough School. What I didn’t know was why, much less how he’d been able to access the UNITED frequencies. The last time I’d seen Ernest before the auction, he was a drooling mess that needed help sitting up. The man at the auction house had been walking, talking, and bidding on Created. That whole situation was a mystery I very much wanted to solve.

“Yes, but the person who messaged you during the auction left a digital footprint,” Victoria reasoned. “It merely lead to a comm line that was only used during the auction, but the cryptos were able to locate the source. With these data leaks, we cannot find any trace of someone infiltrating the UNITED networks.”

“You mean Ernest,” I interjected. “Henri saw him there. I saw him there. It was Ernest Tate. He was the one sending me messages at the auction.”

Victoria sighed. This was not the first time I’d pushed the subject, and she was clearly wary to start back down this particular path.

“Talia, I looked into it after the auction. UNITED’s cryptos recovered TOXIC’s records of your psychic interrogation session with Mr. Tate; his mind was blank when you were finished. He is literally comatose, lacking all brain functions.” Victoria put her hand up to halt my forthcoming protests. “I do not know where Mr. Tate ended up, or if he is even still alive, but, by your own account, the man you knew as Ernest Tate no longer exists.”

I looked down at my hands, feeling immensely guilty. Everything she’d said was true, and it was all my fault. While searching through his head for information about a spy within TOXIC, I had inadvertently wiped Ernest’s mind, stolen his memories, and left him a vegetable.

“Memory re-implantation is possible,” I said quietly.

“Possible,” Victoria agreed with a nod. “But unless there is something you’re not telling me, it is highly unlikely in this case. Re-implantation has only been successful when the person who originally wiped the memories restores them. Even then, I’ve only heard of a single case in which it worked, back in the alpha generation. Did you happen to do that?”

“No,” I confirmed.

“I thought as much.” Victoria clasped her hands in her lap. “I have considered that the man you saw in London—someone who looks like Ernest Tate—is the source of our current leaks, since he was able to infiltrate UNITED’s comm system. However, our cryptos have found no breaches to the data system. Very few hackers in the world are proficient enough to access it at all, let alone do so without leaving any evidence of the intrusion.”

“Aliens,” I decided. “Alien technology far surpasses our own. Those big-headed green guys could definitely get in and out without leaving a trace.”

Victoria sighed impatiently. “We were not hacked by aliens, Talia. Aliens did not abduct the French farmer. No government on this planet has evidence to prove that aliens even exist. And before you suggest it, an alien did not attack Erik.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I had to stifle a giggle at her exasperation. Though I considered pushing the subject, again purely for my own amusement, Yocum caught my eye and gave a discreet shake of his head, as if to say “Stop antagonizing the woman who holds the keys to your freedom.”

He knew me so well.

“The fact is, we do not know how the information is getting out,” Victoria continued. “Therefore, until we discover the source of the leaks, only trusted, vetted individuals are being given access to classified intel. That is why I have brought this to you, instead of handing it off to the cryptos.”

“You think a bovine theft warrants top-level security?” Yocum interjected, raising his brows. My guard had been silent up to this point, but seemed unable to contain the comment any longer. Realizing he’d stepped out of line, Yocum quickly added, “Ma’am.”

“More importantly,” I said, dismissing his question with a wave of my hand, “the council considers me a trusted individual? If so, it’s high time they let me out of this cell.”

“I consider you a trusted individual. The council considers you to be disobedient, impulsive, and impossible to control,” Victoria stated flatly.

“That’s so sweet. I knew you liked me, I just knew it,” I quipped.

“Nonetheless, you have been incarcerated for the past month with no access to the comm system, data systems, or the web,” Victoria replied, pointedly ignoring my comment. “It is simply impossible for you to be the source of our leaks.”

I glanced guiltily at Yocum’s communicator hidden beneath my thigh.

Victoria paused before continuing, drawing in her breath for so long that it felt as though she’d swallowed all of the oxygen in the room.

“I will be honest with you, Talia,” she said finally. “The other council members need to see you as more than a liability. Not at some point in the future, but right now. With everything going on, it is absolutely imperative for you to show them that UNITED needs you. Solving this problem for us will ensure your….” Victoria hesitated, as though searching for the right word. “Freedom,” she finally finished.

Goosebumps peppered my skin as I considered the other ways Victoria might have finished that sentence. Because there was no doubt in my mind that “freedom” wasn’t what she’d been thinking.

A knock on the cell door abruptly cut off our conversation, just as my mind filled with questions for Victoria. Something was up. I didn’t know what, but there was definitely something.

The door slid open and a painfully thin woman, just slightly older than me, entered my cell. Her emerald eyes had lost some of their luster over the past month, and her jet-black hair grew duller by the day. Still, Anya Pritcher was beautiful by anyone’s standards.

“Councilwoman Walburton, I apologize—I didn’t know you’d be here. I can come back later, if you like,” Anya offered.

“No need, Dr. Pritcher, I was just leaving,” Victoria replied easily. “It is important for the prisoners to receive their injections as scheduled.”

Anya nodded, then walked over to the meal table and placed a compact metal case on the small surface. She pressed a finger to the keypad, waited a beat for her identity to be verified, and began removing vials of clear liquid.

UNITED gave all of the prisoners on Vault a daily dose of the suppression drug—a chemical cocktail meant to subdue our talents, making us prisoners less dangerous and easier to control. Along with my lunch each day, I received an injection, sort of like the worst side dish ever.

In my case, the injection was all for show, since I still had access to my abilities. But only three people were aware of this: Victoria, Anya, and Yocum. Despite the fact it was against every rule UNITED had for Vault, they were all complacent in allowing me to keep my talents, since none of them reported the issue.

Victoria was under the impression that I was somehow immune to the suppression drug. The reason she’d kept mum, and ordered Yocum’s silence, was because she liked being able to pass mental messages to me. It was the only way for her to keep me apprised of what was going on in the outside world, and the only way for us to communicate without being watched or overheard.

Anya, however, knew for a fact that I was not immune to the drug.

Like me, Anya was a former TOXIC operative. She’d worked in their medical research department, and had been the one to discover that TOXIC’s doctors were injecting me with the exact same suppression drug used on Vault. Anya had also been the one to uncover the reason behind those injections—Danbury McDonough, former TOXIC Director, had not wanted me to know that I’d been infected with the creation drug through a blood transfusion. No one even knew about the creation drug at that point; it was still a clandestine experiment that was being carried out in top-secret research facilities, using orphans and runaways as test subjects. Because of this, Mac had ordered my created abilities suppressed to keep the secret.

Since we were both fully aware that I wasn’t immune to the suppression drug, it was a safe bet that she’d been swapping the real deal for sugar water or something equally benign.

Ever since we’d rescued Anya from the Poachers, she’d been incredibly nice to me, even requesting placement on Vault, which was not a place most doctors wanted to work. All of the prisoners were assigned a doctor, who was in charge of administering injections and overseeing the health of the incarcerated. As luck would have it, I’d been assigned to Anya.

This, of course, was not a fact I’d shared with Victoria. Anya didn’t deserve sanctions on my account, especially not when she was trying to show me kindness in the only manner at her disposal.

“Talia, I will see you tomorrow morning,” Victoria continued, standing from her seat on my bed. She stretched her back discreetly, giving my thin mattress an annoyed look. Then, glancing at the papers I was gathering up, she added, “I will have the cryptos see about obtaining those police interviews and reports for you.”

Placing two fingers above my brow, I saluted the councilwoman. Returning my attention to stacking the scattered papers of the file, a note I’d made on one of the pages caught my eye.

“Oh, Victoria? There is something I wanted to ask you about,” I called after her.

Pausing in front of the door, Victoria glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“I meant to mention it earlier, but the stuff about Erik’s attack has me all distracted. Selby Masterson—does that name mean anything to you?”

Glass vials clattered and broke over in the corner of the room. My gaze shot towards Anya. Hands trembling, she fumbled to right the bottles. Several had cracked, and one was oozing its magenta contents all over my meal table.

“I am so clumsy,” Anya mumbled, hurrying to clean the mess with a sterile towel from her case.

I eyed the doctor sympathetically, not fooled by her claims of clumsiness; my mention of Erik and the attack had clearly rattled her.

Before me, Anya had been Erik’s girlfriend. While their relationship was never all that serious, they had once cared for each other. They still did, just not in quite the same way.

“Erik’s going to be fine, Anya,” I reassured her kindly.

She turned, the wet towel in one hand. “Hmmm?”

“I was just briefing Talia on Agent Kelley’s condition,” Victoria spoke up. “It appears his injuries are very minor, and the doctors anticipate a quick recovery.”

Anya paled, a feat I’d have thought impossible given her already milky complexion. “I am so glad to hear it. I saw the urgent update on my comm earlier, and I was so worried.” She hesitated, casting her uncertain gaze towards the floor before meeting Victoria’s eyes. “If I may ask, have there been any new developments on the identity of the attacker? Or information about the group they work for?”

Victoria’s golden stare raked Anya from head to toe, slight annoyance showing in her pursed lips. “Not at this time,” she replied brusquely. The councilwoman turned back to me. “Selby Masterson, did you say? The name is not familiar. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “It’s just, I swear I’ve read the name before. Just thought you might know who she is, or maybe where I would’ve heard of her.”

“As far as I’m aware, Ms. Masterson is not currently affiliated with UNITED,” Victoria said, taking her communicator from her pocket. “I do not have our employee roster memorized, but I do recognize most of our operative names.”

Her thumbs tapped rapidly on the screen for several moments, then Victoria shook her head resolutely.

“Selby Masterson is not in our operative database,” she confirmed. A thoughtful expression overtook her patrician features. “Since she is not UNITED, perhaps you saw the name, or maybe heard it, during your time with the Hunters?”

I shrugged. “Not that I can recall.”

“I will have someone run a search through TOXIC’s records, or what few of them we have been able to recover.” Victoria returned her gaze to Anya. “Dr. Pritcher? Do you recognize the name Selby Masterson?”

Anya was still cleaning the spilled chemicals and broken glass, but stiffened at Victoria’s question. With trembling fingers, she folded the last shards of glass in the towel and smiled nervously over her shoulder at the councilwoman.

Funny, I thought, Anya works with dangerous prisoners all day, every day, yet little old Victoria makes her nervous.

“No, ma’am, I do not,” she replied. “I am sorry I cannot be of help.”

The words were spoken in a controlled tone I was familiar with, one that was usually accompanied by an underlying deception. But a quick scan of Anya’s emotions detected nothing of the sort. Victoria hesitated, gaze darting between Anya and me, her expression suggesting that she also thought the doctor might be lying. Still, the councilwoman didn’t press the issue.

“Well, no matter,” Victoria replied simply. “I am sure our people will solve the puzzle in no time. Talia, please finish going through the file I gave you. I would like to report your findings to the council straightaway.”

With those parting words, Victoria slid through the cell door, the airlock whooshing closed behind her.

Erik

UNITED Medical Facility

New York, New York

Four Days Before the Vote

“I’m fine, Miles,” I snapped for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Stop hovering over my bed, it makes me feel like an invalid.”

Miles was a good guy, but his mother hen tendencies were super irritating.

“You’re wounded, Erik,” Penny reminded me from her perch in the corner of my hospital room.

“Ten stitches, Penny—that’s nothing,” I retorted. “I won’t even have a cool scar to show Tals when we get back.”

Not that she’d think that morning’s incident was amusing. Knowing Tals, she’d swear vengeance on the little girl, along with everyone the girl had ever encountered in her short lifetime. Not for the first time, I was glad my girlfriend wouldn’t have heard about the attack and my injuries. I hated when she worried, which she always did.

My own memories of the attack were a little hazy. I recalled the little girl with the shifting appearance. I recalled asking her if she was Talented. Then, I woke up in a damned hospital bed.

Which I was still in two hours later, with wireless electrodes attached to my temples and peppered across my chest. Even though I was anxious to get out of there, I was still being monitored on two side-by-side wallscreens mounted beside the uncomfortable hospital bed. One showed images of my brain, with certain sections lighting up periodically. The other displayed views of my insides, both the organs and the bones.

Between Penny and Miles, they’d filled in the missing chunk of time. Apparently, the girl had been a suicide bomber. She’d waited for me to get within range, and then detonated the explosive. Thanks to Miles’s quick reflexes, I was yanked far enough out of harm’s way to avoid the worst of the blast.

Which was ironic, because a buckle on Miles’s boot, which I’d landed on during his rescue, caused the now stitched-up gash on my shoulder. Somehow, the fact that my most serious injury was more the result of bad luck rather than the attack itself made this stint in the hospital feel even more ridiculous than it normally would have.

I was totally fine. I just wanted to put my charred clothes back on, and get the hell out of there. Not one of my injuries was life-threatening, or even remotely worrisome, a fact I’d been shouting at every doctor who’d entered my room thus far.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of several others who’d been within the small blast’s range. A member of my security detail and three innocent bystanders were all grievously wounded in the explosion. The UNITED guy was currently in surgery, with a topnotch medical team attempting to repair his internal damage.

The thought of so much bloodshed on my account made me sick to my stomach.

“It’s not your fault, Erik,” Penny said quietly, reading the thoughts I had yet to voice aloud.

I glared at her. Penny realized her error, instantly turning bright red. Which made me feel a little bad, since I knew she wasn’t being malicious. Just not bad enough to apologize.

Telepathy was relatively new to both of us, so controlling the urge to read others’ minds while also actively blocking their thoughts was not something either of us had mastered. Still, we’d both spent enough time around Talia to know just how intrusive it was to have another person experience your mental ramblings. Penny didn’t like it any more than I did.

I’d give anything to have her here, I thought wistfully.

Unlike with Miles, I would have welcomed Talia’s face hovering over mine. Love and concern swirling in her eyes, vengeance coursing through her veins.

Unfortunately, Talia wasn’t here, and wouldn’t be showing up any time soon. At least, I was guessing Vault didn’t grant Level Five prisoners furloughs to visit their barely injured boyfriends in the hospital.

Maybe I should check with Victoria on that, I thought, adding it to my mental to-do list.

Of course, thinking about Tals on Vault instantly wiped the smile from my face. From what I’d been told, the dangerous prisoners—and Talia was considered one of the most dangerous of all—were heavily sedated. The thought of my headstrong, passionate girlfriend reduced to a vacant-eyed zombie made my blood boil.

Naturally, I grabbed the glass of water sitting on my tray and rocketed it across the hospital room. Erratic beeping instantly blared from the speakers on my heart monitor, only to be outdone by the shattering of the glass against the wall.

“Erik, calm down,” Penny coaxed inside my head.

“Come on, kid. Stay in control,” Miles said.

Nurses, doctors, and several of my security detail rushed the door, causing a slight traffic jam as they all tried to shove inside the room at once. It was kind of hilarious to watch. I laughed, making the concerned expression on Miles’s face turn to panic.

In a flurry of activity, the doctors and nurses crowded around my bed, restraints and syringes of sedatives at the ready. It was my turn to panic. I didn’t want them pumping me full of drugs. I didn’t want them knocking me out. I wanted to return to Eden. I wanted to return to Talia. Our planned visit was still eighteen hours away, but maybe, just maybe, if I played the sympathy card, Victoria would find it in her heart to let me see Tals sooner.

If not, well, at least I’d be able to go to our apartment, sleep in the bed Talia and I had shared, and shower in the bathroom where her soap, shampoo, and toothbrush remained untouched.

Thoughts of snuggling beneath the same sheets I’d laid in with her, where I’d held Talia in my arms, nearly caused my heart monitor to explode.

“Out!” Penny bellowed. The one word carried so much authority that everyone in the room froze. It was like time itself had been paused. At a much more normal volume, though no less powerful, she repeated, “Out. All of you. I will handle this.”

Without a single word of protest, the medical staff and UNITED guards, including Miles, plodded from the room. Penny strode over to the bed, gave the beeping machine a once-over, and then placed her palm on top of the electronic monitor. Faint blue-white light burst from her hand, sparks shooting between her splayed fingers as audible cracks and pops added to the cacophony of sounds from the monitor. Then, a shockwave of pure, raw electricity surged from Penny and into the machine.

With that, the room fell blissfully silent.

Squeezing my eyelids shut, I counted to ten, a trick I’d picked up from Talia. When I was fully in command of my emotions again, I opened my eyes and met Penny’s gaze.

“Better?” she asked, the question perfunctory since she was still inside my head.

“Yeah, thanks, Penny. Really.” I rubbed my forehead wearily. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I don’t know what it is exactly. I can’t seem to….” I trailed off, hating to admit weakness, even to someone who understood and appreciated my inner turmoil.

“Control yourself?” Penny guessed. She reached behind her for a chair, pulled it beside the bed, and sat.

I nodded, not wanting to say the words aloud.

“I feel the same way,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s getting harder to fight the urge to lash out. Or, sometimes, to simply breakdown and cry. The other day Brand was telling me about this new pizza place he’d found, and I lost it.” Laughing bitterly, Penny shook her head, clearly embarrassed by the memory. “I screamed at him, told him not to bother calling again if all he wanted to talk about was what he’d eaten for dinner. Then….” Penny paused, looking mortified. “Then I crushed my communicator between my hands.”

I smiled, though the situation wasn’t funny in the least. “I’m sure he deserved the yelling, whether for pizza or for something else. Brand’s a good guy and all, but he does have a tendency to say asinine shit.”

This made Penny chuckle. “Yeah, but he usually reserves those comments for people who aren’t me.” She took a deep breath, her expression and thoughts once again turning serious. “Sometimes I feel like the power is consuming me from the inside. Using my new talents makes it worse, I think. But not using them is physically painful. The pressure inside of me builds, and it feels like claws are scraping the underneath of my skin, trying to rip it open and find release. The only way to relieve the pressure and lessen the pain is to use my talents. Which, of course, makes me feel like I’m barely hanging on to my sanity by a thread. It’s a vicious cycle.”

When our gazes met, Penny’s lime green eyes were moist with unshed tears. She began to chew her bottom lip and fidget with her shirt cuffs, as if needing to keep her fingers occupied. I never knew what to do when girls cried, so I just reached over and awkwardly patted Penny’s shoulder.

In the month we’d been traveling the world together, we rarely spoke about the toll the creation drug was taking on us both. Sure, we joked about losing our minds whenever one of us did something particularly irrational or ridiculous. But, with no cure in sight, joking seemed the only way to cope with the uncertainty of our futures. Well, that and Talia.

Until that moment, I hadn’t thought it possible for me to miss Talia any more than I already did. Everything Penny had just said, Talia understood firsthand, and had dealt with it her entire life. She would’ve been a much better person to have this discussion with.

Talia knew how to reign in her overabundance of power, how to control it. The fact that she frequently lost control had more to due with her impulsive nature than an inability to temper the demons inside. Of course, the ability to channel her power effectively hadn’t come overnight; Talia learned how over the course of years, under the tutelage of instructors trained to deal with inexperienced people possessing strong talents. Penny and I didn’t have anything like that.

Penny wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and gave me a watery smile.

“Sorry. I usually talk to Brand about all of this stuff. Well, when I’m not screaming at him for no reason,” she rambled. “He’s just been so busy helping my uncle, and I hate dragging him down with my problems when we only have like five minutes to talk each night. I know the work he’s doing, trying to repair the U.S. and get support for the vote, is super important. Really, I get that. I just miss him.”

Brand Meadows, Penny’s boyfriend, was currently serving as Ian Crane’s second-in-command over in the United States. I could relate to what she was feeling, though I would’ve given anything for even five minutes on the phone with Tals every night. Still, what were you supposed to do when the person you relied on was gone?

Again, I patted Penny’s shoulder awkwardly. I debated hugging her, but I’d barely touched another girl since losing my heart to Talia, even a close friend like Penny. In the end, I simply squeezed her forearm. Anything more would’ve been weird.

“You can always talk to me,” I told her. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie and tell you that I have some great wisdom to impart, because I don’t. Really, all I know is that this sucks. The entire situation is completely messed up, and it sucks hard. All that stuff you just said? I feel it, too. And I really hate not being able to talk to Talia about it. She’s the only person I’ve ever really opened up to. Regardless of that, and regardless of the fact I’m not Brand and don’t really know anything about anything, I’m always here to listen.”

“Talia’s lucky to have you,” Penny said, and I could tell she meant it. With one last sniffle, she stood. “Now, I’m going to find someone with an ounce of authority to inform them it’s time we went home.”

I chuckled. “If that display earlier is any indication, I’m guessing we’ll be on a hover within the hour,” I teased.

Penny paused in the doorway and winked. “Bet on it.”

True to her word, Penny returned ten minutes later with Miles, Agent Dan, and a dazed man in scrubs.

“Agent Kelley, I am Dr. Bollinger,” the scrub-wearing man greeted me, extending a hand to shake. “Victoria Walburton sent me to examine you for neural damage that might have been inflicted just before the explosion. Let me get up to speed, then we can talk about any findings.”

The doctor turned his attention from me to the screen with the scans of my brain. Rather, where the scans of my brain had been, until Penny fried the entire system. The doctor did a double take when he saw the blank displays.

“What happened here?” he asked.

“It was the weirdest thing,” Penny began, her expression all doe-eyed innocence. “It just stopped working. Maybe there was a power surge or something?”

Miles snorted. Agent Dan kept his expression neutral, only the quick flit of humor in his light eyes betraying his amusement.

“A power surge?” Dr. Bollinger repeated, skepticism oozing from his words. “What is your talent again, Agent Crane?”

I had to hand it to Penny. When faced with the level of scrutiny she was receiving, most people would have at least blushed. Then again, most people weren’t international spies with “successfully infiltrated a top-secret government organization” listed under the accomplishments in their personnel files. Subterfuge and complex covert operations were Penny’s specialty, so lying to a doctor—even a UNITED doctor—was nothing.

Penny smiled placidly at the doctor. “At last count, I had twelve talents, Dr. Bollinger.”

If the man was surprised to learn that she was Created, he didn’t let on.

“I’d wager that one of them is electrical manipulation,” he said dryly.

“Maybe even two,” Penny agreed.

“Look,” I interjected, trying to yank the conversation back on track. “My vitals are good, you don’t need those damned monitors to tell you that. More importantly, I feel fine. The worst physical injury is a small flesh wound, which was stitched up. My brain is no more damaged than it was six hours ago. There’s no reason I can’t fly home now.”

Miles inched forward to stand between the doctor and me. Uncrossing his arms, he held up a hand to silence Dr. Bollinger before the man even opened his mouth. I glared at the older agent. He’d purposely inserted himself into the proverbial line of fire, under the mistaken belief that this would thwart my efforts to bend the doctor’s will to match my own. Even after spending a month in close quarters with Penny and me, Miles didn’t seem to understand that eye contact, while helpful, was not necessary for manipulation.

“You need to rest, kid. Let the doc examine your head, just to be safe,” Miles said firmly. “Another few hours here, hell, even a day or two, won’t kill you. You’ll finally have a day off—enjoy it.”

Weeks ago, at the start of this charade with the rallies, I’d sworn under penalty of a major ass-kicking never to compel Miles. With the exception of several minor suggestions, I’d kept my promise. Penny, however, wasn’t under the same obligation.

“I got this,” she told me mentally.

“Erik is fine, Agent DeSanto,” Penny said aloud. “I can personally attest to the fact that his brain has suffered no additional damage. I spend a lot of time in Erik’s head, reading his thoughts and emotions, so I’m uniquely qualified to make such an assessment. There has been no change in his brain patterns or activity since the attack.” Done with Miles, she turned a dazzling smile on Dr. Bollinger. “Returning to the Isle will speed his recovery, wouldn’t you agree?”

Penny’s powers of manipulation were so refined that both men capitulated without hesitation.

“Thank you, Agent Crane. I appreciate your assistance in this matter,” the doctor said, without a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “And I quite agree that familiar surroundings will aid Agent Kelley’s recovery. I will go request the medi-hover be readied for takeoff.”

“It’ll do you good to be back near that girlfriend of yours,” Miles agreed readily.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as thoughts of Talia once again filled my head. Since that fateful day she’d been sedated, restrained, and hauled off to Vault, all I’d wanted was to hold her in my arms again. The events at Walburton Manor and my inability to save Talia from prison were things I’d never forgive myself for. Talia had needed me, and I’d been powerless to help her. Her punishment should have been mine. Or, at the very least, one we shared.

Would she be able to forgive me?

“She made a choice. And I can assure you that, given the chance, she would make that same choice all over again,” Penny sent. It was her turn to pat me awkwardly on the arm.

Aloud, she declared, “It’s time to go home.”

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Four Days Before the Vote

Kev Leon—the Kev Leon, star of the highest-grossing movie franchise of all time, Tides of Fortune—was alive. And not only alive, but also standing ten feet from Cressa.

This. Was. Epic. The fact that he wasn’t dead, but walking, talking, and attending the Institute was simply unbelievable. It would’ve been, if Cressa hadn’t seen the A-lister with her own eyes. Even as she stood beside Kev on the elevator to the dorms, breathing the same air, Cressa had a hard time wrapping her head around the sudden development.

Mr. and Mrs. Karmine had told Cressa that most of the Institute’s students came from prestigious old families, though there might also be well-known athletes, video stars, or otherwise famous students. After all, they’d reminded her, the best of the world’s best were selected for instruction at the Institute. Of course, her parents had failed to mention that those famous faces might belong to people the world presumed deceased.

But Cressa wasn’t complaining.

“Cadet Karmine is also a brand-new 2P,” Gregor told Kev as the elevator zoomed northward. “She also just received her light manipulation injection, so you will be in lessons together.”

Kev’s empty gaze darted towards Cressa. Blushing a deep crimson, she gave the teen idol a small, giddy wave. An emotion too complex for Cressa to decipher in that heart-stopping moment flitted briefly across Kev’s blue irises. Cressa melted. Madame Gillis, the 1P initiator, had told her that the Dame could make Cressa’s wildest dreams come true, but she’d never imagined that included her daydreams about meeting Kev Leon. Suddenly, Cressa wanted to take back every questioning thought she’d ever had about her decision to come to the Institute. With the introduction of Kev, the Dame’s program was instantly the greatest thing to ever happen to Cressa.

“Becoming acquainted with your fellow 2Ps is very important,” Gregor continued when neither of them replied to his introduction, a slight edge to his tone.

Though she was starstruck, and utterly unable to form coherent words, she realized it was odd that Kev didn’t take the opening—he was known to be warm and inviting, with a big personality. Fans waited for hours in the rain, snow, or blood-boiling temperatures just to catch a glimpse of the boy the press had dubbed Midas, and he never disappointed. Kev spent more time visiting with fans, signing comms and posing for pictures than any other actor on the planet.

Staring at Kev in the bright lights of the elevator car, Cressa thought that maybe all the media hype was just that—hype. Because Kev Leon wasn’t nearly what she thought he’d be, both in manner and appearance. His golden hair had surpassed messy and simply appeared unkempt. The rich, tanned skin that came from the perfect blend of several diverse ethnicities was no longer smooth and radiant. Instead, Kev suffered from the same blemishes on his chin that Cressa did. In the life-size e-poster on Cressa’s bedroom wall in Boston, the blue of Kev’s eyes was hypnotic, his gaze as soulful as the deepest parts of the most beautiful ocean. In real life, those eyes were more like shallow tide pools.

And still, Cressa thought Kev Leon was quite possibly the most perfect male specimen alive, blemishes be damned.

“My name is Cressa, Cressa Karmine,” Cressa said helpfully.

Kev stared at her blankly.

“I know who you are, of course. I mean, everyone knows who you are,” she rambled, hoping for even a glimmer of a reaction.

“2P male dormitory,” the mechanical voice announced as the elevator came to a smooth stop on Kev’s floor.

The doors slid soundlessly apart, giving Cressa a glimpse of a beautiful glass atrium with colorful stained glass tiles decorating one wall, and a large archway in the middle of the space.

Gregor nudged Kev Leon in the ribs. The actor shuffled forward, exiting the car without ever acknowledging Cressa. Her heart sank. Gregor gave Cressa and Leslie a curt nod before following.

“Oh, Gregor?” Leslie called after her classmate. The 8P boy turned. “Did you receive the message from the Dame? She wants to meet with both of us in the morning, directly after breakfast.”

Cressa’s gaze was still locked on Kev, who was just about to pass through the archway on the far wall. He paused and turned back, glancing quickly from Gregor to Leslie. Finding their attention on each other, Kev Leon smiled sadly at Cressa. Her heart pitter-pattered, leaping in to her throat. It was the same look he’d given Alice, his girlfriend in Tides of Fortune, as she lay dying in his arms after being blasted with a Plutonian death pistol.

Julie is going to freak, Cressa thought, picturing the look on her best friend’s face when Cressa told her about the encounter with Kev Leon. Julie was even more obsessed with the young heartthrob than Cressa, and still heartbroken over his death. At least, Cressa assumed she was, since it had been a month.

As a reward for being accepted to the Institute, Cressa’s father had used his connections to secure exclusive access tickets to the premier of My Heart to Break, Kev’s last movie before his purported death. Julie and Cressa had spent an entire day with Mrs. Karmine’s personal shopper, selecting the perfect dresses for their big night out. On the day of the premiere, just as the girls were finishing their appointments with glamour specialists, Mr. Karmine had commed Cressa to say that the event was unexpectedly canceled. She and Julie had been despondent, and locked themselves away in Cressa’s room to cry over the fact they might never meet their shared dreamboat.

Then, the news broke—Kev Leon had died of an apparent drug overdose.

“Thank you, I did receive the order.” Gregor’s voice jolted Cressa from her memories. Kev was still watching the older cadets intently, sparing Cressa another look that she couldn’t decipher.

“Very well. Good night,” Leslie replied, removing her finger from the elevator’s Hold button.

The doors slid shut on Kev and his sad smile.

“2P girl’s dormitory,” Leslie commanded.

Cressa knew she should keep her mouth shut. She knew she shouldn’t bring it up. But she was practically choking on the questions lining up in her head like rowdy fans waiting for entrance to a concert.

“That…that was Kev Leon,” Cressa finally said.

The older girl stared down her nose at Cressa, her disapproval palpable in the small space.

“No, he was Kev Leon,” Leslie replied. “Now he is Cadet Kevin Leonard. Like you, he is in Phase Two of the Privileged program. There are no celebrities at the Institute, and I suggest you do not treat him as such. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. We are all equals at the Institute,” Cressa replied absently, her thoughts still on the movie star.

Leslie shook her head. “No, cadet, there are no equals—not in life, and certainly not at the Institute. But status must be earned here, entirely separate from whom you once were. From the time you received your acceptance until your last breath in service to the Dame, you are part of the greatest competition in this world. Every person under the Dame is ranked, based solely on your performance within the Institute. Technically, all cadets can advance through the phases, but those at the top of the classes will receive greater rewards than the bottom-dwellers. Once the Dame’s word is spread to the masses and society comes under Privileged-rule, her worthiest disciples will be the true stars of the new galaxy.”

Cressa cringed at the rebuke. She’d been so starstruck by Kev Leon that she’d forgotten one of her earliest lessons. Leslie’s little speech was a close approximation of the one Madame Gillis had given Cressa on her first day about the Dame encouraging an adversarial environment. The Institute believed pitting cadets against one another pushed them to do better, to be better.

Life is a competition, Cressa reminded herself. Winning is up to me, no one else.

It was her father’s favorite and most repeated idiom. After all, the Karmine fortune hadn’t been built on luck or generosity. It was earned. Through blood, sweat, and tears, her ancestors had bested their competitors to make Karmine Pharmaceuticals the largest drug company in the world. And it was solely Cressa’s responsibility to continue the Karmine legacy of greatness, through hard work, determination, and doing whatever it took to be the best.

I’m still working on that last bit, Cressa thought wryly.

The elevator doors opened and Leslie stepped into the dorm’s atrium, which appeared identical to the one on the boy’s floor. The glass stones radiated a cool beauty that was somehow both enticing and off-putting. Leslie stopped in the middle of the space and pointed upwards. Cressa followed the direction of Leslie’s finger and did a double take. The ceiling was rounded, the highest point directly above where the two girls stood. Ivy meandered across the glass roof, with small flowers in an array of colors and patterns twined through the vines.

“Every floor devoted to housing those in Phase Two and above has one of these gardens,” Leslie told her. “Each of the flowers represents a cadet who has passed through these halls. Tomorrow, your flower will be added to this collection. As you continue through the program, your representative flower will change to reflect you as an individual. Right now, as a 2P, your flower is white, because you are a blank slate with little choice in any matters. With each Phase, you gain more insight and more control. This is reflected in your flower. By the time you complete Phase Eight, the petals may all be different colors, or spotted, or striped—a representation of who you are as a Privileged. You see those flowers?” Leslie pointed to the base of the dome, where black flowers ringed the perimeter. Some were withered and dying, while others were still blossoming, though dark as a moonless midnight. “That is the graveyard. Every black flower you see denotes an individual who has proven unworthy by failing to achieve Privileged status.” She stared hard at Cressa. “See that your flower remains in the garden above.”

Cressa swallowed around the lump in her throat. The symbolism was not lost on her—a black flower meant failure, while a withered one likely signified death. There was an awful lot of black beneath the rainbow garden.

“The common room is this way, come now,” Leslie said, heading for the archway. Cressa followed on her heels, unsteadied by the alien environment. “Your belongings have already been relocated to your new quarters,” Leslie continued.

“Belongings?” Cressa echoed, temporarily distracted from the morbid flower garden.

Per Institute regulations, Cressa had been allowed only a single personal item from home. She’d chosen a one-eyed stuffed frog she called Frieda, given to Cressa by her father on her fifth birthday. After her first day of instruction at the Institute, she’d returned to her room to find Frieda gone. Naturally, Cressa had asked Madame Gillis if she knew anything about the frog’s disappearance.

“Stuffed animals are for babies,” the woman had replied.

And that was that. Cressa hadn’t seen so much as a stray green thread from the frog since.

“Your clothing and toiletries,” Leslie clarified as the two girls entered the commons.

The large room was highbrow-meets-homey. Artwork from notable painters hung on walls the color of butterscotch, each framed creation more expensive than the one beside it. The couches and tables were also clearly made by high-end designers, but the leather cushions looked soft and supple and inviting. Cashmere afghans were folded over the backs of chairs and on the arms of sofas. The material would be soft to the touch, Cressa was positive, since her mother had similar ones sprinkled throughout their home. Finally, motivational maxims were stenciled in looping letters below the wainscoting—Power is Strength; Privilege is for the Worthy; Destinies are Made, not Inherited; Sacrifice in Service.

Each word made Cressa’s skin grow colder and colder, until she felt as if she would shatter into a million shards of ice. They were all sayings she’d heard before, either from Madame Gillis or one of the senior cadets. Still, seeing them written out brought a new level of clarity for Cressa; she began to truly appreciate how high the stakes were.

Five girls, ranging in age from about ten to approximately eighteen, were scattered throughout the commons. They all looked up from what they were doing when Leslie and Cressa entered.

“This is your newest classmate, Cadet Cressa Karmine,” Leslie announced. She pointed to where two identical girls sat across from each other at a small table in the corner, a chessboard set up between them. “Shyla and Lyla Towers.”

The girls waved in unison, and Cressa returned the gesture.

Next, Leslie indicated a tall girl with dark chocolate skin and a silky silver ponytail curled up on an overstuffed sofa with a paper book.

“Nydia Lupo,” Leslie said. Obviously shy, Nydia peered over at Cressa through long lashes, but didn’t make eye contact. “Cadet Lupo will be your roommate. She will show you to your room and make sure you become acclimated to your new surroundings.”

“It is nice to meet you, Nydia,” Cressa said, infusing as much warmth in her greeting as she could muster. Even after her long, arduous day, Cressa wanted to get off on the right foot with her new roommate.

In her short time as a 1P, Cressa had lived with three different girls. The first, Jinger, had advanced to Phase Two shortly after Cressa’s arrival. Wendi, her second roommate, passed the Phase One advancement exam on her first try, leaving Cressa after only ten days.

Then there had been Steph, the opinionated daughter of some high-ranking military man in Argentina. Steph had a delayed reaction to the talent serum, and had been carted off to med bay just twenty-four hours after her initial procedure was completed. Cressa didn’t know what happened to her after that, but she hadn’t seen the Argentinian girl again. That was a week before, and Cressa hadn’t been assigned a new roommate.

Now, she found herself hoping that Nydia wasn’t close to advancing to Phase Three. She’d been so focused on passing her first test that the isolation hadn’t hit her completely until that moment. Cressa suddenly realized that the Institute—where she knew no one, had no one to conspire with, and was cut off entirely from her parents and friends—was a very lonely place.

“I’m Gracia Beaumont, captain of the floor.” This introduction came from a willowy brunette at the opposite end of the couch from Nydia. Gracia’s slipper-clad feet were propped up on a coffee table, and a handheld gaming device sat in her lap.

“I thought we weren’t permitted electronics.” Cressa said the words before she’d given any thought to how much they sounded like an accusation. Gracia’s hard, violet stare told her that was precisely how the comment came across.

“You,” Gracia began, jabbing her finger towards Cressa with a toss of her dark curls, “are not permitted electronics.”

“Only the chosen one is,” another voice chimed in.

Cressa turned to see the last girl in the commons. She was the youngest of the group by several years, with shaggy bangs and a tiny ponytail on the top of her head that looked like a unicorn horn. The girl was curled up like a cat in the center of a large, round chair suspended from the ceiling. To Cressa, she looked like a canary in a cage, though that might have been because her hair was the color of freshly churned butter.

The girl stood, somehow managing to appear graceful despite the chair swinging precariously on the hooks above it. She crossed the room and offered a small, freckled hand to Cressa.

“I’m Daphne. Until you came along, I was the newest 2P, making me the grunt of our lot. So, thanks for taking over the position.”

“You’re welcome, I guess,” Cressa replied uncertainly, shaking Daphne’s hand.

The small girl’s face quirked into a mischievous expression. “You know, I bet—”

“Lights out in twenty,” Leslie interrupted. “You had best all return to your rooms and prepare for inspection. Gregor and I will be by shortly.” She turned to Nydia. “Cressa Karmine is your responsibility now, Cadet Lupo. Make sure she understands all protocols and she’s in compliance.” Leslie turned her blank gaze on Gracia. “Of course, they are all your responsibility, so you may want to supervise tonight while Cadet Karmine settles in.”

“Of course,” Gracia replied quickly.

“Also, the Dame requests your presence in her office tomorrow morning, directly following breakfast,” Leslie added.

Gracia smiled knowingly. “So it’s been decided then? I have been selected?”

Leslie gave Gracia a hard look. “I am not a liberty to discuss such matters, Cadet Beaumont. Even if I were, this is not the appropriate time or venue, as you well know. Such matters cannot be discussed in front of your charges, and you’d do well to remember that.”

Cressa wanted to crawl under the coffee table at Leslie’s harsh tone, and the 8P’s words weren’t even directed at her. Gracia Beaumont, however, seemed undaunted by Leslie’s rebuke. If anything, Gracia’s smile became smugger, looking like the cat who ate Daphne. Evidently, she found Leslie’s non-answer to be a confirmation of some kind.

“Good evening to you all.” With that, Leslie turned and left.

“Thank you, Cadet Abbot,” Cressa called after her, though there was no sign Leslie heard her.

As she watched the older girl leave, Cressa filled with anxiety. Leslie Abbot was far from the warm-and-fuzzy type, yet her presence had made Cressa feel oddly safe. Not only that, but their time together had been the most she’d spoken to anyone since arriving at the Institute. Without Leslie, Cressa was once again alone, facing a room of unfamiliar faces and appraising looks.

Stretching languidly, Gracia stood. She tossed the gaming device on the coffee table, and then turned to study Cressa. For several moments, no one spoke, the other cadets taking their cues from the dorm captain. They all simply stared at the newcomer, while she stared expectantly back at the girl in charge.

Something about Gracia was oddly familiar to Cressa. And yet, she was sure they’d never met. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but Gracia definitely looked like someone Cressa had seen before coming to the Institute.

Maybe she was famous? Not Kev Leon famous, obviously, but maybe a minor celebrity?

“Cressa, is it?” Gracia’s wordless staring had gone on for so long that Cressa started at the sound of her voice. “As I said, I am Gracia Beaumont, captain of the 2Ps. Do not misunderstand, however, I am not a 2P; I am in Phase Seven. As top in my class, I was given the honor of supervising and managing the lots of you.” Gracia’s look grew impossibly haughtier. “You should know this is a rare reward for a 7P. Typically, only 8Ps are made captains.”

“But Gracia is so special, they made an exception in her case,” Daphne chimed in.

Sniffing, Gracia ignored the younger girl and continued speaking to Cressa. “My commands carry the full authority of the Institute. If you choose to defy me, the penalties will be just as severe as if you crossed the Dame herself. Is this all very clear to you?”

“Um, sure,” Cressa replied uncertainly.

The 1P floor did not have a captain. Instead, various instructors watched over the newbies. Madame Gillis had explained that Phase One was very different from the later Phases. 1Ps had to be monitored very closely by instructors, since many had a hard time adjusting to the Institute’s strict lifestyle. Plus, the Dame wanted fully trained Privileged on hand night and day, just in case the 1Ps had trouble controlling their new powers. By the time a cadet reached Phase Two, spontaneous and ungovernable displays of talent became less of a concern.

Cressa thought the divide between the Phases was probably also due to the high failure rate of reaching Phase Two—from bad reactions to the serum, talents not embedding properly in their new host, and the inability of many to wield their talents well enough to pass an exam—but she guessed no one liked bringing that up.

“‘Yes, ma’am’ is the appropriate response,” Gracia lectured, interrupting Cressa’s musings.

“Yes, ma’am,” Cressa parroted dutifully, hating that she was already on Gracia’s bad side. Though, even with the short amount of time she’d known the girl, Cressa suspected that Gracia was like a trick coin—both sides were identical and equally unpleasant.

“Better,” Gracia said with a curt nod. “Now then, Nydia, come with me and Cressa. The rest of you, to your rooms.”

The twins quickly stowed the chessboard and pieces, then disappeared without a word through another archway at the far side of the common room. Daphne remained by Cressa’s side, arms crossed over her chest as she glared defiantly at Gracia. Though they were at least five years apart in age, the two girls were nearly the same height, around five feet.

“Bed. Now,” Gracia barked at Daphne.

“Leslie said we have twenty minutes,” the canary sang. “Plenty of time for me to help the newbie settle in.”

To Cressa’s surprise—particularly after the lecture she’d just received about the floor captain’s authority—Gracia rolled her strange violet eyes, but didn’t stand her ground.

With a gesture that clearly meant Cressa was to follow, Gracia started towards the archway, Nydia in tow. Cressa hurried after them.

“Including you, there are twenty-six 2Ps—ten girls and sixteen boys,” Gracia rattled off. “That number changes daily, though, as more 1Ps advance. The Institute is welcoming a much higher number of cadets right now than they usually do, so it is likely you will see many new faces before long.”

I’ve already seen the one face that matters, Cressa thought with another bubble of excitement.

She considered sharing her encounter with Kev Leon, and then remembered how sternly Leslie had frowned upon Cressa’s gushing. Gracia, obviously made of similar stock to Leslie, was likely to have the same reaction.

Besides, now that Kev had reached Phase Two, everyone else would see him soon enough. While Phase One was almost exclusively one-on-one instruction, with virtually no interaction between cadets, the 2Ps all took classes together.

“Here we are,” Gracia announced.

She stopped in front of an oak door halfway down the hallway off the common room. On a small screen beside the door were two names: Karmine and Lupo. Gracia twisted the knob and pushed the door open, then gestured the younger girls inside. Nydia entered first, moving straight to a set of bunk beds against the right wall.

“Mine is the top, but I am happy to switch if you’d prefer it,” she told Cressa, her gaze still downcast.

“The lower bed works for me,” Cressa replied easily, wishing they were alone. She wanted to reassure Nydia that she’d be easy to get along with, but worried about speaking out of turn with Gracia’s hawk eyes watching.

Two small, carrel-style desks were arranged opposite the beds, and Gracia pointed to a thick binder in the center of one. A plastic-wrapped dinner tray was beside the binder.

“That is your 2P manual,” Gracia told Cressa. “Read it. Learn it. Memorize it. You will be expected to know and follow all of the rules and regulations within those pages, no exceptions and no excuses. Should you commit an infraction, you will be held accountable, regardless of whether you knew you were committing the infraction at the time.”

“And so will Gracia,” Daphne muttered. Cressa glanced over, and found the younger girl grinning like a fool.

“That’s because I am in charge,” Gracia shot back. She cleared her throat loudly to regain Cressa’s attention. “Do you have any questions?”

Um, yeah, Cressa thought. Loads of them.

There was no sense in asking, though. Cressa wasn’t sure how much 7Ps knew about sources and supposedly dead movie stars, but she was certain that Gracia wouldn’t answer those questions, regardless.

“No, ma’am,” Cressa replied.

“Good. Eat your dinner quickly, then get ready for bed.”

Without another word, Gracia spun on her heel and started for the door. Since she was wearing slippers, Gracia’s slender foot came free when she took her first step, making her dramatic exit decidedly less so. Daphne snickered loudly. Even Nydia smiled, though she turned away to hide her mirthful expression.

Gracia made a very un-lady like noise, and then snatched up the slipper from the floor. She proceeded to storm from the room, elbowing Daphne aside as she passed.

“Right nasty, isn’t she?” Daphne said merrily, once Gracia was gone.

Cressa gave a noncommittal shrug, unsure whether the comment was a setup. Being fifteen, and having attended boarding school, she knew how girls worked—coaxing each other into saying negative things about others, just to run off to the girl in the question and spill everything.

Besides, Leslie’s reminder that the Institute was all one giant competition was still fresh in Cressa’s mind. The cadets were not in this together. No, they were opponents, adversaries, enemies. There would be times that one person’s success meant another person’s failure. Becoming too friendly with her classmates now was just asking for trouble later.

Sadly, Cressa’s eyes flicked to Nydia. As much as she wanted a friend, she understood that her desire to become besties with her new roommate was silly and childish. Nydia seemed nice enough, but her father had always said that attachments made people weak, and vulnerable. Cressa couldn’t afford to be either, not if she wanted to become Privileged.

“I’m sure she’s learned to be that way,” Cressa finally said, striving for diplomacy in case word got back to Gracia. “This is a difficult program.”

“Nah, she’s been nasty her whole life,” Daphne replied. “I should know, we are related, after all.” She made a face, as if the words had left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

The admission surprised Cressa. The two girls looked nothing alike, and their personalities seemed to be polar opposites.

“I know, I know,” Daphne continued. “It’s hard to believe we came from the same parents. Gracia is my mother’s daughter, where I’m more like daddy.” Daphne shrugged, as if that said it all. “Anywho, I better be off. See you in the morning, Cressa. ‘Night, Nydia.”

“See you tomorrow,” Cressa echoed, watching the small girl flit from her new room.

“Don’t mind Daphne,” Nydia said, once they were alone. “She’s much younger than the rest of us, so she doesn’t really take the program seriously. Also, she makes a game out of taunting Gracia, but I wouldn’t recommend doing the same. Gracia puts up with it from her sister, but she isn’t at all lenient with the rest of us.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t planning on it,” Cressa replied. “Gracia doesn’t seem like the type of girl you cross,”

“She’s not,” Nydia agreed. She walked to the back of the room and slid a set of closet doors apart soundlessly. “Your clothes are to the right. Mine are on the left.”

She stepped back so that Cressa could see the rows of identical khaki jumpers and navy oxford shirts already hanging in place. A second, lower bar held several pairs of khaki pants and a few white cardigans. Black leather flats with a single strap across the top were arranged in a perfectly straight line at the bottom of the closet, with five pairs on one side of an invisible divider and five on the other.

On the day Cressa arrived, the clothes she was wearing—black jeans and a funky tee with Righteous Renegades, her favorite band—were taken away. They’d been replaced with a never-ending supply of simple navy shifts—the uniform of the 1P female.

As she faced her new uniforms, Cressa stifled a sigh of disappointment. She didn’t quite feel like herself in the Institute’s standard-issue clothing. A part of Cressa had been excited when Leslie said her things were already in her new room, wondering if they’d sent away for her own clothes. Unfortunately, no dice.

Not for the first time, Cressa wondered if she should write a eulogy for her old life. She hadn’t spoken to her parents or Julie since leaving Boston, nor would she. At least, not until she’d completed the program. Even then, Cressa doubted she’d be permitted contact with Julie. Her best friend was a norm, and she always would be. The two girls were now on very different paths, ones that were not likely to cross in the future.

A traitorous thought entered Cressa’s mind: Is becoming Privileged really worth it?

She’d wanted to come to the Institute. Upon graduation, she’d be Privileged, and part of something greater than herself—that was what Cressa’s parents had told her. They’d filled Cressa’s head with images of a wonderful new world full of hope and optimism, and free of the hatred that drove so many to persecute those who were different.

What her parents hadn’t explained was how much she’d be giving up to earn the Privileged label. Her friends, her home, her identity—they were all casualties of a war that hadn’t even happened yet.

“Undershirts and underwear are in the top drawer.” Nydia’s voice broke in as she gestured to a set of three drawers inset on Cressa’s side of the closet.

Compartmentalizing her doubts, Cressa concentrated on Nydia. This was her life now, and the past was just that—past. Julie and her parents were the past. The Institute was her present. Being one of the Privileged was her future.

“Socks and stockings are in the middle one,” Nydia continued, eyeing Cressa skeptically from beneath her long lashes.

“Thanks,” Cressa said quietly.

“Everything changes so fast here,” Nydia abruptly segued, correctly guessing the reason for Cressa’s silence and gloomy mood. “I advanced four months ago, and I still feel like it’s my first day as a 2P sometimes. Just try to remember that you aren’t alone. We all feel a little overwhelmed sometimes.”

Cressa smiled gratefully at her new roommate. “You’re the first person to admit that. Back home, I went to the same school from the time I was four. So I was never the new kid, you know? Here, I feel like I’m always the new kid.”

Tensing, Nydia glanced around the small room nervously.

“I do, too, Cressa,” she said in a low voice. “Just be careful about mentioning your life before. The Institute is your home now. For all intents and purposes, the Dame is your only parent. If Gracia or Leslie catches you talking about life before the Institute,” Nydia shook her head, “it won’t be good for you. Cadets who are too hung up on the past are frequently diagnosed with adjustment disorders.”

Thoughts of Kev Leon flickered through her head again. It was hard enough for Cressa not to think about her parents and friends, and the glamorous life of premiere events and society balls she’d once led. But Kev had been a celebrity, accustomed to people catering to his every whim. That had to be extremely difficult to give up. It was no wonder the poor boy was having so much trouble acclimating.

Clearing her throat loudly, Nydia reverted back to her tour of the closet. Cressa took the hint; the feeling-sharing portion of the evening was over.

“Sleep clothes are at the bottom. Your toiletries are already in the bathroom, which we share with the Towers twins. You have your own cubby in there, I’ll show you after we’ve changed for bed.” Nydia glanced at the dinner tray sitting untouched on Cressa’s desk. “Unless you want to eat first?”

“I’m not hungry,” Cressa replied. Then, she made a snap decision. Nydia seemed genuine and trustworthy, but Cressa had no way of knowing if it was all an act. So, she decided to put her new roommate’s loyalty to the test. “If I pitch the food, will you tell?”

Nydia gave a small smile. “That’s against the rules.”

“I know,” Cressa said, studying Nydia closely. “But I won’t tell, if you don’t.”

“I’ll show you where to toss it so that you won’t get caught.” Nydia’s body language indicated that she was uneasy about committing even this relatively minor transgression. Nonetheless, Cressa felt confident that the other girl would keep her mouth shut.

“Thanks,” Cressa replied.

She crossed over to the closet and pulled out a set of glaringly white pajamas. The sight reminded Cressa uncomfortably of her white flower in the ceiling garden, which of course made her think of all the black and withered ones. Her stomach twisted painfully into knots worthy of any expert sailor. Truthfully, all the misgivings she was experiencing scared Cressa.

It’s too late to turn back, she thought sadly.

Pushing aside the realization, Cressa quickly changed into the sleep attire.

“You can deposit that in your laundry chute on the way to the bathroom,” Nydia told her, nodding towards the floor where Cressa’s navy dress lay in a heap. Nydia’s own dirty clothes were folded neatly in her arms.

“Oh, right.” Cressa bent and collected the discarded dress. “Lead the way,” she told Nydia.

Silently, the two girls made their way to the communal bathroom at the end of the hallway, stopping at the laundry chutes just long enough to throw their worn clothes inside. The Towers twins were already inside the bathroom when Cressa and Nydia arrived.

“Of all the colors she could have picked, she went with purple. It’s madness,” one of the twins was saying.

“You know why she did it, don’t you?” the other twin replied.

The sound of Nydia’s slippers on the tile floor caused both twins to turn, identical brown eyes heavy with a mixture of guilt and nerves.

“Oh, thank heavens, it’s just you,” one twin said. “For a second there, I thought we’d been caught gossiping by the she-devil.” The girl turned to Cressa. “You won’t tell her you heard us, will you? She’ll make our lives hell.”

“Of course not,” Cressa said quickly.

The twins were standing in front of a large mirror that was mounted above four sinks. Behind them, on the opposite wall, were four large cubbies with towels, shower caps, and baskets of toiletries. The cubby on the top right had Cressa’s name on it. Quietly, she retrieved her toothbrush, toothpaste, and face wash.

“Of course I know why,” the second twin said, picking up the conversation again. “But looking like her isn’t going to make Gracia more powerful. She’s absolutely nuts if Gracia thinks she’ll ever have that sort of power. She hasn’t even started manipulation training. I bet she washes out within the first week of it. They don’t call it the gauntlet for nothing, you know?”

Curious, Cressa opened her mouth to speak. In the mirror, she caught Nydia’s subtle headshake, warning her against taking part in the conversation. Instead of asking the questions running through her mind, Cressa went about brushing her teeth and washing her face while simply listening to her new classmates.

“I don’t think she did it to become more powerful. I think she did it for him. You know, her boyfriend. I hear Gracia sleeps with his picture under her pillow,” the first twin responded.

“She’s even crazier than I thought,” her sister said flatly. Her eyes darted around the bathroom, ensuring the four cadets were truly alone, before continuing in a much quieter tone. “Did you hear the Dame tried to free him from UNITED? She sent an agent to one of his peace rallies to stage an escape. Unfortunately, the attempt was unsuccessful. They say he was hurt, though not seriously, in a blast meant to kill his bodyguards. The agent who performed the attack bungled it so badly she ended up dying herself. But, she was able to get so close that she actually touched him. Can you imagine? She must have died with a smile on her lips. I know I would have.”

“Me too,” the twin agreed, nodding readily. “Do you think it’s true? That Gracia really has been chosen as a clone? And that’s why she got the purple eyes?”

The other twin shrugged. “Daphne did say that Gracia applied for facial reorg, but she chose the eye color long before the clone rumors started swirling. I bet that’s why the Dame wants to see her tomorrow morning, to let her know whether she’s been chosen. It will be so weird, seeing her all the time. I mean, it’s already weird enough now. Gracia looks just enough like her that it’s creepy, don’t you think? The hair, now the eyes? Daphne says Gracia has even been studying video footage, to practice her mannerisms. You know, just in case.”

Unable to hold her tongue any longer, Cressa finally asked the question burning a hole in her mind. “What are you two talking about?”

Lyla and Shyla exchanged conspiratorial glances, a barrage of silent messages passing between them. One nodded, seemingly confirming that the new girl could be trusted.

“Cressa, is it? I’m Lyla, that’s Shyla,” the twin closest to Cressa said, gesturing. “And we’re talking about Gracia’s new eyes. 7Ps are allowed to undergo dye injections to change the color, and Gracia decided to go with purple, in homage to her. As if darkening and perming her hair wasn’t bad enough. But, if what Daphne says is true, the eyes and hair are just the start.” Lyla sighed dramatically. “Gracia will be unbearable if she is chosen to be a clone, especially her clone. I mean, that has to be the highest honor possible.”

Clones were not a topic covered during Phase One, but Cressa was piecing together all the snippets of information she’d heard about them. From what she could tell, Cressa figured that clones were cadets who the Dame hand-selected to not only receive a particularly powerful source’s material, but also to be physically altered to look like the source.

But was the point of it for the Privileged individual to take the place of his or her source? What else might they use a doppelgänger for? Cressa couldn’t begin to imagine.

To her, it seemed that being chosen as a clone was more of a punishment than an honor. Relinquishing her identity to become someone else completely was one sacrifice too many. Suddenly, with dread filling every ounce of her being, Cressa recalled Dr. Masterson’s comment about her skull being a match for her source’s. But who was it?

For Cressa, the source’s identity was really a moot point; there was no one she wanted to be more than herself.

“Who is ‘her’?” Cressa finally asked.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, where Nydia, Shyla, and Lyla all stared at Cressa as though she were supremely ignorant.

“Natalia Lyons,” Nydia finally whispered. “She is Gracia’s new benefactor. And, if the rumors are true…Gracia is to be Natalia’s clone.”

Talia

Vault, Isle of Exile

Four Days Before the Vote

Nights on Vault were lonely and depressing. Yocum returned to Eden and his family, and I was left alone in my cell with only inanimate objects to keep me company. I did have a nighttime babysitter; a humorless, strictly by-the-book agent named Lynn Konterra. Luckily, she preferred standing guard outside my cell door to sitting in the uncomfortable chair Yocum occupied during the day.

But it wasn’t the hard plastic seat or uneven legs that wobbled that kept Konterra in the hallway. It was me. I disgusted her, and she feared spending too much time in close quarters with me would somehow contaminate her.

Reading her thoughts hadn’t been necessary to learn her true feelings. Konterra spoke them aloud frequently to her fellow guards at a volume that carried through the cell door. She wanted me to know that she thought I was lower than the muck that grew on the inside of a particularly filthy toilet bowl. The guard was under the mistaken belief that I actually cared about her opinion of me. In fact, she often wondered if her harsh assessment of my character would reduce me to tears if spoken to my face.

That, of course, wasn’t going to happen. I’d been a loner for the majority of my life, so I was used to people saying mean things about me, both behind my back and directly to me. Plus, prior to incarceration, I’d spent a lot of time with Brand Meadows. He knew me and my weaknesses well enough to land crushing verbal bombs that made me feel like a little pile of Talia-ash when the fight was over. Konterra would have to seriously up her game if she wanted to knock Brand off the podium to claim gold in the Asshole Olympics.

Konterra’s ugly array of emotions was not reserved solely for me, however. She loathed all of the prisoners on Vault with an equal degree of righteous indignation. Traitors to our own people—that was how she thought of us. In Konterra’s mind, there was nothing more sinful than betraying UNITED and our fellow Talented.

The trouble was, she seemed to be incapable of making the distinction between “betraying UNITED”, “breaching protocol”, and “insubordination.” Despite the fact most of Vault’s prisoners were in for the latter crimes, she thought us all turncoats who deserved to rot in a cell until the end of our days.

Yeah, Konterra was a peach.

The only time she interacted with me was during our nightly trip to the shower stalls. I usually looked forward to the opportunity to leave my cell and wash away the day’s dirt and grime, even if it meant enduring Konterra’s unpleasant attitude. But that night, I just wanted the routine excursion over and done with so I could return to the new files Victoria had sent over via messenger earlier in the evening.

“Got somewhere to be, inmate?” Konterra grumbled as I hurried down the hallway as quickly as my shackles would allow. “Maybe you have a hot date lined up?” The guard laughed at her own pathetic joke.

There was no use engaging with her, since that was what Konterra wanted. Instead, I stared straight ahead and continued on towards the shower room.

Once there, Konterra removed my restraints, then practically shoved me inside a shower cube and locked the door behind me.

“Five minutes, inmate,” she barked through the partition, which ended several feet shy of the ceiling. “Make sure you scrub extra hard, you need to wash away that bad attitude of yours.” Again, Konterra cackled like she was the wittiest woman alive.

Ignoring her, I turned on the faucet and stepped beneath the stinging, hard stream.

The water was cool, though I actually found the temperature refreshing. Since I didn’t have the luxury of ordering endless pots of caffeine to keep me alert while I reviewed the new information Victoria sent over, this was my best chance for invigorating my tired eyes and aching muscles. I was hoping to work through the night, eager to come up with something for the council as soon as humanly possible.

The new files had arrived between lunch and dinner. I’d spent the evening reading the articles, I-posts, and police reports aloud to Yocum. Despite his constant grumbling to the contrary, he’d seemed to enjoy story time, getting in to solving the big mystery. Unfortunately, we only made it through three of the five folders before Yocum’s shift ended and the witchy Konterra took his place.

Thus far, I hadn’t found any new information regarding the cow thefts. Even the new police reports failed to shed fresh light on the matter. The investigating officers did not take the abductions all that seriously, thanks largely to the one farmer’s frequent alien claims, so they weren’t exactly pushing themselves to solve the crimes. And, unlike Victoria, the police hadn’t made any sort of connection, even a tenuous one, between the power outages and cattle heists.

A particularly thorough investigator from the electric company did look into the possibility that the power outages were the work of an Electrical Manipulator, theorizing that a rogue Created had been testing his new abilities in an area unlikely to draw attention from UNITED. This avenue had led nowhere conclusive, though. The most telling piece of new information came from a note the investigator made at the bottom of his report; one section of the power grid was pulling an unprecedented amount of power during the same timeframe as the outages. Unfortunately, I had no idea where that fit in with everything else.

I’d made a note to have Victoria’s people find out what exactly was in that specific area of the grid, since the investigator’s report didn’t include that information. Naturally, the suspicious part of my mind had considered the possibility that those particular details were purposefully eliminated from the electrical company’s report as part of some widespread cover-up.

Sure, it might’ve been time for me to don a tinfoil hat. But if we were really considering that this might all be part of some great conspiracy, I figured it was entirely plausible.

Three sharp bangs on the shower door pulled me from my wild speculations.

“Time’s up, inmate!” Konterra hollered, pulling the shower door open just as the water automatically shut off.

I dried off with the thin towel she handed me, then dressed in fresh prison clothes that were identical to the ones I’d removed five minutes earlier. Clothes and fashion had always been more of Penny’s department than mine, but I was really looking forward to reintroducing color and soft fabrics into my daily wardrobe.

Once I was dressed, it took Konterra under a minute to replace all of the restraints.

In a perverse way, this was one of my favorite parts of our brief face-to-face time together; I greatly enjoyed making her uncomfortable. The woman loved antagonizing me, and making any number of witty quips at my expense, but deep down, Konterra was actually quite terrified to be in my presence. When I was restrained, she felt confident that I was no threat, since I was supposedly without my powers. But during this brief time when my arms and legs were free, the guard worried I might kill her with my bare hands. Apparently, that was a skill I was rumored to have.

“Why are you grinning? Did I say you could smile? What’s wrong with you?” Konterra demanded, backing away from me. Her expression was hard, but tendrils of fear squeezed at her abdomen.

“Nothing,” I replied, continuing to smirk. “I’m just thinking about how sad it is that our time together is almost over. I guess you’ll need to find a new prisoner to torment once I’m free in the world again. Or maybe I’ll come back and visit you. You’d like that, right?”

Konterra’s hand darted out and closed around my upper arm with a vice grip. She yanked, hard.

“Start moving,” she hissed.

Neither of us spoke again until we reached my cell door.

“I might have you out of my hair sooner than you think,” the guard said, something dangerously close to a genuine smile on her lips. “And I don’t think you’ll be coming back to visit.” Konterra undid the locks on the ankle cuffs, then straightened to her full height and glared down at me. “Nothing would make me happier than for you and the other traitors to get what you deserve.”

Roughly, she grabbed my joined wrists and pressed her finger to the sensor in the center of the handcuffs. The locks disengaged and the cuffs fell away. In a rare show of true nerve, the guard wrapped her fingers around my wrists, digging her nails into my skin in the process.

“You have no ide—” she started, cutting off in surprise when I easily broke free from her grip.

Truly, I hadn’t meant to fight her hold. I’d been acting purely on instinct. Nonetheless, Konterra was pissed. She drew her hand back, as if to slap me.

On Vault, guards were allowed to hit prisoners if provoked. And I was pretty sure even Victoria would have a hard time believing that I hadn’t provoked this altercation.

But backing down from a fight wasn’t in my nature.

Before I thought about the words and their potential consequences, I whispered, “Do it. I dare you.”

“Talia? Talia? What’s going on?”

Hearing Erik’s voice inside my head was so unexpected that I froze, wondering briefly if I was imagining him.

“Talia? Can you hear me?”

Nope, it definitely wasn’t my imagination. Erik was there, in my mind, his tone laced with concern and uncertainty.

“Erik,” I sent, a burst of longing accompanying the message. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed having you in my head.”

In front of me, Konterra’s fierce expression turned wary. I realized my own face must have changed from shock and outrage to something else entirely. I couldn’t say for sure what she saw, since I had so many emotions fighting their way to the surface. Relief, maybe? Joy? Yearning?

Whatever it was, it didn’t sit well with my bitchy guard.

“What’s wrong with you?” Konterra demanded for the second time that night.

In my head, Erik sounded just as confused as the guard. “Who is that, Talia? What is she doing?”

This time, when Konterra drew her hand back, she sent it flying towards my face. Just before her palm connected with my cheek, it stopped abruptly.

“I’m getting Victoria,” Erik sent, his tone rife with latent anger.

Baffled, Konterra studied her hand, frozen in midair, as though it were no longer under her control. Which, of course, it wasn’t. But I hadn’t been the one to stop the impact.

“Yeah, it was me,” Erik sent. “Is this normal, Tals? Do the guards make a habit of beating up their charges? Victoria promised me—”

“No, Erik. It’s a misunderstanding. Sort of. I don’t know. But no, this isn’t normal. Don’t bother Victoria with it. It doesn’t matter.”

My reassurances did not satisfy my trigger-happy boyfriend. Erik was furious, and he was on the verge of making a very big deal out of a very minor incident. More than anything, I didn’t want a disciplinary action from the warden to affect my visit with Erik the next day. Konterra would easily turn the situation around if it was presented to her higher-ups, and I’d be the one to pay for it.

“Erik, please don’t. Victoria had a hard time getting the council to agree to your visit tomorrow, I don’t want them to have any reason to change their minds.”

Konterra dropped her hand, her expression both irate and uneasy.

“Don’t test me, inmate,” she spat. “Next time you give me attitude, I won’t be so lenient.” With that, she slammed the cell door closed in my face.

“Wait, are you viewing me?” I asked Erik, still a little stunned by how quickly the situation had escalated, and then just as quickly dissipated.

Praying that he wasn’t, I crossed the cell to my bed and eased down on the edge of the mattress. Happy as I was to hear from him after the lengthy radio silence, the idea of Erik witnessing my dreary living conditions was unsettling. It would only upset him further, and he was already pissed about the run in with Konterra.

“Yeah, and thank goodness I was,” he replied.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Erik. She’s going to know something is up, and I’m not supposed to have my powers.”

“Did you think I was going to let her hit you?” he sent back. “Damn right I stopped her.”

“Your talents are getting stronger,” I mused, intent on changing the subject.

“Yeah, they are. It’s weird, though. Without additional injections, I thought they were supposed to get weaker.” He sighed. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about my talents. How are you? Your cell isn’t great, but I’ve seen worse.”

Yep, he was definitely still viewing me.

“Good. I’m good,” I lied.

“Really, Tals? It’s me you’re talking to. You can be honest.”

I laughed, just the faintest trace of bitterness seeping in. “It’s prison, Erik. I mean, it’s a lot like you’d expect—bad food, cold showers, and a lot of downtime to contemplate my wicked ways. My daytime guard is a decent guy; I actually like him. You just met my nighttime guard, the highly unpleasant wench; obviously, she sucks.” I shook my head to clear the thoughts of Konterra. I didn’t want to talk about her or Vault, much the same as Erik didn’t want to talk about his talents. I just wanted to have a normal telepathic conversation with my boyfriend, like any other girl—was that too much to ask?

“I guess you’re back on Eden?” I sent. “How’s Penny? Did you guys have at least a little fun on your world travels? Have you seen Alex yet? Victoria says he’s doing well, but I’d feel better hearing it from you.”

Steering the conversation towards cheerier topics seemed like the best course of action. Talking about prison was depressing, and I didn’t want our first conversation in a month to be a downer.

“Whoa,” he sent, chuckling. “Slow down. One question at a time.”

Erik’s laughter was music to my ears. My mind conjured an image of his beautiful turquoise eyes, twinkling as a smirk lit up his handsome face. I wanted so badly to touch his cheek, run my fingers through his hair, and snuggle into his side.

Soon, I told myself. Soon we will be together for real.

“Yes, I’m back on Eden,” he sent. “We just arrived a couple of hours ago. I would have been in touch sooner, but I had to meet with Victoria about an incident at the last rally.”

It was obvious that Erik didn’t want to tell me about the attack. Apparently, Victoria didn’t tell him that I already knew. That was fine, though. I didn’t need to hear the details. Watching the events unfold on Yocum’s communicator had been bad enough.

“Penny is good, she’s back, too,” Erik continued. “I haven’t seen Alex yet. I wanted to go by before his bedtime, but didn’t get the chance. I promise, I’ll see him before I see you tomorrow, then I’ll be able to give you a full report. As for fun, well, we were on a diplomatic mission. There wasn’t much sightseeing beyond the landmarks right by the rally sites. But I’d love to go back to a bunch of the places with you, so we can really check them out. If you’d want to?”

“Do you even have to ask?” I asked, once again hit by a burst of longing. Of course, a niggling sense of doubt crept in. Traveling the word, seeing historic landmarks, trooping through ancient ruins, sampling foreign cuisines—those luxuries were part of a life that other people enjoyed, not us.

“Someday, I promise,” Erik sent, picking up on my skepticism. My heart swelled with the certainty that came with his statement; someday, we’d be able to do the things other people took for granted. Someday, we would find out how the norms lived.

“Sounds like a plan,” I sent, smiling.

“Crap, I just realized what time it is. Can you hang on real quick? I need to call Victoria. I’m sort of supposed to be somewhere in a few minutes. It’s this meeting about my security for the final rally. I’m just going to let her know I need to reschedule. Give me a minute?”

“Oh, no, you should go,” I sent quickly. Erik’s safety was my number one concern. Our conversation could wait. It wasn’t like I had anywhere to go. “I’ll be right here all night. Just let me know when you’re back in your quarters.”

“Our quarters,” Erik corrected me. “It’s our apartment. Our bed. And you’ll be back here with me soon, I promise. The council can’t keep you locked up much longer. I won’t let them. I shouldn’t have let them in the first place.”

His guilt came through the bond loud and clear. Which, of course, triggered my guilty conscience, in turn. I hated that Erik felt that he was somehow to blame for my sentence on Vault. All the decisions that landed me in a cell were my own, so the consequences of those decisions were also on me. I knew the risk I was taking when saving Anya. And I definitely knew the risk I was taking when I let Kenly go free instead of hauling her back to the islands. It was ludicrous for him to think that any of it was his fault.

“I should’ve refused to play poster boy,” he rushed on. “I should’ve told them I’d only do it with you by my side. I’m so sorry, Tals.”

“Stop,” I sent. “You have nothing to feel bad about, okay? Please. It’s not your fault. I’m fine. Vault isn’t awful. Seriously, I’m just treating it like a supervised break. And it will be worlds better with you in my head. It already is. Go to your meeting, and then come back to me. Keep me company. That’s all I want.”

“I will. As soon as I’m done, I’m all yours for the rest of the night.” Erik paused, his emotions pouring forth. I felt it with every ounce of my being, even before he thought the words. “I love you, Tals. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

Tears pooled in my eyes. “I love you, too.”

For several long minutes, I simply laid there and thought about Erik. Sure, I could have stayed in his head; I could’ve followed him to the meeting and lived vicariously through him. But it would undoubtedly only intensify my longing to be with him.

Besides, I had other issues that needed my attention. I needed to uncover something in the mess of articles, reports, and files that shed light on the odd situation in France. Otherwise, un-chaperoned visits with my boyfriend might not be in my immediate future.

Wiping the tears away, I sat up and reached for a folder from the stack on the floor beside my bed. This one was marked Abductions. Determined to distract myself from thoughts of Erik, I settled in with my back against the wall and began to peruse the contents.

The first item was another police report. It sparked my interest immediately, mostly because it wasn’t yet another obligatory report of livestock theft. Given its apparent irrelevance, I probably should have cast the report aside. Nonetheless, it was by far the most intriguing thing I’d read all day.

The complainant was a Canadian woman, Zinca Lupo, who claimed her daughter had been abducted nearly a year ago from their family home in Alberta. The authorities had seen it differently. When it came to the disappearance of a fourteen-year-old girl who was craving independence—she’d been some sort of child actor, so the police assumed this was the case—without any signs of foul play, the case was deemed just another runaway by the Canadian police. Given their disinterest, Mrs. Lupo hired a private investigator. The PI found a witness claiming to have seen the girl leaving a private airfield ten miles outside of Besançon, France. Supposedly this witness recognized the young girl from the wallscreen, given her status as a minor celebrity.

I studied the picture that Mrs. Lupo had provided to the French police. The girl was tall for her age and extremely pretty, though not familiar to me in the least. My lack of recognition was no surprise, though, since I wasn’t exactly up-to-date on pop culture.

Setting the image aside, I continued on with the report, my chest aching for the mother with each word I read.

The officers were initially wary of Mrs. Lupo’s allegations, due to her “hysterical nature” and the fact she was “not in-touch with reality.” Granted, she’d insisted that Minotaur kidnappers invaded her home and stole her daughter from bed. Before the Talented, her story would’ve sounded as fantastical as unicorns or world peace. But given everything I’d seen, including both morphing abilities and perception manipulation, it was certainly possible she was telling the truth. Mrs. Lupo also believed that Mr. Lupo was complacent in the abduction, claiming that he’d told her the girl’s abduction was for the good of the family.

“Yikes,” I breathed aloud, wondering where the truth of the situation lay. “What an ass.”

Mr. Lupo urged his wife not to contact the authorities in Canada, threatening to divorce her and take the family’s sizable fortune should she defy him. This had then prompted Mrs. Lupo to hire the aforementioned private investigator instead.

When the PI found the witness in France claiming to have seen the daughter, Mrs. Lupo hopped on a plane to Besançon immediately. She’d gone straight to the French police, expecting their help looking for her daughter. Instead, because of the mother’s allegations of half-human, half-beast kidnappers—I had a sneaking suspicion that it was also because Mr. Lupo was an internationally known and respected vid director—the authorities placed Mrs. Lupo on a seventy-two hour mental health hold at the jail.

“This is nuts,” I mused aloud.

The thought of the poor, distraught mother finding only grief and heartache while looking for her daughter made me queasy. Curiosity got the better of me, though, and I continued reading the tragic tale of the Lupo family matriarch.

The therapist brought in by the French authorities diagnosed Mrs. Lupo with paranoia and something ominously called Acute Delusional Coping Syndrome. Whatever that was. These determinations had been made largely based on several of Mrs. Lupo’s more colorful statements; she’d accused the doctor of being “a spoke in the wheel of conspiracy” and “She-Satan’s minion.” The latter, while not really funny in these particular circumstances, made me laugh out loud. There was a note by the doctor about an addendum to Mrs. Lupo’s file, so I skipped ahead to see what it was referring to.

My heart sank the moment I flipped to the last page of the report and saw what was attached—the daughter’s death certificate. It had been issued by a Canadian medical examiner, dated the same day as the girl’s alleged abduction.

Sadness for the mother filled me as I quickly scanned over the document. I paused after reading the cause of death, which was listed as “Natural Causes.” Nydia Lupo had been fourteen-years-old when she died, what was possibly natural about that? Unfortunately, no further information was given about it.

Flipping back to the doctor’s report, I saw that Mrs. Lupo was finally released when her husband and her therapist from Canada arrived in Besançon. They’d told the police that the woman had escaped from a mental health facility in Alberta, where she was being treated for depression and a myriad of other illnesses brought on by the loss of her child.

The tale was so tragic, and tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t fathom the plight of the poor mother, and my heart broke for her. Warm, salty liquid was still pouring down my cheeks when I flipped to the final page of the doctor’s notes and saw the signature of Mrs. Lupo’s Canadian therapist on her release form: Selby Masterson. The same woman whose name was familiar to me in a way I couldn’t quite touch on. The same woman who’d spoken to the reporter about the farmer, Duquesne, and dismissed his tales of being probed by aliens as the ranting of an unstable man.

Okay, so the farmer never actually said he’d been probed; I just figured it was par for the course when the little green men took a human aboard the mothership.

“Who are you?” I said aloud, staring intently at the mystery woman’s loopy signature.

In my mind, there was no way that the woman’s involvement in two seemingly unrelated cases was a coincidence. The odds of Selby Masterson being both Mrs. Lupo’s therapist in Canada and a random townswoman familiar with Franz Duquesne’s tinfoil hat were slimmer than an anorexic ballerina. Particularly when I recognized her name, despite the fact I’d never visited Besançon.

“You’re the thread that connects the dots,” I told the piece of paper clutched in my hands.

With my marker—I wasn’t allowed pointy writing implements, for obvious reasons—I began scribbling a list of questions for Victoria. I wanted full background checks run on Zinca Lupo and her daughter, Nydia.

I was willing to bet my freedom that Nydia wasn’t actually dead.

In a case like this one, comprised of some of the weirdest elements I’d encountered—centaurs, alien abductions, mysterious disappearances, cattle thefts, and random power outages—a fake death certificate certainly wasn’t farfetched. Any decent forger could’ve easily made one, especially since it only had to pass muster in a foreign country, where the authorities weren’t likely to know what it should’ve looked like anyway.

As far as I knew, the search of TOXIC’s records hadn’t produced any results for Selby Masterson, since Victoria hadn’t included anything of the sort in the second batch of files she sent over. Still, confirming that fact firsthand the following day wouldn’t hurt. I added the question to my short list, along with a request for a full background scan on Masterson.

I was also eager to learn more about Mr. Lupo. What was his story? If the daughter was actually alive—and I was nearly positive that she was—and the mother was telling the truth, why had her father basically given her away?

A thought occurred to me: Is the daughter Talented?

Were the Poachers currently operating in Canada? Was Selby Masterson affiliated with the Poachers? If so, where did she fit in? And what did that mean?

Thoughts of the Poachers brought the terrible memories of the auction flooding back through my mind. My heart had already sunk so far while reading about the plight of Mrs. Lupo that it was resting among my toes. But my next thought took it underground.

If Nydia’s father was complacent in her abduction, that would mean he essentially sold his daughter to the Poachers.

I shook my head to banish the horrifying conclusion. The only way to help Nydia was to fit the puzzle pieces together, so I pressed on.

Selby Masterson was the key to it all, I felt certain of it.

Why was her name instantly familiar to me? Given the fact she wasn’t UNITED, I’d probably seen or heard her name back when I was either at the McDonough School or pledging the Hunters. Did that mean there a link between the Poachers and TOXIC?

You’re not positive that Selby Masterson was part of TOXIC, I cautioned myself.

Ugh. My brain was struggling with information overload. There were still too many unknowns. Until I remembered, or Victoria uncovered, Selby Masterson’s origins, it was going to be borderline impossible to make sense of it all.

Unfortunately, I needed it to make sense, pronto. Victoria had been very clear about that. My freedom hinged on my ability to solve this mystery for UNITED.

The conversation with Victoria instantly began replaying in my head. The exchange had bothered me all day. Victoria wasn’t a fan of lying; it was beneath her. But she didn’t have a problem withholding information. It was obvious that Victoria had been skirting around something, prompting me to dissect each and every word for a hidden meaning.

Why did she assign this particular task to me? I wondered. Without a doubt, Victoria always had a careful line of reasoning behind every decision she made.

Standing, I began pacing the cell to burn off my nervous energy.

Everything Victoria had told me was true; I believed that much. There were spies in UNITED. Someone was hacking the organization’s secure databases and disseminating classified information to the world. The cattle thefts and power outages were definitely connected to each other, and were almost certainly part of a larger puzzle. But I also believed there was something Victoria wasn’t telling me. Some reason she’d been so adamant that I make sense of the nonsensical.

Ugh. That woman was more cryptic than an Egyptian hieroglyph, and about as transparent as milk.

Without warning, my cell door opened with a whoosh of air. Startled, I swung around to face the intruder, the marker clutched in my fist like a knife.

“Why aren’t you sleeping, inmate?” Konterra demanded.

“I’m not tired,” I shot back, too caught up in my own head to tread lightly.

Konterra blew out a shaky breath. “I don’t care whether you’re tired or not. It is time to sleep.

I sighed. “Look, I get it. You’re just doing your job, adhering to protocol and all that. But, contrary to what you might think, you can’t force a person to sleep if she doesn’t want to sleep.”

Konterra’s gray eyes narrowed on my face. She’d yet to take more than two steps inside the cell—about as far as she ever dared to venture into my lair. Suddenly, the guard’s expression turned smug.

“Actually, I can make you sleep, inmate. That’s why we have sedatives.” Her gaze flitted to the marker still clutched in my fist. “Warden Cali only promised Councilwoman Walburton that you wouldn’t be drugged if you were behaving properly. Aiming a weapon at a guard is certainly not good behavior.”

She reached for the communicator on her belt.

I held up my hands in a placating gesture, dropping the marker in the process. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. Victoria gave me—”

“Councilwoman Walburton,” the guard snapped. “The inmate will address her superiors by their proper titles.”

Yikes. This was not going well. I made a mental note to ask Victoria about a replacement babysitter. Or possibly bribing Yocum into pulling round-the-clock duty. Either way, Konterra had to go. Her knee-jerk reactions and power trips simply didn’t mesh with my own impulsive tendencies and dislike for authority.

Taking a calming breath, I counted to ten in my head and started over.

“Councilwoman Walburton gave me that marker to make notes,” I said evenly. Moving my hand as if in slow-motion—sudden movements seemed like a bad idea—I gestured towards my bed, where Victoria’s files were scattered about. “She asked me to do some research for her. It seemed important, so I stayed up to work on it.”

It might have been my patronizing tone. Or maybe it was the fact that Lynn Konterra feared me enough to wonder in that moment if she had a change of undies in her locker. Whatever the case, the agent drew her weapon with one hand and her communicator with the other.

Before I knew what was happening, the gun was trained on the center of my chest.

“Whoa,” I said, raising both my hands, palms out. “There’s no need to shoot me, it was just a marker.”

The guard kept her weapon exactly where it was, indecision warring in her eyes. There were two settings on the gun itself; one shot tranquilizer darts, while the other fired very real bullets. While the former wouldn’t be pleasant, I began worrying about Konterra going off the rails and using the latter.

“Really?” I asked, exasperation lacing the word. “You’re seriously going to shoot me because I had a marker in my hand? We both know you don’t want to deal with the consequences of doing that. Just put the gun down.”

I was beyond tempted to put a little extra something behind my words, but figured I should avoid using my talents, if I could help it.

Konterra shot me a steely gaze, the intensity surprising me. For some reason, my words had given her a measure of courage. She wrapped her index finger around the trigger.

“What consequences?” the guard asked, smirking. “You only have a few days left, anyway.”

Before I could begin listing off the repercussions she’d face for shooting Victoria’s pet—let alone what Erik’s wrath would entail—Konterra raised the communicator to her lips. She paused before pushing the button.

“You raised a weapon to a guard,” Konterra sneered. “At the very least, that is cause for me to call in the wranglers.”

The wranglers were Vault’s badass men in facemasks and riot gear whose job was to battle disobedient inmates into submission. Konterra snickered, her confidence bolstered by the thought.

“Once they arrive, you’ll be nothing more than a drooling pile of hair,” she continued. “Then, we’ll get the truth about that girl you’ve been protecting—Kenly Baker, is it? The wranglers have ways of making little girls spill their guts. We’ll finally hear all those secrets you’re hiding in that manipulative mind of yours.”

Konterra’s finger hovered over the alarm button on her communicator. “Or, I can call a doctor down here and have you sedated. You know, make you sleep, since you don’t seem to think we can.”

Even without Konterra projecting loudly from beneath her tightly-braided, dishwater blonde mane, I knew the second option was how she truly wanted this to end. According to the angry thoughts flying through her mind, Konterra had been continuously lobbying Warden Cali to overrule Victoria’s orders and keep me pumped full of their zombie-inducing cocktail. Konterra was also well aware that calling the wranglers to my cell was likely to draw Victoria’s ire, and she had no desire to piss off the head of the UNITED council.

Yeah, I was definitely going to have words with Victoria about replacing Konterra.

Since neither of the guard’s options were tempting, I decided to try reasoning with her, possibly even lacing my words with a small dose of compulsion. Nothing too serious or obvious, just enough to calm her down and make her leave me in peace.

Unfortunately, the guard started speaking again before the first reassuring word was past my lips.

“You know what, inmate? Never mind. This is my shift. You are my prisoner to deal with as I see fit. I make your choices for you. All of them.”

Konterra sneered at me again, except I felt more joy than fear leaking off of her this time. Honestly, it was rather alarming.

“You are going to gather all those papers.” Konterra nodded towards my bed. “Then, you are going to stack them neatly in the center of the cell. Another guard will be by shortly to make the rounds of Level Five. When he gets here, he will take those papers away. And I’m going to stay right here the whole time, to make sure you don’t try anything.”

Okay, this isn’t going to end badly, I thought. It’s better to give up the files than be shot, sedated, or tortured by thugs.

In the morning, once Victoria learned that the files were no longer in my possession, she’d rectify the situation. And, if karma was real, the councilwoman would sharpen her razor of a tongue on Konterra’s hide in the process.

The thought made me smile.

“Okay, sure,” I agreed. “Do you want me to start gathering them now? Or, how does this play out in your head?”

“Do you know why this is how I’ve chosen to punish you?” Konterra asked, answering my question with a question.

I shook my head, not truly caring anymore. From the way Konterra’s communicator was angled, I was able to read the time on the display. It was 12:47 a.m., so Erik’s meeting would be over any minute. He’d be back in our apartment soon. Then, I could lie back on my bed and talk to my boyfriend for the rest of night, without having to make excuses to Victoria about not getting her work done instead.

Best. Punishment. Ever.

“I want you lucid and fully aware, so that you can truly appreciate what I’m about to tell you,” Konterra sang, drawing my thoughts unwillingly from Erik. “I want you to sit inside this cell, with nothing but time to think about your fate. It will drive you mad.”

The guard was fully grinning by now, and the first tinges of concern began to edge in on my happy thoughts. Truthfully, I just wanted her to stop talking and go away.

“Then, right before shift change,” Konterra continued, “when your buddy Yocum returns? That’s when I’ll sound the alarm. That’s when I’ll tell Warden Cali you threatened me with a weapon. That’s when you’ll be drugged and thrown in a minuscule cage downstairs. Maybe I’ll even shoot you with a tranq dart myself before they arrive, simply so that my face will be the last thing you see. You’ll not only miss your daily visit with Councilwoman Walburton….” Konterra paused dramatically, her grin bordering on maniacal. “There will be no reunion with Prince Charming.”

By this point in the woman’s diabolical diatribe—she was such a clichéd villain, spelling out her plans ahead of time—my temper was beginning to overshadow logic. I was already past bothering to invade her mind to learn whatever it was she was dying to share with me. The urge to attack Konterra was verging on insurmountable.

Deep breaths, Tals, deep breaths, I coached myself. I had to regain control before I did something stupid.

Because, unfortunately, the guard was correct. If she told the wranglers that I’d pointed a weapon at her, they wouldn’t wait to hear my side of the story. Before I’d be able to get a word out, the felt-tipped marker would be turned into a samurai sword that I attempted to behead my guard with.

And, no matter what, I refused to miss my visit with Erik. Mental communication was great and all, but nothing in the world compared to seeing him in the flesh.

“Is there a problem here, Lynn?”

A male guard, one I recognized from my outings to the exercise cubicle, appeared behind Konterra in the open doorway to my cell. His expression was more puzzled than anxious or suspicious. He even offered me a small nod.

“Lyons, is there a reason you’re out of bed?” he asked. “I know we don’t give you something to sleep, but you still should be getting some rest.”

Ugh, here we go again, I thought, my anger dampening some. At least the newcomer seemed reasonable, not at all like my own personal tormentor.

“Everything is fine, Les,” Konterra replied. “Actually, you’re just in time. I was about to explain to the inmate what’s in store for her.”

Les’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Okay,” he said slowly, drawing out the syllable. Les seemed as lost as I was.

“Start collecting the papers,” Konterra barked at me.

Turning my attention to Les, I pointedly ignored Konterra. “Victoria gave me these files to—”

“Don’t call her that!” Konterra screeched, her tone so shrill that Les recoiled. “The councilwoman isn’t your friend, inmate. She doesn’t even like you. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Lynn…” Les began tentatively. “You can’t—”

But the irate guard was like a speeding train with no brakes. Konterra simply cranked up the volume on her voice to max, until I could no longer hear Les speaking.

“She plans to execute you!” Konterra hollered. “Yeah, in four days, you’re dead. Just like you deserve. Enjoy thinking about that, without any distractions. While you’re at it, enjoy thinking about ‘Victoria,’” she used air-quotes when she said the name, “betraying you. Because she’s the one who wants you dead.”

Shock paralyzed me for the briefest of moments.

I was going to be executed?

No. That wasn’t right. Victoria wouldn’t allow the council to kill me. Insubordination was a minor crime. They council only handed out death sentences for murder and high treason.

“You’re lying,” I managed to say.

My voice was so cold that I didn’t even recognize it. Because I already knew that Konterra wasn’t lying. That much was clear from her thoughts. She didn’t know the details surrounding my execution—how, when, where, or even why, after a month of being a good little inmate, the council planned to kill me—but Konterra knew for sure that they had voted for my execution that morning.

“Am I? Bet you wish you had your talents, don’t you? Then you’d know for sure.” Konterra shook her head in mock sadness. “I hear being deprived of your abilities is awful. Painful, even. Though I imagine being deprived of your life will be slightly worse, Inmate Lyons. Just guessing, though. Too bad you won’t be around to tell me for certain.”

“Lynn, you’re out of line,” Les interjected, his voice carrying an unmistakable warning. Stepping around Konterra, he moved farther into my cell, positioning himself between us. “The situation is more complicated than you are conveying, and you know it.” He turned to me, his voice softening from its sharp edge. “It’s only—” he started to say, but Konterra drowned him out again.

“Councilwoman Walburton was the deciding vote!” she exclaimed, daring a triumphant look at Les. “She’s the one who sealed your fate. All this buddy-buddy time you two spend together? It means nothing. Not to her, and not to the rest of the council. So, how does it feel to be betrayed, inmate?”

Her words were like a physical slap, stinging me to my core. Victoria had voted in favor of killing me? I didn’t want to believe it. A part of me didn’t believe it; unable to accept the truth I was hearing with my own ears and reading with my own mind.

I stared numbly back at Konterra, much to her satisfaction. In that moment, I wasn’t capable of speaking. One word reverberated through my mind, ricocheting back and forth like a bouncy ball: Execution.

Why? Why did the councilwoman want to have me executed? Why had she spent the last month pretending to be my ally? Why had she given me this stupid research assignment that was supposedly going to show the rest of the council that I was a team player? Why did she even bother?

This must be how piglets feel, I thought, right after they learn that the farmer has only been giving them all that delicious food to fatten them up for slaughter.

My temper was hard to control at the best of times. Having someone deliberately and repeatedly stoking the fire made it damned near impossible to keep in check. But emotional pain, like the kind caused by learning a close friend had betrayed me, made me helpless against the swell of power building inside of me, desperately seeking an outlet.

The papers stirred on my bed as the still, stagnant air in the cell began to swirl. A light bulb burst overhead, raining filament and glass down around me. There was a loud cracking noise as the plastic meal table splintered in half. Even the hard flooring beneath my bare feet gave a low rumble in response to my heartache.

Calm thoughts. Count to ten, I coached desperately. Just breathe. There’s more to the story. There has to be more. Let Victoria explain herself.

No. She’s a heartless bitch, I thought, my doubt overtaking the voice of reason. She used you, just like Mac did. And now that she’s done with you, it’s game over. She’s going to have you killed.

The warring voices in my head continued to rage back and forth, and I didn’t know what to believe. Tears threatened my eyes. I blinked them back, unwilling to give Konterra the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

The wind and rumbling died down as quickly as they’d come. But the damage was already done, both literally and metaphorically; along with breaking several items in my cell, I’d used my supposedly dormant talents in front of two guards.

Good going, Talia, I lectured. For your next trick, why don’t you morph into a bird and fly around their heads? You know, just in case they’re at all unsure about whether you have your abilities.

When I met Konterra’s gaze, all traces of smugness had vanished from her gray eyes. Her fair skin turned a startlingly new shade of white, as shock and alarm registered in her expression. Her hands trembled so badly, she dropped her weapon. The guard was poised to bolt, only confusion rooting her feet to the cell floor.

Without thinking, I summoned Konterra’s gun to me before it could hit the ground.

“No. No. No.” Konterra shook her head jerkily from side to side. “Y-y-you shouldn’t be able to use your talents.”

The weapon was suddenly in my hand, but I didn’t point it at either guard. Instead, I directed the barrel towards the ground. The situation had escalated too quickly, and aiming a physical weapon at Konterra and Les definitely wasn’t going to help matters.

“What’s going on, Lyons?” Les asked, one hand moving towards the butt of his own gun. His voice was steady, his movements controlled. Even his expression remained neutral. It was the fear dripping from his glands like sweat during a strenuous workout that belied his calm façade.

“Don’t,” I warned, intensifying the word with a steady glare. “Just leave it in the holster.”

Les held his hands up, palms facing me to show they were empty, and then let them fall to his sides. His eyes darted around the cell.

“You might be able to erase our memories of this little episode,” Les said evenly, the voice of reason. “Or compel us not to report it, or whatever it is you are able to do exactly. But you can’t reverse the damage to the furniture.”

“I know,” I agreed, wondering about the odds of the destruction going unnoticed.

“Running isn’t an option either,” Les continued, still speaking in a low, gentle tone that people normally use on children and crazies. “Talia, no one has ever escaped from Vault. I assure you, it’s impossible.”

That’s what they said about Tramblewood, I thought. Yet I broke Erik out of there.

Of course, I hadn’t staged that prison break alone. Ian Crane and his Coalition soldiers had been instrumental in freeing Erik. Was I capable of defying the odds on my own?

The wheel in my head was spinning so rapidly, a hamster would’ve been sent sailing through the air. I was too upset, too blindsided by Konterra’s news, to think straight.

What was my next move? I needed to make it soon.

Altering the guards’ memories to forget this entire exchange seemed like the best option, not to mention the simplest and quickest way to go. Then, I could tell Yocum what had transpired once he arrived in the morning. He wouldn’t be super thrilled, but he’d help me figure out a way to explain or hide the broken furniture. We were coconspirators after all.

Except, that still leaves your neck in the noose, just waiting for the executioner to kick the box from beneath your feet, I thought morbidly.

Okay, maybe that was a tad dramatic; UNITED didn’t actually hang people. At least, I didn’t think they did. Honestly, I had no clue what means they used to execute prisoners.

Once again, the word began bouncing rapidly through my mind, ricocheting off of logic and reason. Executed, executed, executed.

“Just because no one has ever done it, that doesn’t mean escape is impossible.”

The words came from the doorway, where Konterra was still standing. But when I spared her a surprised glance, the guard was shaking pitifully and blubbering. A slim figure stepped around the crying woman and into my cell, joining our trio.

“Anya?” I asked, both grateful for her presence and confused as to why she was there. Doctors usually returned to the residential islands at night, unless they were called in for a medical emergency.

“Dr. Pritcher, thank heavens you’re here,” Les said, sounding extremely relieved and not at all surprised.

That was when I realized my critical error. The guards still had their communicators. One of them must have sounded an alarm. As my doctor, Anya would have been one of the first to receive the alert, so she’d be on standby to treat me after the wranglers were done doing whatever it was they did to unruly prisoners.

“The wranglers will be here shortly,” Anya said evenly. Her emerald gaze landed on me, and her words were hurried when she continued. “There isn’t time to explain. Please, just trust me. We need to go, Talia. Now.”

“What?” Les and I asked in unison.

Anya directed her next statement at Les. “Slowly remove your gun from the holster, put it on the ground, and slide it over to me. Now, or Talia will shoot you. Then, cuff yourself and Agent Konterra to the bed.”

Noticing the slight tremble that crept into Anya’s voice, Les decided to call her bluff. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. The only way you’re getting this gun off of me is if I’m down for the count.”

“Okay.” Anya nodded jerkily. “Talia, tranq him.”

Utterly stunned by this turn of events, my reaction time was slower than usual. My slight hesitation before pulling the trigger gave Konterra an opening. She rounded on Anya, drawing her fist back in the process.

Without thinking, I fired three darts into Konterra’s chest just as her clenched hand connected with Anya’s jaw. The doctor’s head snapped back, and she cried out in pain. Konterra swayed on her feet. Her hateful gray eyes rolled around in their sockets, unfocused and erratic.

Then, she folded like a house of cards.

No going back now, I thought.

“Are you stupid?” Les screamed at me. “Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in now?”

I swung the gun towards him. “No more than I already am.”

“Tranq him, Talia,” Anya repeated anxiously, rubbing her jaw.

“You don’t want to do this, Lyons. I called for the wranglers to help you. To prevent you from doing something stupid, like running. You will die if you attempt to escape.”

“I’m going to die either way,” I replied. “I’d much rather go out fighting.”

I pulled the trigger. Several times in rapid succession, just to be sure.

Being considerably larger than his female counterpart, Les remained on his feet a few moments longer than Konterra had.

“The situation is complicated,” he slurred, fighting the drugs threatening to put him into a near-comatose state. The guard fell to his knees, head drooping to one side, but didn’t lose consciousness immediately.

At Anya’s feet, Lynn Konterra began to seize. Her chest rising and falling in an unnaturally fast rhythm.

Watching his fellow guard convulse must have frightened Les badly, because he started swatting and head-butting the air, as if sparring with an invisible opponent. When he lost all control of his arm muscles, Les twisted violently from the waist, attempting to gain enough momentum in his spaghetti-like limbs to continue the match.

“No. Please, no. I didn’t mean to. Please. Please,” he moaned piteously.

Finally, he face-planted, cracking his forehead against the hard floor of my cell.

Stepping over Konterra, Anya grabbed ahold of my arm and tugged. “Come on, there isn’t much time.”

“Is it true?” I asked Anya, gaze fixed on the two agents convulsing on the ground. “About the execution? Is the council really planning to kill me? Did Victoria really cast the deciding vote?”

I had no doubt about the answers to my questions, at least from Konterra’s perspective. Still, I needed confirmation from a trusted source. I needed to hear the words spoken aloud.

Sympathy softened Anya’s expression. “I promise to explain it all. Right now, we really need to go. I was able to delay the wranglers, but it won’t take long for them to figure out what I did.”

“Is it true?” I repeated. “Just tell me that much. Tell me that Konterra didn’t trick me into flying off the handle.”

Somewhere in the distance, an alarm started blaring. The noise grew steadily louder as speakers began playing a message loop: “Code Ten on Level Five. Code Ten on Level Five. All guards are to report immediately. Code Ten on Level Five. Code Ten on Level Five. All guards are to report immediately.”

“It’s true,” Anya confirmed, shouting to be heard over the noise. “I’m so sorry, Talia.”

I nodded slowly, my heart breaking as I willed myself not to cry again. This time, when Anya pulled my arm, I didn’t fight. Escape was a Hail Mary, but it was my best chance at a future. I wasn’t going to stay on Vault and wait for my execution.

I simply couldn’t.

At the door to my cell, I paused and gently pried Anya’s fingers loose. I glanced back at the guards who, despite being shot up with enough drugs to drop a rhino, were not at all sedate.

“I can’t let you go with me, Anya,” I insisted. “You’ve done more than enough already. Stay. Treat the guards. Say that when you got here, Konterra and Les were already on the ground, and I was already gone.”

“No.” Anya shook her head firmly. “You can’t escape without me. You won’t make it off of Level Five, let alone off of Vault. This place is a fortress. Each floor is a maze within a maze, designed to confuse people. You need me. I’ve already mapped out our route, and I uploaded the blueprints to my communicator. You need me,” she repeated for emphasis. “Besides, I promised Erik I would get you out of here, as repayment for saving me from the Poachers. Don’t make me break that promise.”

Erik? Anya and Erik had been talking? How long were they in touch? The thought made my roiling stomach churn even faster.

It doesn’t matter, I told myself. Right now, you need to focus. You just shot two guards full of tranquilizers. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. No, concentrate on the future. You have to get off of this damned island prison, nothing else matters.

“You said you have a route mapped out?” I asked, resigned to letting Anya help me.

Sure, I could have compelled her to stay behind. But the fierce determination in her jewel-toned eyes tugged at my heartstrings. Not to mention, I had a feeling I did need her. If she and Erik had been planning for something like this, then Anya was my best chance of survival.

And I was hers. I didn’t know how she’d delayed the wranglers, but she made it sound as though the distraction was traceable back to her. Once the connection was made, Anya would no longer be a doctor on Vault. She’d be a prisoner. I couldn’t have that on my conscience. It was already too stained.

“Yes, and a backup or two, just in case,” Anya confirmed.

“Lead the way,” I declared.

Time for a jailbreak.

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Three Days Before the Vote

Natalia Lyons. The name had been rolling around in Cressa’s head all morning. She’d heard it before, many times. The UNITED agent was as famous as the front man for the Righteous Renegades, Linc Leopold. Maybe even more so. Ever since she’d led an attack on that TOXIC prison to free her boyfriend—totally romantic, in Cressa’s opinion—Natalia Lyons had been headline news.

Candid images of the Lyons girl appeared everywhere—the world was obsessed. Her name in the title of an I-article was guaranteed to draw in an enormous audience, even if just discussing her clothes or reporting an alleged sighting. Once it came out that Natalia Lyons was infected with the creation drug, the mainstream media dubbed her The Lethal Lilac. With that, the Talented teenager’s star had soared to all new heights.

Of course, not everyone loved her. Cressa’s parents believed Natalia Lyons a traitor, for not immediately rallying to the Dame’s side. They’d forbidden Cressa from adding her pictures to the collage of stars on her bedroom walls, or even to speak her name. Nonetheless, their feelings hadn’t deterred her from reading everything she could find about Natalia; Cressa just kept her hero-worship a secret.

In truth, Natalia Lyons was the main reason Cressa had been so excited when she finally received her acceptance to the Institute. Once she graduated and became one of the Privileged, Cressa would be just as powerful—and probably just as famous—as her idol.

“Cadet Karmine, is there somewhere else you would rather be right now?” Gracia snapped.

“Huh?” Cressa was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she’d totally missed whatever Gracia had been saying.

“‘Huh?’” the older girl parroted. She made a ridiculous, dopey expression that was evidently supposed to be an imitation of Cressa. “Is that how you were taught to address your betters? No, I think not. Your father is CEO of Karmine Pharmaceuticals and your mother is the daughter of a former U.S. president, so I know you were raised with manners. Act like it.”

When do I start invisibility training? Cressa wondered, humiliated beyond belief.

Across the classroom, Daphne gave her a sympathetic smile. Cressa returned the gesture gratefully. Since she would never become Natalia Lyons’ equal if she didn’t get through her training, Cressa vowed to focus.

Privilege is for the Worthy, she reminded herself.

She sat up straighter in her chair and squared her shoulders, locking her gaze on Gracia. The older girl was an unpleasant witch, but she wasn’t wrong about Cressa’s lineage. Her mother’s side actually counted two former presidents, and a mayor of Manhattan who’d been a presidential candidate until a scandalous affair had ultimately cost her the election. On the other side, Karmine Pharmaceuticals was among the oldest enterprises in the world, and one of the few non-tech companies that always managed to operate in the black. All told, she had a lot to live up to.

“I apologize, ma’am,” Cressa began, meeting and holding Gracia’s alarming violet gaze. “I am very excited about the demonstration.”

Gracia sniffed, mollified by the apology. “As you should be. This is a rare treat. 2P peons do not usually get to witness the testing. Lucky for you all, I have pull with the Dame. She agreed to let you to observe today, as a personal favor to me.”

By Cressa’s count, this was the tenth reference Gracia had made to the Dame and their alleged bestie status since breakfast. Gracia’s air of superiority had grown exponentially since returning from her morning meeting with the Dame. Her smugness led Cressa and the others to conclude that their captain had been chosen as Natalia Lyons’ clone. None of them were excited about this development; Gracia didn’t need any additional kindling for her roaring ego.

The door at the back of the classroom opened and Leslie Abbot stepped inside, followed by an older boy Cressa had never seen. The newcomer was dressed in black pants and a matching high-collared black jacket. His attire was a sure sign that he wasn’t a cadet, but either an instructor or possibly even an Institute administrator.

Tall and lean, with a crooked smile and fine features, the older guy oozed intelligence like some people oozed charisma. Though he wasn’t conventionally handsome, something about him made him attractive in Cressa’s eyes.

Power, Cressa decided. The power emanating from him was so potent; it made Cressa’s toes tingle and a deep ache develop in her chest. Suddenly, she felt an intense urge to be close to him.

How odd? Cressa thought. She’d never experienced such a strong desire in her entire life.

“Good morning, Twos,” Leslie Abbot said, her tone flat and features expressionless as ever. “Allow me to introduce Sir Tate. For those of you who do not know, Sir Tate is on the board of the Institute, and is one of the Directors of the Privileged. He is responsible for acquiring sources, in addition to selecting worthy candidates for admission.”

Sir Tate waved, almost shyly, to the girls. He cleared his throat and, after a couple false starts, greeted them. “I-I know many of you from your applications,” he began. “It gives me great pleasure to see that you’ve all advanced in your studies.”

“Sir Tate will be observing the testing along with all of you,” Leslie added. There was a warning note in her voice, indicating they were all to be on their best behavior.

“Yes, well, please pretend as though I am not here,” Sir Tate said. “The Dame is very busy, but likes to be up-to-date on her pupils’ accomplishments. I am merely here as her eyes and ears today, so that I may report back to her on how well you are all doing. She sends along her wishes that she could pay you a visit in person, but the Dame’s duties are vast and exceptionally time-consuming.”

Gracia clapped her hands together in a rare display of genuine excitement. “How exciting to have you here! I know I speak for all of my charges and the other Sevens—I’m a Seven, not a Two—when I say we are thrilled to make your acquaintance,” she gushed. Somehow, Gracia managed to sound both impossibly formal, and like a schoolgirl speaking to her crush for the first time.

Sir Tate turned to where Gracia stood in the corner of the room with his crooked smile locked in place. He froze the instant his gaze landed on her. Instinctively, he took a step backward, until he was pressed against the door behind him. Disbelief and something akin to alarm flashed in his hazel eyes.

“Y-y-you look…I mean, I knew you would be…but the resemblance…” Sir Tate trailed off. Casting his gaze at the floor, he rubbed a spot on the back of his neck nervously, exposing several looping black lines that looked to be part of a tattoo.

“This is Gracia Beaumont, captain of the Phase Two girls,” Leslie Abbot interjected quickly, gesturing to the unsettled 7P.

An odd scent suddenly filled the room. It was both sweet and tangy, like an orange or sugared lemon. The aroma intensified, becoming an assault on the senses. Wrinkling her nose, Cressa discreetly moved her hand to cover her nostrils from the pungent odor. When she glanced at her fellow Twos, no one else was reacting to the scent, almost as if they didn’t smell it at all.

What the hell? Cressa thought, wondering if she was losing it. She prayed she wasn’t having a bad reaction to the previous night’s injection.

Cressa watched as Sir Tate composed himself, fascinated by the way his expression instantly evened. The effect was like someone had taken a steamer to his face, rapidly smoothing the frown and worry lines.

“Right, of course you are,” Sir Tate said hastily, his crooked smile firmly back in place. “Your transformation is coming along nicely. I understand you are scheduled for full facial reorg and body mod, I look forward to seeing the final results.”

“Ugh, that’s it then,” Lyla Towers, who was sitting on Cressa’s left, whispered to her. “Guess she really has been chosen.”

“Yes, Sir. The Dame says I am the best candidate at the Institute,” Gracia responded proudly. “I am to have the procedures as soon as Doctor Masterson’s schedule allows.”

Sir Tate cleared his throat. “Well, yes, I can see that you are, structurally speaking, the best choice.”

Lyla and several other girls snickered loudly at the backhanded compliment.

Turning the color of letters on an EXIT sign, Gracia giggled uneasily. “The Dame has provided me with study materials, so that I may learn her speech patterns and mannerisms. I am taking this duty very seriously.”

“If it is alright with you, I will inform them we are ready for the first examinee?” Leslie asked pointedly. She glanced quickly back and forth between Sir Tate and Gracia, and the 2P girls, who were all engrossed in their conversation. Clearly, she disapproved of the discussion.

“Please do,” Sir Tate replied quickly, remembering himself. With one last lingering look at Gracia, he walked to the back of the classroom and sat in a vacant chair.

“He’s an odd one,” Lyla mumbled, leaning towards Cressa.

After the encounter in the bathroom the previous night, Cressa was still unsure how she felt about the twins. She thought she liked them, but couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that their gossipy ways were a ploy to get Cressa to say something inflammatory, so they could tattle on her to a superior.

“I think he’s just shy,” Cressa whispered back.

The lights in the room dimmed, until Daphne and the others sitting across the aisle were nothing more than shadows.

The wall in front of them was actually a two-way mirror, which grew brighter as the room darkened. The adjacent room matched the classroom in width, but was not nearly as deep. A lone figure stood in the center of the space. His arms hung by his sides, hands balled into fists, fingers flexing and then curling back into his palms over and over again. Beside him was a single metal bench, approximately three feet long.

The boy looked to be around Cressa’s age, maybe a year or two younger, though she couldn’t be certain. The ends of his ginger hair barely brushed the collar of his green smock-style shirt. His pants, the same shade of green, were cinched tightly below his narrow hips and rolled at the bottom to reveal pale, bare feet. Eyes the color of clouds just before a thunderstorm stared straight ahead, unblinking.

“This is Damon Bizon,” Leslie Abbot explained from the back of the room. “He was a student of the Institute, but failed to advance past Phase Three. As a result, he was released from the Privileged program. However, Mr. Bizon is still very useful to us, as you are about to witness.”

In the center aisle, a spotlight appeared. A moment later, the holographic image of a girl materialized.

The sight was so unexpected that Cressa gasped audibly. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone in her surprise. Across the room, Daphne squealed and clapped her hands together, as if the girl’s sudden appearance was a magician’s trick.

“This is Suzu Mitsu,” Leslie told the class. “She is an 8P. Today is her first attempt at using mind manipulation—the final power she must master in order to become Privileged. Her task is simple; she must guide Damon Bizon through a number of exercises. In order to successfully pass her exam, Cadet Mitsu must reach inside Damon’s mind, take control, and compel him to perform the given tasks.”

“And if she fails…” Lyla made a sort of strangled choking sound and drew her thumbnail across her throat. “Off with her head.” In the light emanating from the two-way mirror, Lyla’s skin appeared silver and ghostly, making the gesture all the more ominous.

Lyla and her twin giggled loudly, drawing a disapproving glare from Gracia.

Cressa shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Only yesterday, she’d been the one in the examination room, her future hinging perilously on the ability to perform a task much simpler than the one Suzu Mitsu was attempting. Had a classroom of cadets been watching? Had her audience been as flippant as Lyla Towers? She hoped not.

Then, another thought, even more horrible than the first, struck Cressa hard.

If I’d failed the Phase One exam, I would have shared Damon’s fate.

Leslie had just confirmed the rumors Cressa had heard from a few 1Ps: Unworthy cadets weren’t sent home, they were used as test subjects. Cressa had been sure that it was just an exaggeration, an ominous tale that circulated through the new cadets like an urban legend. Her heart pounded as Cressa filled with anxiety, until she was sure that the slamming beats were audible to everyone in the room.

This demonstration wasn’t a treat. It was a cautionary tale, meant to impart the ultimate price of failure.

It was as though the Dame had been reading her traitorous thoughts of regret and uncertainty, and had orchestrated this lesson just to remind Cressa that the only option was to move forward.

Full of compassion for poor Damon Bizon, Cressa sent waves of encouragement his way. She knew it was silly, since it wasn’t like Damon could feel the vibes. Still, if by some chance he was picking up on their emotions, Cressa wanted him to know that he had an ally in the crowd. After all, it could have just as easily been her in that room. Cressa did still have seven exams ahead of her, so there was still a very real chance that she would end up in Damon’s shoes. Metaphorically, of course, since the kid was barefoot.

“You may begin, Suzu,” a voice Cressa recognized from her own advancement test boomed through unseen speakers in the walls.

Suzu Mitsu’s holographic image nodded. On the other side of the mirror, Damon Bizon showed no reaction.

“Damon Bizon cannot hear the communications between Suzu and the administrator,” Leslie explained to the younger girls. “Conversely, Suzu cannot hear the communications between the administrator and Damon Bizon. Of course, we can hear both.”

The next voice that came through the speaker was not that of the administrator. This voice had a dream-like quality to it, reminding Cressa of the way mental commands sounded when spoken inside her head. Which, she quickly realized, was exactly what she was hearing—Suzu’s thoughts were being broadcast to the classroom. That was when Cressa noticed the small flesh-colored disc over one of Suzu’s temples; it was identical to the one she’d seen on Dr. Masterson.

That device must be able to project the wearer’s thoughts, Cressa thought wonderingly. Dr. Masterson probably wore one so that she didn’t have to write down her patient observations.

“Sit on the bench, Damon,” Suzu urged. Her tone was soft and soothing, like the way a mother speaks to her frightened child.

Damon froze, stormy gaze wide with shock and fear. His head swiveled from side to side, as though seeking out the speaker.

“Sit on the bench, Damon,” Suzu repeated in the same lilting tone.

Cautiously, the boy moved towards the bench and perched on the edge.

“Cross your legs, Damon,” Suzu instructed, her voice gaining confidence.

Damon Bizon crossed his right leg over his left.

“Stand on the bench, Damon,” Suzu commanded.

Again, the boy complied with only a little hesitation. Despite herself, Cressa watched with fascination. She’d never seen someone control another person. Though the sight brought a pit of fear that settled deep in her gut, Cressa also felt an excitement.

One day I’ll be able to do that, she realized, awestruck by the thought. But should anyone be able to command another person? To take away his free will?

“Freaky deaky,” Lyla whispered, echoing Cressa’s own feelings.

“You are standing on a cliff, overlooking the ocean thirty feet below. The water is clear, and you can see to the bottom. There are tropical fish swimming just beneath the surface. Now, fall forward, Damon,” Suzu said.

There was a collective intake of breath from the room of 2Ps. Even Sir Tate leaned forward in his seat, waiting to see if Damon would be compelled into obedience.

Damon inched to the edge of the bench, his toes hanging over the lip.

“Damon Bizon has a fear of heights,” Leslie said softly. “That is why this particular scenario was chosen—to truly test Suzu’s abilities. Damon Bizon does not wish to jump, and he is only likely to do so if Suzu is able to take complete control of his mind.”

“My money says she isn’t strong enough to do it,” Shyla mumbled under her breath.

“I agree. She’s not being forceful enough,” Lyla responded.

On Cressa’s other side, Nydia, who’d been silent thus far, shushed the twins. Neither Towers sister paid her any attention.

“What do you say, Cressa?” Lyla asked. “Can she do it?”

“Damon, concentrate on my voice,” Suzu was saying. “Fall forward now.”

Cressa glanced sidelong at her roommate. Nydia’s complexion was ashen, and she was chewing the inside of her cheek. Her eyes darted rapidly between Suzu’s hologram and Damon inside the exam room.

“Cressa?” Shyla pressed.

“This is supposed to be instructional, we should be quiet and pay attention,” Cressa told her.

“Party pooper,” Lyla pouted.

“Damon,” Suzu snapped, losing her patience with the boy. “You want to fall into the ocean.”

But Damon Bizon didn’t actually want to make the leap. And Suzu Mitsu wasn’t strong enough to force him. At least, not yet.

The administrator intervened. “Cadet Mitsu, move on to the other tasks. We will come back to this one.”

Sighing, Suzu switched to a different command, this one to simply step down from the bench. From there, the 8P coached Damon through a number of acts, ranging from standing on one foot to cartwheeling around the room. The most impressive, and most terrifying, demonstration of her abilities came when Suzu commanded Damon to hold his breath until she said to stop. His face turned an unnatural shade of purple before Suzu finally allowed him to breath again.

The longer Cressa observed the spectacle, the more nauseated she became. Finally, she tore her eyes away, unable to watch any longer. Any excitement she’d felt over her future powers was completely and utterly gone. Not because she didn’t want the abilities, but because using other humans as test subjects was disgusting. The idea that soon she’d be using failed cadets like practice dummies was nearly too much to handle. She hadn’t signed up for this. It was cruel, inhumane, and sickening.

“Here she goes again,” Shyla faux-whispered. “If Damon doesn’t jump this time, Suzu’s dun-dun-dun-done.”

Cressa’s gaze unwillingly returned to the exam room. Sure enough, Damon was standing on the edge of the bench again, staring at an ocean and fish that only he could see. Cressa wrung her hands in her lap.

For a brief moment, Cressa was positive that Damon was going to jump.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, she chanted inside her own head.

It wasn’t that Cressa wanted Suzu to fail. She was far more concerned for Damon, should he face-plant on the hard floor. Which was exactly what would happen if the boy fell forward. Did no one else care about him being hurt?

Damon backpedaled on the bench, nearly tumbling over his own feet in an attempt to distance himself from the edge of the imagined cliff.

Cressa exhaled in relief.

Then, as if an invisible hand had pushed him, Damon lurched forward, arms outstretched. He let loose a blood curdling scream that would echo in Cressa’s mind for days to come. Spread-eagle, the boy flew across the room in an arc as though launched from a cannon. Several girls shouted, while others turned away.

Cressa, however, couldn’t seem to avert her gaze; never before had she seen anything like it. She’d heard tales of Talents and seen reports in the media, but she’d never witnessed a demonstration of such power in person. Even when Damon started his downward trajectory, plummeting headfirst towards the ground, Cressa didn’t look away.

In the end, she was glad she kept her eyes glued to the train wreck.

Just before Damon crashed-landed, his body came to an abrupt halt mere inches from the ground. He hung there, suspended above the ground for several long moments, before being gently lowered the rest of the way down by whoever was holding his unseen strings.

Damon Bizon curled into the fetal position, breaking the spell of perverse fascination that Cressa was under. Perspiration had darkened his hair and stained the collar and armpits of his shirt. Tears poured down his cheeks and snot leaked from his nose. His lips quivered so badly that it appeared as though two thin, bloodless worms were mating above his chin.

Empathetic tears filled Cressa’s eyes as she watched Damon shake. No matter how alluring the idea of seemingly infinite power was, no matter how fascinating it was to watch the use of such incredible abilities, in the end, they’d hurt an innocent person. Cressa wondered again if that might one day be her curled up on the floor of a room while countless people watched.

All around her, the other 2Ps were clapping for Suzu and talking enthusiastically.

“Did you see that?” Lyla exclaimed. “She stopped him dead in his tracks.”

“I know!” Shyla squealed in agreement. “That was some seriously awesome telekinesis. Suzu is stronger than I gave her credit for. First she made him jump, even though he was scared enough to wet himself, then she made sure he didn’t eat concrete. That’s just…wow.” She turned to Cressa, her forehead wrinkling. “Aren’t you impressed?”

Only half listening to the twins’ blathering, Cressa shrugged noncommittally. She was too focused on Damon to give much thought or care for Suzu and her performance. What if Suzu hadn’t been able to prevent Damon from slamming into the ground? Was there someone else, a stronger, more accomplished Privileged, waiting to catch Damon if she hadn’t been able to? Did the Dame care whether Damon got hurt? Or was he expendable?

On the other side of the mirror, Damon’s lips started to move, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly. Cressa leaned forward, her gaze locked intently on him, trying to make out what he was saying. As she mimicked the movement, Cressa realized that Damon was uttering a single word, over and over: home.

Her eyes welled up again, and this time the tears streamed freely down her cheeks. Because Damon Bizon would not be returning home. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

Admission to the Institute was a one-way ticket; no refunds permitted, no exchanges. And Cressa had already boarded the flight.

Talia

Vault, Isle of Exile

Three Days Before the Vote

Anya wasn’t exaggerating when she said that I’d need her help to escape from the maximum-security prison. Not only would I have been completely lost without the map on her communicator, but it was Anya’s retinas that unlocked each door we encountered. We bypassed elevators in favor of seldom used stairwells, since the guards’ echoing footsteps warned us the instant they were nearby—stealth and subtlety were not their forte.

Initially, my biggest concern was the security cameras. Other than the cell interiors and the shower stalls, every inch of Vault was monitored.

“Already taken care of,” Anya had told me, when I voiced my concern about the cameras.

We were currently huddled inside a supply closet in a section of the medical ward that was conveniently under construction. Guards were searching the main part of the ward, preventing us from accessing the stairwell we needed to continue our journey to freedom. Since this particular staircase was essential to all three of Anya’s escape routes, she was using a program on her communicator to map out yet another option.

“I uploaded a program to change the security feeds,” Anya explained absently, her thumbs flying across her communicator’s screen. “Instead of displaying the live footage from Vault’s hallways, the monitors in the surveillance room are showing people in Shanghai walking to work, lovers strolling on the West Bank, children attending school in the East End, and other fun stuff like that.”

I whistled appreciatively. “Impressive.”

Anya smiled in the darkness. “Thanks. It wasn’t easy. But we knew the cameras would be the first obstacle. I switched the feeds remotely as soon as I saw the alert message from Les. I wasn’t even sure it had worked.” She shrugged. “Must have, though. Otherwise, the guards would have caught us by now. Erik was actually the one who suggested swapping the feeds.”

I knew it shouldn’t have bothered me, the fact that Erik and Anya had been in contact since my incarceration. Regardless, it did. Even though I knew their romantic relationship was ancient history, and I was his present and his future. It just did.

Some of the old stirrings of jealousy over Anya might have sprung from his reaction upon seeing her in the auction house outside of London. It confirmed that he still cared about her. Which was natural, of course. It was the reason I’d risked UNITED’s wrath to save her.

He’s yours, I reminded myself. And you’re his. End of story.

And truly, it was. No one, least of all me, could deny the love for me he openly wore on his sleeve. Erik would never choose anyone over me, and I knew it.

At the opposite end of the hallway from the supply closet, the doors to the construction area opened. Pulling my thoughts from the needless worrying—it was so not the time to go all girly and jealous—I concentrated on the source of the noise. There were two minds moving in our direction.

Fear rolled off of Anya in waves.

“It’s okay. They aren’t guards,” I assured her, switching to mental communication.

Anya’s eyes widened upon hearing my voice inside her head. From what I understood, mental conversations were weird for the uninitiated. Judging by the look on her face, Anya had never heard someone else inside her mind.

“Just think the words you want to speak out loud,” I sent. “I’ll hear them.”

It took her a couple of seconds to adjust to our new silent walkie-talkies. During that brief period, I did my damnedest not to peek into the shadows of her brain, afraid of what I might find. Certain as I was of Erik’s unwavering loyalty to me, I didn’t want to know the specifics of their conversations.

“How do you know they aren’t guards?” Anya asked finally.

“Moving too slowly. And the shoes are wrong. Guards wear heavy boots. Those two are wearing shoes with soft soles. Probably nurses or doctors. Do you guys keep extra supplies down here, even though it’s under construction?”

“Yeah, we do,” Anya confirmed.

“Okay, then you just focus on finding us another route out of here. I don’t think we’re going to be able to reach that stairwell any time soon.”

“Right. Got it.” Anya refocused on her communicator screen. “Okay. There is another set of stairs here.” She indicated a small rectangle on the floor plan displayed on her screen.

“It looks like it only goes down, not up,” I pointed out. “I get using roundabout routes to throw them off, but we do need to go up eventually.”

“Not necessarily. We came up with a couple possible options for actually leaving Vault.”

Again, her use of ‘we’ made it feel like a fist was squeezing my heart.

“Frederick works closely with the council and was able to access their contingency plan for evacuating Vault in case of an attack,” she continued.

Frederick? So when Anya said ‘we’, she hadn’t simply meant Erik. I wasn’t sure whether that made me feel better or worse. I appreciated the lengths my friends had gone to ensure my release, but it sort of felt like Anya had taken my place.

Yes, I knew exactly how absurd that was, particularly when I was in the middle of the most difficult mission imaginable. But no one had ever accused me of being mature.

“There’s an underwater port on the lowermost level of Vault,” Anya continued.

If Anya felt the jealously that spiked within me, she ignored the sensation. I liked her a little bit more in that moment.

You know, because breaking me out of jail wasn’t enough of a reason for us to be friends.

“We can take one of the pods to the surface. The fuel tanks are small, though, with just enough fuel to go approximately fifty miles underwater. Since we’ll have to use cloaking, likely closer to thirty. Which, in case you were wondering, will not get us to land. But, the pods double as hovercrafts. Once we break the surface, we can switch to solar power and fly just about anywhere.”

The plan was solid, with one small, crucial exception.

“Are they tagged? Cloaking won’t help if the pod has a GPS tracker,” I pointed out.

Satisfaction overshadowed the fear emanating from Anya. I couldn’t help but smile. My friends really had given this a lot of thought.

“They do. At the same time I switched the camera feeds, I uploaded a program to scramble the tracking signals. We could float ten miles off the coast of Vault and the pod’s tag will show us halfway around the world. And, as a failsafe, I figured out how to launch the entire fleet of pods at once, each one programmed with different destination coordinates. That way, even if someone manages to overwrite my code and descramble the signals, they won’t know which pod to chase after. UNITED can’t spare the manpower to have agents waiting for us at every single endpoint. I also have each pod landing at least one hundred miles from any UNITED base, just in case they get lucky and go after the right one. You and I will be long gone before they get there, no problem.”

“You are a freaking genius,” I told her.

I meant it, too. It would have taken me years to come up with this sort of plan, especially with only a handful of people helping.

Then again, I was able to morph. All of this subterfuge and misdirection wasn’t necessary for someone who was capable of disguising herself as the animal of her choosing. If I wasn’t worried about what would come of Anya for helping me if I left her behind, I’d have just become a fly and zipped on up to the surface.

The door at the opposite end of the hallway banged open.

“You in here, Lyons?” shouted a male voice, which echoed in the empty medical wing.

Are you really expecting an answer? I wondered. How stupid did these guards think I was?

“Best to surrender now. You won’t make it out of here. No one ever has. So you can choose right now—we’ll bring you in alive, or we’ll bring you in dead,” the man warned.

Guards flooded the hallway from either end. My heart sank. We’d waited too long to make our move, and the backup stairwell Anya had selected was no longer an option.

“Search every inch of this wing,” ordered the same guard who’d called out to me. “Empty every closet, look in every bathroom stall, turn over every mattress. They’re here.”

The guard spoke with such conviction that I began to panic.

He didn’t just think I was close by; he knew with absolute certainty. How? How did they pinpoint my location?

“Am I tagged, like the pods?” I sent to Anya.

She shook her head. “No point. No inmate has ever escaped before. After this, well, I wouldn’t be surprised if they start implanting trackers in prisoners.”

“Then one of those guards out there is extremely sensitive to other Talents. Without a chip in me, it’s the easiest way to track us. That’s not good. I’m like a freaking homing beacon to a person with those capabilities; the guards aren’t going away.”

Any second, I expected the closet door to fly off of the hinges, followed by wranglers storming inside to haul me out by my damp ponytail. I had to take control of the situation before that occurred.

Performing a quick mind count, I tried to gauge the odds of fighting my way out of this. There appeared to be thirty guards out there, give or take a few.

Too many. Had I been alone, I might have taken the gamble. But with Anya to worry about, it wasn’t worth the risk. There had to be another option.

“Got any bright ideas on how to get out of this closet? Preferably one that doesn’t involve handcuffs?” I asked Anya.

My companion smiled nervously. “We go up.” She pointed towards the ceiling. “Drop ceiling tiles. We can crawl.”

Doors up and down the hallway were slamming open. The guards were yelling to one another. The leader was screeching commands to his underlings.

“Block all possible exits. The girls are here,” someone shouted. “They have to be.”

The girls, he kept saying, plural. They knew Anya was with me. How? Without the cameras, the guards wouldn’t have seen us together.

It’s not me they’re tracking, I realized with some relief. It was Anya. Or, rather, Anya’s eyes. Someone with more brain cells than the guards outside the closet must have checked the scans logs and realized Anya entered this area of the medical wing and never left.

Then we still have a chance, I thought. Not only would climbing around in the crawlspace eliminate leaving a digital trail behind us, but it was also pretty much our only option.

“Let’s do it,” I told Anya.

Shelves lined one wall of the tiny closet. Boxes with labels too technical for me to pronounce were stacked from floor to ceiling. At a glance, there was no way of knowing whether the shelves would support our respective weights.

Either they will or they won’t, I decided, sending up a silent pray it was the former rather than the latter.

Then, true to my quintessentially impulsive nature, I scurried up the shelves without another thought.

When I reached the top, I shoved the ceiling tile to one side and hoisted myself through the opening. Down below, Anya started to climb the shelves. Her fingers kept slipping, and she lacked the upper body strength to pull herself up the way I had.

“Stop,” I sent. “I have a better idea. Just relax and close your eyes.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. Using my telekinetic powers, I yanked Anya up and through the opening. Caught by surprise, she gasped audibly as I deposited her next to me in the crawlspace.

Below, the knob on the closet door began to twist. With not even a millisecond to spare, I wedged the ceiling tile back in place with my mind. Light suddenly flooded the closet, leaking through the small cracks around the perimeter of the tile. A rattling noise followed.

“Fall back!” a guard shouted.

Crap. They’d thrown a smoke canister into the closet. We had about five seconds to hightail it out of range. Otherwise, we’d succumb to the noxious fumes.

“Which way?” I demanded urgently.

Anya was frightened, and I hated compounding her anxiety with my own. But I also needed her to realize there wasn’t time to contemplate our next move. That luxury had come and gone.

Anya pointed a shaky index finger over my shoulder. “We can access that stairwell I showed you from back there.”

“Stay right behind me. And hurry.”

I started crawling in the direction Anya had indicated, checking over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t lagging.

Bluish-green wisps of smoke wafted up through the cracks in the ceiling tile.

“Cover your nose and mouth with your shirt,” I sent, doing the same.

“It’s empty, sir,” I heard someone say, his voice slightly muffled. “I don’t think they’re here. We’ve checked most of the ward.”

“Check again,” growled a different voice.

“Dr. Pritcher may not be with the Lyons’s girl. We have no actual confirmation of that.”

“Then why haven’t we found the doctor yet? She entered this wing ten minutes ago. There is no record of her leaving. Find them.”

They weren’t saying anything I didn’t already know, so I blocked out the men’s conversation.

Instead, I tuned back into Anya. Her thoughts were erratic and terrified. In her mind, this escape was supposed to be fairly easy. She’d even done a couple dry runs to determine how much time we would need to reach the pod deck.

Of course, it had never occurred to Anya that I might screw up my own prison break; that I might stupidly antagonize a guard, prompting him to request the wranglers. For her plan to work Anya needed me coherent and able to walk on my own, which wouldn’t have been the case if the wranglers got to me. Tangling with them would have put me out of commission for days. And with the threat of execution looming, I didn’t have days left.

Basically, my temper had nearly derailed the entire operation. Awesome.

“How’s this program of yours work again?” I asked Anya, to distract her.

The poor girl was one surprise away from a heart attack. Since she’d been so calm and collected when outlining the plan earlier, I figured maybe rehashing the details would help.

“It’s already uploaded into each pods’ memory. I can remote activate it using my comm,” Anya replied.

“Did I already say you’re a genius?”

She chuckled softly behind me, tendrils of tension leaving her body.

“Do you have a destination for us in mind?” I asked, hoping to keep her talking.

As soon as she began talking, I tuned her thoughts out, instead focusing my attention where it was needed.

Danbury McDonough had done me few true favors in my years with TOXIC, but the countless hours of sensory training drills were definitely one of them. My hearing was so acute that I was able to eavesdrop on the many conversations taking place among our pursuers both above and below us. Anya was still rattling off the myriad of locations she considered safe options, but I was far more interested in what the guards were saying to one another.

Especially since I already knew where I was going once we reached those pods. And I was going alone.

Nowhere was actually safe for Anya if I was with her. Alone, she had a much better chance. UNITED would focus their manhunt on me. And, if they did track down Anya first, she could always say that I forced her to help me. Without camera footage to the contrary, it would be hard to prove otherwise.

Most of what I overheard from the guards was useless; a lot of the chatter was about what would happen to them if I wasn’t found. One woman suggested it didn’t matter whether they caught me, that all they had to do was leak my disappearance to the media and some hate group would take me out of the equation. Another guard thought torturing Erik until I turned myself in was the best option. I made a mental note to ask Victoria whether ‘sadistic’ and ‘sociopathic’ were part of a Vault guard’s job description.

“Has anybody checked the chute? The girl could be hiding in there,” I heard someone suggest.

“Not a chance. Unless the girl’s got wings or suction cups for hands, she ain’t in the chute,” another guard replied.

“—and it’s off grid and uninhabited, might—”

“What’s the chute?” I asked Anya, interrupting her mid-sentence.

“It’s literally a chute that runs from sea level to the basement. Sort of like an elevator shaft, but with no car or cables or anything. It’s another in-case-of-attack precaution. There’s a hatch on the main level and a hidden entrance on each sub-level. The idea was that people could parachute down for a quick exit to where the pods are docked, but it was deemed a safety hazard.”

I smiled. “Perfect.”

“Talia, they got rid of all the parachutes. And we are still over twenty floors up—if we jump, we’ll die.”

Ignoring her warning, I asked, “Do you know where the entrance is on this floor?”

“Approximately. I mean, I know where the chute is, so I have a good idea of where the entrance must be.” Anya’s mental voice was strained, and she sounded close to her breaking point.

I felt horrible. Tiny teeth seemed to be feasting on my stomach lining, guilt tearing me apart from the inside out. We had to make it off of Vault, for Anya’s sake more than mine. The whole kidnapping-forced-accomplice angle would be a hard sell if the guards confiscated Anya’s communicator and saw Vault’s blueprints and all the programs she’d written.

No matter what, I couldn’t allow Anya to be punished for helping me. She had no reason to like me—really, she had every reason to hate me—yet she’d risked it all to help me.

“Do you trust me, Anya?”

“Yeah, of course, but—”

“Tell me where the entrance is. I can get us down.”

Without waiting for her to send a reply, I read the answer from Anya’s thoughts. A bathroom. On the med level, UNITED kept their hidden entrance to the escape hatch in a bathroom.

Luckily, we weren’t far from it. Reading the directions from Anya’s mind, we scurried along the vent as if we had dozens of prison guards hunting us.

Only two minutes later, we dropped through the ceiling tile and into the single occupant restroom. I saw a toilet, a sink, and full-length mirror on one wall. Besides the door, there was nothing that so much as hinted at an exit.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, frustrated.

“It’s possible it’s in the outer room. I can’t be positive. But I’m sure the entrance is in this area.”

We both frantically scanned the room, but nothing was out of place.

“The mirror,” Anya suddenly sent. “I bet it conceals the door.”

She didn’t feel nearly as confident as she’d have me believe, but we were quickly running out of options.

Placing one hand on either side of the mirror, I yanked it free from the wall. Cool air rushed out from the rectangular hole left in its place. Anya and I exchanged wide-eyed looks of disbelief. I recovered first, sticking my head through the opening and into the black abyss. The air inside the chute was thick with moisture, the cold breeze refreshing on my sweaty skin.

I heard the guards’ thoughts long before I heard their footfalls. Wrapping my arm around Anya’s waist, I pulled her to the edge of the chute.

“You said you trusted me, right? Hold on.”

I leapt through the opening, pulling her with me.

Anya’s scream was so shrill that it could have peeled paint. The shriek continued as we plummeted down the chute. Even if I’d somehow been able to replace the mirror over the opening as we jumped, her scream would’ve been heard on every floor we passed on our downward flight.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins, sending my senses into overdrive. I embraced the fall, relishing the feel of wind whipping through my tangled curls and wailing in my ears. As quickly as we dropped, I had to fight the urge to close my eyes. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t need to see much—just the light at the end of the tunnel.

In truth, my plan was not exactly what you might call a sure thing. Anya, with her ability to perform complex mathematical equations in her head faster than I could spell ‘complex mathematical equations,’ was actually better suited for calculating the amount of opposing force I needed to stop our decent. All I had were my instincts.

Trusting in them, as I had so many times before, I used my powers to slow our falling bodies when the blackness gave way to light. Arms still wrapped around each other, Anya and I came to a stop mere inches from the ground.

The abrupt halt cut off Anya’s scream. She began gasping for breath. Slowly, I lowered us the rest of the way down. When I released Anya, she fell to her knees and vomited. Nurturing was not in my nature, so I just watched for several long, uncomfortable moments. Then, since her current condition was my fault, I reached over to rub her back and muttered, “You’re okay, you’re okay. Just get it all out.”

While Anya lost her dinner, I stared around the cavernous room, awestruck. The chute had deposited us in the center of a long, narrow dock. Water lapped the edges, coming up over the sides and soaking the cuffs of my pants. By my estimation, about twenty pods were docked on either side of the watery walkway—forty in total. They varied in size, some one-man crafts. Others meant to hold ten to twelve people.

Anya stumbled to her feet, using my arm for leverage. Her skin had a sickly green hue to it, and her eyes were bloodshot and unfocused.

“Any particular one we need to take?” I asked gently.

“That one.” She pointed to the closest pod, a small four-person craft with two seats in front and two in back.

I half-carried, half-dragged Anya over to the sub, popped the hood, and deposited her into the front passenger seat. By the time I rounded the front end again and climbed in the driver’s side, she was fumbling with her communicator.

The top slid closed above us. Water began to bubble around the craft like jets in a hot tub, the sound deafening. The craft sank into the bubbles.

We were almost fully submerged when the first of the guards landed on the lowermost level of Vault, a black parachute billowing down around him like giant cape.

Erik

Eden, Isle of Exile

Three Days Before the Vote

“This is your fault, Victoria!” I punctuated the accusation with a punch to the wall, right between two paintings by Michaela Molins, the councilwoman’s favorite Techno Era artist.

The sleek chrome frames rattled from the impact. One, some abstract piece meant to resemble a circuit board, slid from its hook. I grabbed the painting midair, my grip so tight that the glass splintered.

“I take full responsibility for what happened on Vault,” Victoria replied, perfectly calm in the face of my outrage.

This only fueled my fury. I squeezed the painting more forcefully, a shard of glass penetrated my palm.

“Shit!” I swore, throwing the damned artwork against the wall. Glass exploded, raining down around me in sparkling drops.

“Careful, kid. That thing’s worth more than a spanking new rec hover,” Miles said mildly. He was standing near the door to Victoria’s office, optimally located out of my direct firing range while still being perfectly positioned to grab me, if necessary.

“Put it on my tab,” I growled.

From behind her office desk, Victoria rose slowly. She pushed a button on her intercom.

“Hank, fetch the first aid supplies. It seems Agent Kelley has had an accident.”

“I don’t need first aid supplies!” I shouted. “I need my girlfriend!”

It was late—or early, depending how you looked at it—and Talia had gone rogue nearly an hour before. I’d spoken with her briefly before she’d disappeared, but was forced to cut the conversation short due to a stupid meeting about heightened security measures at my final rally.

Why didn’t you demand they reschedule the stupid freaking meeting?

If I‘d thrown my weight around and insisted we move the meeting, I would have been talking to Talia when she learned the news that made her decide escape was her only option. Instead, I’d returned to my apartment, opened my mind, and found my girlfriend careening down an airshaft. Her adrenaline was high and her emotions erratic.

By the time I received Victoria’s message, summoning me to her office, I was already pounding on the door.

Hank, Victoria’s current errand boy and personal assistant, opened the office door just wide enough to peek his head inside. Taking in the scene, he thrust a med kit through the opening, waving it like a white flag. Miles took the kit, then shooed the assistant back with a flick of his hand. The other man was only too happy to comply, undoubtedly relieved to keep a barrier between himself and my wrath.

Gonna need more than some drywall to protect you, you coward, I thought angrily.

“Erik,” Miles began, tone sharp as an executioner’s blade, “you need to calm down, kid.”

I spun to face him, ready to unleash my next round of aggression on him. But one look at his tired, hollow expression tempered my rage. Miles looked as though he’d aged ten years in the last ten hours. He didn’t know Talia personally, but he did know how much she meant to me and how devastating her disappearance was.

“Sit down, let me at your hand.” Miles nodded to the two chairs in front of Victoria’s desk.

With a grunt, I sat.

“Come on, kid. Let me see.” He took the other chair, and then gestured towards my balled-up fist.

Blood leaked over my white knuckles, trailing crimson streams down my forearm. I unclenched my hand. The glass was embedded so deeply, it was a wonder it hadn’t poked out the other side.

“You aren’t careful, you’ll have more stitches than Frankenstein’s monster soon,” Miles remarked.

I turned away from the gory sight, ashamed by my own behavior. Though I knew this would not be my last outburst before Talia was found—my temper was too quick, my emotions too volatile—I didn’t like feeling out of control.

“We will find her, Erik,” Victoria said. She’d taken her seat behind the desk once more, and was watching me through amber eyes that were more feline than human. “You may not believe this, but I too care about Talia.”

I’d only managed a brief glimpse inside Talia’s head while she tore through the endless maze of corridors on Vault, just enough to tell me that she was furious. More furious than I’d ever seen her, in fact. Which was saying something. It hadn’t taken me long to dig the source of that fury out of her head.

The thought brought a fresh wave of outrage, sending my temper to all new heights.

“Right, of course you care,” I spat venomously at Victoria. “You care so much that you sanctioned her execution.”

I met the councilwoman’s intense stare, hoping she was absorbing every measure of my contempt.

“What is it, Victoria?” I demanded. “What is it about Talia that made you think you needed to kill her? Worried she might go rogue if you grant her freedom? Is that how UNITED views her—as a weapon? One that might fall into enemy hands? I know you don’t like her, but seriously? You’d rather see her dead than find a way to deal with your differences?”

Victoria’s gaze morphed to pure gold. Anger, both hers and mine, sizzled and popped in the still air like live wires. When the councilwoman spoke again, her voice was hoarse and guttural.

“The situation is more complicated than that, Erik.”

“Complicated?” I yelled.

The glass on the unbroken paintings splintered in response to my anger, the power fighting to be unleashed in a storm of destruction. No one, least of all me, seemed to care.

“Just answer one question, Victoria,” I demanded. “Did you or did you not vote to kill her?”

The friction in the office was nearly unbearable as Victoria and I locked gazes, neither of us willing to blink first.

A part of my brain registered a quiet knock on the door, followed by the faintest creak of hinges. But I refused to concede to Victoria in this battle of wills, and I certainly didn’t care enough to look over my shoulder to see who’d joined our very tense party. Never taking her eyes off of me, Victoria gave a small nod of greeting to the newcomer.

This time, when the councilwoman finally spoke, her words were clipped and measured.

“I do not wish Talia dead, Erik. She and I will always have our differences. That much is true. We will never agree on certain aspects of this profession. Nonetheless, I do respect her. I do care about her a great deal—as much, much more than an asset or an agent.” Pausing briefly, a note of something akin to sadness or regret crept into her eyes. “But I cannot say the same for the rest of the council.”

Miles chose that precise moment to yank the shard of glass from my palm. The pain barely registered, though I flinched when he poured disinfectant over the wound.

“What the hell does that even mean?” I demanded through gritted teeth. “Cut the political speak, and just tell me what the hell is going on.”

Victoria eased back in her chair, her face carefully wiped of all emotion. More than anything she could have said or done, that expression infused a healthy dose of fear into my rage; whatever she had to say, Victoria knew I wasn’t going to like it.

“This morning, the UNITED council passed a highly-unorthodox proposition….” Victoria paused, as if not wanting to continue, and took a deep breath. “Should the Joint Nations fail to ratify the treaty, the council has approved the executions of all prisoners on Levels Four and Five.”

That was all I heard. My brain shut off, willing the words away.

The councilwoman continued talking, but I was no longer listening. Nothing Victoria said mattered. It felt as though my blood was no longer pumping, my organs no longer functioning, save one.

Invisible scissors bisected my heart straight down the middle. Then, for good measure, the shears continued masticating every shred of Talia’s home within my body. The pain did not lessen, but rather grew more intense with each new cut.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. How the fuck could Victoria have let this happen?

Without a doubt, Talia genuinely believed she was scheduled to die. Even my tempestuous, impulsive girlfriend wouldn’t have risked trying to escape from Vault if she didn’t truly believe it was the only means of survival.

But a part of me had been hoping this whole time that Konterra, that spiteful guard, had invented the whole nightmare to screw with Talia. From the brief interaction I’d witnessed between the two, the guard hated my girlfriend with a passion that rivaled the way I felt about the council just then.

With Victoria’s confirmation of the truth, that hope died a swift, devastating death.

“How could you?” I hissed, interrupting whatever Victoria was saying mid-sentence. “How could you let them do that to her? She saved your life, Victoria. Doesn’t that count for anything? Talia trusted you. She might not like you, but she did trust you. Do you have any clue how difficult it is for her to trust anybody after the way Mac used her? The way he forced his own damned son to use her? Why do you think Penny and I killed him? It wasn’t just because of what he did to us. When it came to Danbury McDonough and all the messed up shit he did, Talia paid the highest price of all.”

My blood was running so hot. I thought it might boil me alive. As if Victoria’s betrayal and the council’s screwed up ruling weren’t bad enough, now I had thoughts of the greatest traitor of all swimming through my mind.

A whirring noise filled my head, overwhelming every other sound in the room. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, only to return an instant later. A cacophony of sharp cracks and dull thuds punctuated the brief respites.

Without conscious thought, my abilities were manifesting the desperate, chaotic, and destructive thoughts swimming through my mind. The air around me was no longer still, instead swirling with the sizzling power emanating from me. Crashing gusts of wind twisted throughout the room, leaving a trail of wreckage where Victoria’s random bric-a-brac had been. The few pictures still hanging on the walls slammed to the floor. Papers sailed through the air as if lifted by a tornado. A vase, two dove paperweights, and a candy dish all zoomed past me at top speed.

And I was just getting started.

When I sent the cup of sharpened pencils whizzing towards Victoria’s head, I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Erik? Son? Can you hear me? I’m here. Come back to me, son.”

All twenty of the pencils lodged in the wall behind Victoria, forming a perfect outline of her skull. To her credit, the councilwoman remained impossibly composed, as though irate agents routinely stopped by to angrily redecorate her office.

The hand on my shoulder squeezed just slightly, applying gentle pressure, and a calming energy settled over me. Except, it wasn’t at all like when Talia forced calm emotions into me; it wasn’t the usage of a talent, no preternatural ability.

Instead, it was the familiarity of the man’s touch that allowed me to regain control. It made me feel safe and sheltered, like nothing bad could happen. At the same time, I also felt like the same naughty little boy I’d been at ten, when I shaved our family dog because he kept panting in my face.

His voice—one I hadn’t realized I needed to hear so badly—broke through the opaque red smog that was clogging my brain.

“I know this is hard, but you need to listen to Victoria.”

I looked up and blinked, shocked to find my father’s face hovering above me. Evidently, he was the person who’d entered the room during my stare-down with Victoria.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” I asked, confused. Then, just to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating, I squeezed the hand resting on my shoulder, testing its existence.

My father winced at the tight grip, and I relaxed. He was definitely real.

“I wanted to be with you when you got the news, son. Victoria thought you might need me.” He smiled sheepishly. “I know, I know. You’re a grown man. You don’t need your father’s shoulder to cry on. But, well, I’m here anyway. Just in case.”

His words brought a lump to my throat, and I took several deep breaths. I actually did want to cry on his shoulder, to find a brief respite from the overpowering emotions. And, honestly, I didn’t care if that made me look weak or pathetic. The thought of Talia, so strong, so stoic in the face of adversity, even as wave after wave pulled her farther under the turbulent sea—

Wait, what? Where did that come from? Tals?

Was Talia swimming in the ocean? Finally, I seemed to be connecting with her, drawn to her frequency by my girlfriend’s feelings of desperation.

Experiencing that particular emotion from Tals was terrifying.

I closed my eyes, blocking out everything and everyone in Victoria’s office, and concentrated on Talia. Lightning streaked across the night sky, illuminating the roiling black seascape. Pain shot up my arm and my muscles tensed. Then, the image in my head vanished. My girlfriend was simply gone again.

“Does Talia know?”

Blinking my eyes open, I found Victoria’s golden gaze staring back at me expectantly. In the chair beside mine, Miles was still tending to my injured hand. Behind me, my father was still patting my shoulder reassuringly. Not one of the three had noticed my temporary detour into Talia’s mind.

“What?” I asked. I kept my mind wide open, in case I was able to connect with Tals again, but returned my attention to the conversation happening around me.

“Does Talia know about the outcome of the council’s vote this morning?” Victoria repeated slowly. “About the possible executions?”

“Yeah, she obviously knows about the council’s decision.” I shook my head indignantly, shooting Victoria an incredulous look. “Why do you think she decided to escape now? Talia might be impulsive, but she’s not stupid.”

The needle that Miles was wielding pierced my palm, and I swore loudly. Miles raised his eyebrows, silently asking if I was okay.

“Sorry, kid. Should’ve given you something to dull the pain,” he apologized.

“I’ve been through worse. Just get it over with,” I grumbled.

“Yes, Talia is impulsive,” agreed Victoria. “That is precisely why I’d hoped she would never learn of the proposition or the council’s decision.”

She paused, rubbing her temples. The always-perfect paint on Victoria’s nails was chipped and peeling, and several of her cuticles were noticeably torn.

Good, I thought with some degree of satisfaction. I hope Talia’s escape is giving you an ulcer, too.

“The situation is more complicated than you know,” Victoria continued. “And I am not speaking about the council’s plans. I do not know who told Talia about what transpired in our meeting today, seeing as those sessions are confidential. However, that is the least of our present worries.”

“The hell it is,” I grumbled. “Whoever told her is solely responsible for Tals feeling like she had to run, and they need to pay for that. I’m betting it was that bitch Konterra.”

“Erik, listen to Victoria,” my father admonished.

The small smile Victoria gave my dad was warm and full of affection.

“I heard there were rumors about our meeting and the decision circulating among the staff on Vault,” she said to me, looking thoughtful. “So it very well might have been Talia’s night guard who told her.”

“So let’s bring her in,” I demanded. I wanted to confront the woman who’d raised her hand to my girlfriend, especially if she were the one responsible for Talia going rogue. If Konterra thought she had something to fear from Tals, I couldn’t wait for her to meet me.

Victoria shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts from an etch-a-sketch.

“Truly, Erik, we have concerns right now that are far more pressing. Talia is in more danger than either she or you know,” she began, sighing heavily.

“Way to be dramatic,” I said sarcastically.

“Erik,” my father chastised. “Talia needs you right now. The best way to help her is to listen. How about letting Victoria talk, and maybe save the snide comments for a more appropriate occasion?”

“It is okay, Earon,” Victoria spoke up. “He has every right to be upset.”

What, are they buddies now? I thought irritably. When I’d left for my first rally, the two had been cordial, though not on a first-name basis. Now, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they busted out friendship bracelets.

Victoria slouched back in her desk chair as I studied her through a black haze of indignation. The dark circles under her eyes expanded with each breath she exhaled. More than a few of her amber locks had come loose from the chignon at the back of her head, and her dress was a wrinkled facsimile of the stylish frock she’d worn to our security meeting. The councilwoman’s perfectly groomed façade was crumbling under my scrutiny. If I hadn’t been so consumed with Talia’s safety, I might have had room in my heart to empathize with Victoria and the weight she was carrying on her slumped shoulders.

“I do not even know where to begin,” Victoria said, looking as lost as her statement implied. Her small laugh was hollow, brittle, and very forced. “Talia’s escape has added muck to the already muddied waters. I guess….”

The councilwoman sighed again as she trailed off, running her fingers through her mussed hair as she searched for the right words to continue. When she took her hand away, a small drop of blood welled near one of Victoria’s temples. That was when I noticed her chipped nails had morphed into razor sharp claws. Like many Talents, Victoria was unable to prevent her abilities from manifesting in response to extreme stress.

She looks so defeated, I thought, finally feeling a slight twinge of sympathy for the councilwoman.

“Start at the beginning, Victoria,” my father said gently.

During our exchange, Miles had finished the last stitch and used a tiny pair of scissors to snip the thread. As I waited for Victoria to discern the beginning of whatever story she was about to tell, Miles wrapped gauze around my hand. When he was done, he sat back and smiled, satisfied with his handiwork. I flexed my fingers just to make sure they still moved normally, which they did. My body healed quickly, so the injury was likely to be no more than a scar in a matter of days.

“Firstly, please believe me when I say that it was with a very heavy heart that I agreed to Amberly’s proposition,” Victoria finally began, her tone imploring. “I never, not for a single moment, intended for Talia to be included in the order. I left the meeting and immediately set in motion a plan to show the council that she is a team player who can be trusted to work towards achieving our goals. I wanted them to see what an asset she is, and not just because of her talents.

“Even still, I knew it might not be enough for the council to grant her clemency, which is why I had an alternate plan in place. Under no circumstances was I ever going to allow her execution. Please believe me, Erik. We were going to get her out. I swear it.”

While Victoria’s words and beseeching gaze softened the hardest edges of my anger towards her, I couldn’t help but still feel that she was largely to blame for Talia’s current predicament. Until my girlfriend was safe, I wouldn’t be letting Victoria off the hook.

So, instead of answering, I simply nodded once while keeping my even stare locked on the councilwoman.

“Finding Talia immediately is of the upmost importance,” Victoria continued. “We need to locate her, before someone else does. Her safety is in jeopardy.”

The councilwoman took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose.

“Someone like who, exactly?” I demanded. “The Vault guards? Other agents?”

“No, no, not our people. Everyone working with UNITED is under strict instructions to bring Talia in alive and unharmed. Well, relatively unharmed, since we all know that she will fight them. Nonetheless, under no circumstances is any UNITED agent permitted to use more force than absolutely necessary. And should it come to a situation where the agents must choose between mortally wounding Talia or letting her go free, they have been instructed to do the latter. I gave the order myself, and it will be followed to the letter.” Victoria’s amber eyes again locked with my turquoise ones. “Talia will not die as long as I am head of UNITED. That is a promise.”

I relaxed, some of the tension leaving my rigid body. Not because I took her words at face value. But because Victoria gave me a rare glimpse into her mind when she met my gaze. I felt the turmoil swirling inside of her. I felt her regret over making an impossible decision. When she’d said she cared about Talia, the councilwoman meant it; I felt that, too.

“Fine. You have my attention, Victoria,” I told her. “So, tell me, who are we worried about finding her? Who do you believe is Talia’s greatest enemy? In case you’ve forgotten, Talia is the most dangerous Talent out there.” I held up my hand to halt any forthcoming protest. “I know, I know. You all think the rogue Created and their manmade powers are the real danger. But don’t forget, Talia actually knows how to use her gifts. She’s had a lifetime of experience with them. And not only is she a trained killer, but Talia has had years to perfect and hone those abilities, as well.” I leaned back in my chair, cradling my injured hand in my lap. “Enlighten me, Councilwoman. Who is she supposed to fear?”

Needless to say, I wasn’t convinced that my girlfriend had foes capable of hunting her down and killing her. I had way too much faith in Talia and her talents to believe it, without concrete proof.

To my surprise, amusement sparkled briefly in Victoria’s expression.

“You two truly are soul mates. You both believe the other is invincible, while still going to extraordinary lengths to prevent the other from being harmed. Maybe it is the mental connection training you did while with TOXIC. Maybe it is a result of your romantic entanglement. Maybe it is due to something else entirely. Whatever the case, I am sure our scientists would find your connection a fascinating case study.”

I glared at her. “Thanks for the unsolicited psych eval or whatever that was, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“I think what Victoria here is trying to say,” Miles interjected, “is that you and that girlfriend of yours are peas in a pod, kid. You think alike. You talk alike. You act alike.”

I snorted derisively. “You don’t even know Talia, Miles.”

“Not up close and personal like you,” he admitted. “But I’ve read every last scrap of intel UNITED has on that girl. And let me tell you, that file is thick.”

“Agent DeSanto is correct,” Victoria quickly agreed. “You and Talia are remarkably similar in so many ways. Because of that, even if she continues to block you from her mind, I believe you will still be the key to finding her. Of course, knowing Talia, I do think she will reach out to you once she feels that she is safe. Talia will trust that you will not betray her whereabouts. Do not deny it,” she warned, holding up her hand to stop me as she shook her head. “You once endured torture rather than divulging her location to TOXIC.”

“Is that a threat?” I interjected, my temper rising once more. “I promise you, there is nothing you can do to me that hasn’t already been done. I will not betray her, no matter what.”

“Erik,” my father chastised. “Victoria is on your side.”

I transferred my glare to him instead. It had little effect on him.

“What? Of course it is not a threat, Erik.” Victoria actually looked hurt by the accusation. “I want—no, I need for you to work with me to find her.”

I stood and leaned over Victoria’s desk, bringing my face within inches of hers.

“I will not betray Talia,” I repeated slowly, stressing every word. “If you want her back, give me a team of my choosing to find her. And you need to convince that council of yours that if she returns to UNITED, it will be as a free woman. I will not bring her back here only to have her locked away again. Or worse. Even if the treaty is voted down, I know she’d rather take her chances out there, with all those Talent-haters, than face execution.”

Victoria swallowed thickly, the only sign she found my proximity unnerving. My father moved around the chair to stand by my side. He placed a comforting hand on my back, once again intent on pulling me back from the edge. Miles stood, too, moving to stand beside the councilwoman.

“Sit, please, Erik,” Victoria said, her tone calm. “It is time I was honest with you about the larger forces in play right now. I fully admit, I should have been honest with Talia, too. If I had been, she might have thought twice about running.”

“I’m listening,” I growled, my canines elongating to sharp points.

My nails sprouted into claws capable of slicing through flesh and bone. In the councilwoman’s dilated pupils, I saw my own turquoise irises twist into glowing flames. She held my gaze unflinchingly.

“There is a bounty on Talia,” Victoria said. “A very, very impressive bounty. She is worth far more money to someone than I have ever seen offered.”

This revelation came as no surprise.

As UNITED’s poster boy, the face of the Created, I was a public figure who had plenty of haters. But my notoriety was nothing compared to Talia’s. My girlfriend was downright infamous. First, she’d been instrumental in bringing down TOXIC, gaining her attention within the international Talented community. Then, thanks to our raid on the Poachers’ auction in London, her name had claimed even more headlines, all over the world. Since the Poachers were well-established families—with old money, political connections, and ridiculously wealthy clients—it was a pretty safe assumption that they wanted Talia dead.

Then there were the hate-groups. Publicly taking me down was symbolic. Killing my girlfriend was a better strategy, though. Everyone knew I cared more about her life than my own.

I shook my head and sat, fully in control again.

“So what?” I asked, feeling like Victoria wasn’t telling me anything new. “Isn’t the same true for me? For Penny? For anyone associated with or working for UNITED?”

The increased physical distance between us seemed to give Victoria a false sense of security, because she relaxed visibly. Obviously she underestimated my reflexes. If I wanted to maul her, that ancient oak desk was no obstacle. Miles, on the other hand, had never underestimated my capabilities or my temper. Because of that, he remained standing by the councilwoman’s side, ready to leap between us should the need arise. Though, it was hard to say whom he thought he was actually protecting.

“Yes and no,” Victoria hedged. “Both you and Penelope Crane also have very large bounties for your deaths. As do a number of other highly skilled, extremely powerful agents, including Frederick Kraft. The reward for your heads, quite literally, would make someone very wealthy.

“The pivotal difference is this: someone out there wants you, Talia, and Penelope alive. Do not misunderstand—most organizations, including the Poachers, would prefer all three of you dead. Intel suggests the Poachers are offering a sizable sum to the person who can make that happen. But their desires do not concern me right now. As you said, Talia is very capable of holding her own. She poses a greater threat to any bounty hunter the Poachers send after her than that individual does to her. You and Penelope are under UNITED’s protection, surrounded by other agents at all times, which will remain true for the foreseeable future. And, like Talia, you both are capable of protecting yourselves. So, these are not considered imminent threats. These groups are not what concerns me in our present circumstances.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, confused as to where the conversation was going. I attempted to peek inside Victoria’s head, but found her thoughts well-guarded.

Guess she isn’t ready to share all of her secrets, I thought.

“Hear her out, son,” my father insisted yet again.

Suddenly, I wanted to read his thoughts. What was he even doing here? Dad wasn’t an agent. He wasn’t affiliated with UNITED in any way. Everything being said in Victoria’s office was confidential intel. My father, being a civilian, didn’t have the clearance to hear such sensitive information. Even more puzzling, it seemed he already knew what Victoria was going to tell me.

How close were my father and the formidable British woman? Once I found Talia, I was going to have a talk with him about it.

Victoria cleared her throat to regain my attention, and then pressed on.

“Last week, our Cryptos intercepted a communication sent to a mercenary organization called Nightshade. For the right price, this group will perform any number of unsavory tasks— from assassinations to kidnappings, from framing individuals for murder to political uprisings. You name it, and Nightshade has done it and will happily do it again.

“Throughout the last two centuries, they have been responsible for the deaths of ten presidents, five sitting monarchs, and over two dozen celebrities. And those are just the incidents that we are aware of. Nightshade has successfully ransomed children, wives, and husbands of captains of industry, billionaires, royal families, and high-ranking politicians, though very rarely for money. Most often, the kidnappings are a way of compelling the power player to take some action. Unsurprisingly, this has proven a highly successful method that has been used in nearly every arena, from business to politics—hand over your newest techno toy, and your child can come home unharmed; vote against a particular mandate, and your husband can keep his hands. That sort of thing.

“UNITED also has many documented cases of Nightshade being employed to create smear campaigns. They disseminate unfavorable information to the media, flooding the press with negative propaganda to sway public opinion on any number of matters. They were behind the fiasco with Fargotou Motors—the one that caused nearly 200,000 hovers to be returned, in turn bankrupting the manufacturer. By the way, in case you were curious, the hovers did not explode at excessive speeds. The rumor was fabricated and propagated by Nightshade at the bequest of a rival company.”

I stared at Victoria, confused as to why she was telling me any of this. While they certainly sounded like assholes, Nightshade didn’t have any apparent bearing on finding my girlfriend, which was all I cared about. Victoria seemed to sense my impatience, because she quickly continued.

“While we are not absolutely certain, intel suggests that Nightshade is behind some of the attacks the media has attributed to the Created,” she explained. “Not all of them, of course. The Created have definitely caused their share of mischief. However, the most wanton and deadly incidents have been linked back to Nightshade. The mess in Toronto, for instance, where footage of the attack was sent directly to media outlets? At the very least, Nightshade was responsible for disseminating the recording, resulting in great public backlash against our kind.”

“Sounds like you should’ve hired Nightshade to get the treaty renewed,” I said dryly. “Not sure my pretty face has really achieved the success you were hoping for.”

Victoria hesitated, and then met my gaze with a steady stare.

“The council considered it,” she admitted. “As much as I would like to say that UNITED has not stooped to the level of hiring mercenaries, I will not lie to you. Had Ian Crane not refused them as a solution to our problems with Danbury McDonough, we might have eventually hired Nightshade to take him out.

“Of course, Ian’s decision was the right one. Had we simply assassinated McDonough, you wouldn’t have had reason to seek asylum with Ian, and we would’ve remained blind to TOXIC’s experiments. The more we learn about TOXIC’s clandestine programs, the better we understand just how many McDonough managed to infect with his ideals and how far his virus has spread. Publicly exposing his deeds was the better option in that situation. And, thanks to you and Agent Crane, Danbury McDonough is no longer a problem. His followers, however, remain a very large thorn in UNITED’s side.”

“What exactly does this all have to do with Talia?” The question came from Miles who, unlike me, seemed undaunted by the news of this mercenary group and the fact that UNITED had few qualms about working with them.

“Someone—we are uncertain whether it is a group or an individual—has sent Nightshade a list of ten targets,” Victoria explained. “We were able to intercept the transmission, though the source remains untraceable. Regardless, all ten individuals are wanted alive, without exception. Talia is the highest priority target, followed by Alexander McDonough. You and Penelope are also on that list.”

“But you don’t know who wants them or why?” Miles asked.

Victoria shook her head. “Not yet. We are doing everything in our power to find out.”

“Are you sure it isn’t just the Poachers?” I asked. “According to Kenly, they really wanted Alex. And after we screwed up their auction, I’m sure Talia, Penny, and I are high on their shit list. I’m sure they’d love nothing more than to sell us off as slaves.”

“I am quite certain it is not them,” Victoria replied. “The Poachers have their own resources, and theirs is a vain organization. They do not believe another group is capable of doing what they cannot. While they might admit that capturing you, Penelope, and Talia requires specialized forces, it simply does not make sense for the other seven targets on the list. Even excluding Alex, the Poachers would not bring in mercenaries for these others.

“No,” Victoria continued thoughtfully. “My gut is telling me that the Poachers are not behind this. Although, they did have a buyer lined up for Alexander; perhaps that is the same person or group looking to acquire all of you.”

“Have you talked to the Monroe girl?” I asked. “She might know who that was.”

Victoria pursed her lips. “Yes. Elizabeth Monroe has not been particularly forthcoming with information. I’d contemplated having Talia interrogate her.” She sighed and shrugged. “Though it appears that is no longer an option.”

“I’ll do it,” I offered. “I mean, I know I’m not as skilled as Talia, but I can try.”

The councilwoman’s smile was almost sad. “Your assistance in this matter would be greatly appreciated, if you are sure you are prepared. We have other leads that might prove to be a better use of our time, but I think that is an excellent backup plan.”

Victoria’s choice of words threw me off. Before I had the chance to question them, Miles took the conversation in another direction.

“Who are the other names? Did the Brains find a common thread between all ten?”

“Winter Rossi, Vester Ozolos, Beth Larson, Kumiko Tao, Miguel Sanchez, and Ida Sawakski.” Victoria rattled off the names from memory. “Five of the six are complete unknowns. The Cryptos have spiders searching all electronic records for mention of each. So far, nothing has come of it.

“The only one we found anything on so far is Beth Larson. Unfortunately, even that is scant. We do know that Beth is only ten years old. She was of interest to TOXIC, though it is unclear whether she ever attended the McDonough School. From the school’s records, it does not appear she was ever actually enrolled. But, since so much was destroyed, we simply cannot be positive.”

“She wasn’t a student,” I said.

Miles and Victoria sent identical stares of astonishment my way.

“Do you know her, son?” my father asked.

“Sort of. I only met her briefly,” I replied, my heart heavy with the memory of the day I met Beth Larson. “Beth is a Visionary. Her mother never submitted her for testing, so she wasn’t sent to the school as a child like she was supposed to be. TOXIC offered rewards for reporting people who ignored the testing summons. Beth and her mom lived in a small rural town in Pennsylvania, and it didn’t take long for the townspeople to realize the girl was different. Given the sizable reward, one of the neighbors reported her to TOXIC.”

I paused, the guilt I still harbored over taking that little girl from her mother gnawing at my gut. I hadn’t thought about Beth in a long time, but talking about her brought the memories of that day front and center. It also brought the ugly memories of my own extraction rushing back. I glanced over at my father, wondering how he must’ve felt about me becoming one of the guys who’d ripped our family apart. Quickly, I averted my eyes. There was no way I could talk about this with him. Would he understand?

My tongue felt too big for my mouth, my voice thick with regret when I continued.

“Director McDonough had an extraction team that was responsible for retrieving kids like Beth—the ones with talents who were never tested. Tensions were so high at the time, with people wanting the mandatory testing laws repealed, and Mac didn’t want more bad press. So he sent Talia and me with the extraction team, to convince Beth’s mother that it was in the kid’s best interests to go to the school.”

My father didn’t seem at all surprised by the admission, which brought even greater shame. It was an extraction team that not only pulled me from my family, but also killed my mother in the process.

Nonetheless, when I finally found the courage to meet his eyes, I found not a single trace of anger. Even though my father knew I had no choice in the tasks assigned to me by TOXIC, and that my every action was aimed to ensure the safety of him and my brothers, I still expected him to be upset by my disclosure. And yet, somehow, he wasn’t. Instead, my father reached over and squeezed my hand reassuringly.

The outpouring of sympathetic emotions from both Miles and Victoria was also unexpected. Even more shocking, the sympathy was for me, not for Beth or the other children who’d been extracted from their homes. Then again, they both knew the story of how I came to be a student at the McDonough School.

“I killed for TOXIC, yet I think taking that girl from her mother is the most horrible thing I’ve ever done,” I said. “Stupid, right?”

“Ah, kid, that’s—” Miles began.

I cut him off, not really wanting an answer or reassurances. “You don’t know where Beth is now, I’m guessing?”

“We do not,” Victoria confirmed. She also looked like she wanted to say something to ease my guilt or soothe my pain, but pressed on instead. “You said Beth is a Visionary? Is she powerful?”

“Um, yeah. Really powerful, from what I recall. Not like Alex or Talia, but still incredibly strong. And Visionaries are rare, you know? So I can see why someone would want her.”

Victoria’s expression turned grim.

“As can I,” she agreed. “Knowing Beth Larson is a Visionary does play into the theory I have been developing. Talia, Beth, and Alex all have exceptionally rare and powerful gifts. You and Penelope are Mimics, which also makes you both unique; UNITED is only aware of five Mimics in the entire world right now. Then, of course, there is the fact that you both have been injected with so many talent signatures, giving you more abilities than any other Talents in recorded history. I am sure once we locate the remaining five individuals on the list, we will discover that they also possess rare talents and an abundance of power.”

A heavy silence descended over the room. Without reading their minds, I knew both Victoria’s and Miles’s thoughts mirrored my own. It was only my father who didn’t understand what Victoria seemed reluctant to say aloud.

“But why would anyone want ten specific Talents?” Dad asked finally, when none of us offered up the ominous conclusion we’d all reached. “And why two Mimics? Or do you think whoever hired Nightshade wants Penny and my son because of their Created abilities?”

“If I am correct, it is the fact that they are Mimics that makes Penelope and Erik so valuable,” Victoria replied, shifting uneasily.

“You think someone is trying to make more Talented,” I said softly. Turning to Dad, I added, “For that, you need as many Mimics as you can get your hands on.”

“I’m confused,” my father said. “Danbury McDonough is dead. Who would be making more Talents?”

Victoria’s expression was troubled when she met his gaze.

“That is the paramount question,” she replied. “And for Talia’s sake, we need to uncover the answer.”

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Three Days Before the Vote

Exhausting as the day had been, Cressa had little appetite at dinner that night. She’d thought learning the Institute’s secrets would be fun. She’d thought that being drawn into the fold would make her feel like an insider in something big and important. She’d thought the role of the Privileged was to help people.

Watching Suzu take her exam had dispelled every one of those ideals. Despite the initial awe she’d felt at seeing powerful abilities in use, Cressa couldn’t get Damon’s face, broken and hopeless, out of her head.

Judging by the animated conversations taking place all around her, she was the only Two who hadn’t been entertained by the demonstration.

“Obviously her technique worked,” Lyla Towers was telling anyone at the table willing to listen.

“Oh, I quite agree,” her twin added. “Suzu has finesse. Just proves that brute force isn’t always the best option.”

Weren’t they the ones criticizing Suzu for being too soft? Cressa thought.

“I dunno, seems to me if she’d been a little more forceful, Damon would have jumped the first time,” Daphne chimed in, spearing a piece of broccoli with her fork. She nibbled on the top, but left the stalk untouched.

“He did jump, in the end,” said a girl with magenta hair and piercing green eyes. Cressa had heard the other 2Ps refer to her as Ritchie. Whether that was her first or last name, Cressa couldn’t be sure.

“Right, but her lack of conviction was the reason she needed to skip over that part in the first place,” Daphne retorted. “He would’ve jumped the first time if she’d been more assertive. Then he might not have freaked out afterwards.”

Cressa tuned out her classmates, not wanting to revisit the moment Damon had been dragged from the exam room by two guards. The boy’s screams still haunted her.

“I just want to go home. Please, just let me go home!” Damon had wailed.

Suzu, on the other hand, had been victorious, basking in the compliments and accolades. The Dame herself even made a guest appearance of sorts to praise her achievement. Leslie had been the one to explain that the Dame was too busy to attend final exams, but she prerecorded congratulatory messages for each of the 8Ps, to be played if they passed. It was her way of showing the students how much she valued their dedication and loyalty to her cause.

Listening to the Dame’s pleasant voice call Suzu “daughter” and speak about her tremendous accomplishments, with the soundtrack of Damon’s pleas playing in the background, had almost been the worst, if not the weirdest, part of the entire exercise.

To Cressa’s dismay, Suzu’s exam wasn’t the only one they were to observe. Less than a minute after the guards had finally taken Damon from the exam room, a young girl had taken his place. Only, the girl turned out not to be a test subject at all, but a 1P attempting to advance to Phase Two. A 7P boy named Joshua Bizon had replaced Suzu’s holographic image. Leslie had confirmed what Cressa wondered with a sinking heart; he was Damon’s older brother.

Cressa was still contemplating whether Joshua knew the cruel hand fate had dealt his little brother. And if Joshua would have intervened if he did know.

Unlike Suzu, Joshua was not ready to take his next advancement test quite yet. Instead, he was simply practicing mental penetration on the 1Ps, guiding them to flip the light switch using telekinesis. As opposed to Cressa’s guide for her own exam—the angry guy who’d screamed profanities in her head—Joshua’s tactics were gentle and persuasive. Envision the switch by the door. Flip the switch upwards. Turn the lights on.

Needless to say, Joshua’s subjects achieved success much faster than Cressa had, with only a few exceptions in the seemingly endless stream of 1Ps taking the exam. Two of them simply didn’t possess enough strength to mentally flip the switch. According to Leslie, this was most likely because they weren’t suitable hosts for talents.

Another 1P, an extremely young and overzealous boy, sent out a wave of power so intense that it shattered the light bulbs in the exam room. He was removed by med techs, to treat his minor injuries, while guards quickly replaced the lights.

The last girl, a petite blonde, with a thick Slavic accent, refused to even try. Evidently, she didn’t want to be at the Institute, and had no desire to become Privileged. She sat on the bench, arms crossed over her chest, and glared at the mirror. Every time Joshua spoke gently inside her head, the girl’s only response was a one-fingered salute.

Cressa had been torn between enjoying the shenanigans and the much-needed levity, and wondering if the obstinate 1P was dooming herself to share in Damon’s fate. Irate, Leslie had stormed from the classroom and joined the guards as they half-carried, half-dragged the unyielding blonde from the room.

“Finish up, all of you,” Gracia ordered, interrupting Cressa’s thoughts. “Be quick about it. The Dame has one more treat for us today.”

“Oh, what is it?” Daphne asked excitedly.

Cressa almost didn’t want to know the answer. If the evening’s special event was anything like the morning’s, then she thought maybe the Dame needed to look up the definition of “treat.”

“A movie,” Gracia announced.

The 2Ps instantly broke into enthusiastic chatter.

“Oh, I hope it’s the new Kev Leon movie!” Lyla exclaimed. “It was just about to be released when we left home, I’m dying to see it.”

“He’s so hot,” Shyla agreed.

The twins wore identical expressions so full of hope that Cressa couldn’t bring herself to tell them that probably wasn’t it, since My Heart to Break had never been released. Did they even know about Kev Leon’s death? Or, his alleged death. Cressa briefly considered telling them that, as long as the entire Institute was gathering for this supposed treat, the twins were more likely to get the real Kev Leon, in person.

In fact, Kev should have been in the cafeteria at that moment, since all cadets took their meals together. Cressa glanced around. Searching the sea of faces for the movie star, she didn’t see the mop of blonde hair anywhere. Most of the tables had cleared out already, so it should have been easy to spot Kev. Then again, the dining area was four stories tall, with a lot of nooks and alcoves, so maybe it wasn’t surprising she couldn’t find him.

“I hope it’s something funny,” Daphne declared. “We could all use a laugh, I think.”

“Quiet, all of you,” Gracia said, before anyone else could add to the commentary. “It doesn’t matter what you all want to watch. The Dame has selected something appropriate and educational. What’s more, the entire Institute will be watching together. Now, clean up. We’ll be late if you all don’t get moving.”

With that, Gracia spun on her heel and marched over to the conveyor belt to deposit her own empty tray. One by one, the rest of the girls followed her lead.

“When she says the entire Institute, do you think she means the boys will be there, too?” Daphne asked no one in particular.

Cressa hoped so. She wanted to see Kev Leon again. Contrary to what Gregor had said the night before, the 2P boys hadn’t been present during the day’s lesson.

Probably because it was an oh-so-special favor to Gracia, and only Gracia, Cressa thought, hiding a snicker.

“Of course they will,” Lyla replied. She gave Daphne a once-over, then grimaced. “Though you should be hoping the guys won’t be there.”

Daphne scowled, though she seemed more hurt than angry. Cressa shifted her tray to one hand and put her free arm around the younger girl’s shoulders.

“You’re not even a teenager yet, you have plenty of time to worry about boys,” she told Daphne kindly.

This only made the younger girl turn her glare on Cressa.

“Just think, by the time you’re old enough to date you’ll be Privileged. I bet tons of boys will be interested in you once you’re Privileged,” Cressa hastily added.

“If not, you can always compel them,” Shyla chimed in.

The other 2P girls all laughed like this was the greatest joke they’d ever heard, but Cressa found it unsettling. Was that really why the others were becoming Privileged—to make people do whatever they wanted?

Something her mother said to her at the airport surfaced in Cressa’s mind.

“Once you are Privileged, you will be extremely powerful, my love. You must be careful. Power can be a very addictive drug, and you will be tempted to use it for the wrong reasons. You must fight that temptation. Once you dip a toe in that pool, it will not be long before you are in over your head. If you do not fight your way out, eventually you will drown.”

At the time, Cressa hadn’t really understood her mother’s warning. After all, she was a good person, and she knew right from wrong. She’d assumed that being Privileged wouldn’t change that. But hearing her classmates talk so easily about using their abilities for trivial matters made Cressa realize that right and wrong might not be as obvious as black and white.

Most of the other cadets were already seated when Gracia led the 2P girls to their assigned seats near the back of the auditorium.

“You all will behave,” Gracia told them, her faux violet eyes blazing. Her face was pinched, and her words seemed heavy, as if they had physical weight.

An odd sensation washed over Cressa. It was sort of like a dream, and sort of like the one time she’d been so drunk at her parents’ holiday party that she threw up in a potted palm. Cressa felt detached from her own body, like it would take a great deal of concentration to speak or move.

“You will not embarrass me or yourselves,” Gracia continued. “Most of all, you will not embarrass the Dame. Do you all understand?”

Ten voices that resonated as one replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

A genuine smile crossed Gracia’s lips. “Good. I am going to sit with my class in the front row. You will wait here for me when the movie has ended. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the girls chorused.

As soon as Gracia left, the odd sensation faded. The room came into sharper focus. The quiet conversations of those around them became audible.

Cressa turned to Nydia, who was sitting beside her. “Did you feel—”

The overhead lights went dark, cutting her off. A spotlight appeared in the center of the stage at the front of the auditorium, followed a moment later by a tall, blonde woman.

Murmurs spread through the audience like a game of telephone, every student wanting to know the same thing: Is she the Dame?

“Welcome, cadets,” said the woman on stage, spreading her arms in greeting. She walked forward, almost to the edge of the raised dais, and smiled warmly. Her eyes were a clear, vibrant blue that shone more brightly than any star in the night sky. Her skin was smooth and flawless, not a wrinkle in sight, and the ends of her sleek blonde bob curled perfectly under her chin. The woman wore a calf-length navy dress, belted to show off her trim figure.

If this is the Dame, she is much younger and much prettier than I imagined, Cressa thought.

“For those of you I have not had the pleasure of meeting in person, allow me to introduce myself….” The woman paused, and the suspense built. “My name is Dame de Glace.”

There was a collective intake of breath from the audience.

“I thought she’d be older. She can’t be more than, what, twenty-five?” Cressa heard Lyla say.

“Thirty, max,” Shyla agreed.

“To the 1Ps who have just joined our illustrious ranks recently, welcome to the Institute,” the Dame was saying.

Nydia shushed the twins. “Listen.”

“To the 2Ps, congratulations on your progress,” the Dame continued. “Advancing from Phase One to Phase Two is the most trying.”

Someone at the front of the auditorium scoffed loudly.

The Dame’s cerulean eyes zeroed in on the individual instantly, but her smile didn’t falter.

“I did not say the most difficult, simply the most trying. The Phase One advancement exam has the lowest passage rate of all eight phases,” she explained, not seeming the least bit cross. “But enough talk of exams. Tonight is for celebration. I received very exciting news today from one of our field operatives. I am so pleased with the work that individual has done, I want all of you to share in the reward.”

This pronouncement was met with deafening applause. While Cressa joined in, she wasn’t entirely sure why they were all clapping. The Dame hadn’t even told them what this good news was or why this particular accomplishment was so important.

Maybe it’s the treaty vote, Cressa realized excitedly, clapping harder.

The Joint Nations had been scheduled to decide whether or not to renew the Coexistence Treaty just before Cressa started at the Institute, but then they’d postponed it another month. Cressa had been disappointed; she’d really wanted to know the verdict before leaving, since it would have such a large impact.

On stage, the Dame waited for the applause to dwindle before speaking again.

“I thought you all might like that.” She chuckled. “I believe you will like the videos you are about to see even better. Please enjoy, and thank you all for your dedication to our cause.”

With that, the Dame vanished. Like, literally vanished.

“I knew it!” Shyla Towers exclaimed loudly. “She was a hologram!”

Cressa felt as brainless as a rock. She should have realized the Dame was a hologram, since no one was truly that flawless. Yet, her image had appeared utterly solid, not at all like Suzu’s transparent form from earlier.

“Of course that was a hologram,” Daphne said. “No one even knows what the Dame looks like, do they? Her identity has to be kept a secret. Not even all of the board members have actually seen her. Gracia told me that she always appears as a hologram during meetings. It’s quite brilliant, really. This way, if any of us are captured and tortured, we won’t be able to give out information we don’t have.”

Several of the 2Ps, Cressa included, gaped at the younger girl. Tortured?

Why would anyone torture us? Cressa wondered.

More to the point, how could anyone torture them? Once they were Privileged, they would be stronger, smarter, and just plain better than most everyone else in the world. And those closest to being their equals wouldn’t be players in this epic chess game much longer.

Daphne wiggled in her seat and faced forward, seeming to not notice their reactions to her words. She pointed towards the stage. “Oh, goody, the movie is starting.”

Still mulling over Daphne’s comments, Cressa settled into her own seat and turned her gaze to the front of the room. An enormous screen, the entire width of the stage, descended from the ceiling. Once in place, the film began without preamble.

It wasn’t like any movie Cressa had ever seen. There were no opening credits, no music, and the picture quality was somewhat lacking.

“Low budget indie flick,” Lyla muttered, echoing Cressa’s thoughts.

“You’d think with all our parents’ generous endowments, they could afford to rent us something from a major studio,” Shyla grumbled.

On screen, two boys and a girl stood on a cliff, gazing down at an island not far from the coast. Wind whipped the girl’s platinum ponytail back and forth, and was the only sound coming through the speakers. The actors’ backs were to the camera, making it impossible to tell what they were looking at. Finally, after several long, painfully boring minutes where nothing happened, one of the boys spoke.

“On my count.” His voice was thick with a Middle Eastern accent. The other boy and the girl nodded.

“One,” he began, and all three extended their right arms so that they were parallel with the ground.

“Two.” All three made a turning gesture with their outstretched hands, as if twisting an invisible doorknob.

“Three!” the boy declared. Simultaneously, the trio drew their arms back sharply, as if pulling an invisible door forcefully shut by that invisible doorknob.

Cressa had been so strangely mesmerized by the synchronization that she’d missed the bigger picture. It was only after the audience gasped, and several people around her pointed, that she saw it.

In the background of the shot, a bridge connected the island to the mainland. A gigantic wave—much, much too large for the bay—had risen out of nowhere and was crashing over the bridge.

“Holy moly!” Daphne exclaimed.

“Badass,” Lyla declared.

“Now that’s what I call power,” Ritchie muttered.

“How’d they do that?” Shyla wanted to know.

The wave cleared, and the bay returned to the serene calm it had been moments before. It was as though nothing had happened, with one notable exception: debris littered the water.

It took Cressa a moment to realize the debris were actually chunks of the bridge, along with the cars and people who’d been on it. The wave had destroyed the entire structure.

A shiver ran down her spine.

The trio on screen calmly turned away from the destruction, as if they hadn’t just committed mass murder. Not one of them looked at the camera, which, Cressa suddenly realized, was stationary. It hadn’t moved once, not to zoom in on the bridge or follow the threesome as they walked away.

What type of movie is this? She wondered. Is this a movie at all?

Cressa got her answer a moment later.

The scene abruptly switched to a crowd standing at the base of a tall, thin structure. Cressa recognized the scene from her one visit to Toronto—it was the CN Tower. From the way the picture bounced around, she assumed the video was being shot on a communicator rather than an actual camera.

Definitely not a movie.

“I thinks we wait a little longer, Svetna,” a strongly accented male voice proclaimed. “Until the tower is full, yes?”

A woman, seemingly Svetna, appeared on screen. Her protuberant brown eyes filled the camera’s view, wisps of gunmetal gray hair dangling over her forehead.

“Noon. We were told noon, Yari. It is noon. We do it now,” the girl replied. She stepped back, again out of sight.

The person holding the communicator let it drop to his side, giving the audience a prolonged shot of his neon green combat boots.

“Excuse me, please,” Yari called. “You will please take video of me and my girlfriend, yes? We want to make memories of our time here.”

“Um, sure,” an uncertain voice replied.

The communicator transferred hands. Then, Svetna and Yari—a good-looking guy with an impressive Mohawk—came into view. They wrapped their arms around each other, as if truly posing for a romantic picture on holiday.

“Please be sure you get the Tower in the background,” Svetna ordered the picture-taker.

Yari laughed. “Yes, that is very good, I think. It is not something I want to forget.”

“Yeah, okay, got it,” the picture-taker announced, zooming out.

Svetna and Yari stared into each other’s eyes, seemingly transfixed. Slowly, they brought their foreheads together until they were touching. Above the collars of their matching leather jackets, Cressa could just make out tendrils of black ink. It reminded her of the tattoo she’d seen on Sir Tate.

“That’s good,” the picture-taker said. “You guys look adorable.”

“Wait for it,” Yari muttered.

There was a loud cracking sound, like a thick tree trunk breaking.

“Wait for it,” Svetna repeated, the smile lighting her features positively blissful.

The camera shook as the earth began to rumble from somewhere deep within. Behind Svetna and Yari, people started to scream. The sound became louder, the ground rippling beneath the crowd’s feet. As the person holding the communicator fell, Cressa caught a fleeting glimpse of the CN Tower; a lightning-shaped zigzag ran all the way from the top to the bottom.

The communicator hit the ground with a clatter. Pounding feet flew across the screen as people clamored away from the falling building. Just as Cressa was starting to wonder how they’d ever recovered the footage, someone picked up the device.

Yari’s face filled the screen. His eyes, wide and feverish, rotated in their sockets, one clockwise and the other counterclockwise. To Cressa, he looked deranged.

The boy stuck out his tongue, revealing two dice tattooed in the center, each with one dot—snake eyes. Cressa briefly wondered if the one on the back of his neck was a match.

But every thought in her mind fled when Yari spoke.

“We are the Privileged. Soon the world will bow to our command.”

And then, the auditorium was bathed in blackness.

The spotlight reappeared, along with the holographic representation of the Dame.

“These are just two of the missions our field Privileged have carried out recently. The attack on the bridge was attributed to the Created, just as we had hoped. Leaving nothing to chance, the Toronto footage was sent to all media outlets, with one minor tweak.”

The Dame pointed behind her, where Yari’s face came back on screen. This time, the image was blurred. And when he spoke, his voice sounded different, as though filtered through a modulator.

“We are Created,” he said. “We cannot be stopped.”

“This was the message we sent to the world,” the Dame continued. “Our existence has only remained a secret for so long because we do not claim credit for our actions. That will change in the very near future. Soon, each and every one of you that achieves Privileged status will be hailed as a leader, a champion, a hero. You will receive more than enough accolades to make up for those denied to the fallen ones who came before you.”

All around Cressa, cadets leapt to their feet, clapping so vigorously that she was sure their hands stung from the effort. Some hooted and pumped fists in the air. Someone at the front began stomping his feet, chanting, “Privileged, privileged, privileged.” Others took up the cry, until finally the entire auditorium was stomping and chanting in unison.

Cressa joined her peers half-heartedly. Again, she didn’t really know why everyone was so excited. The videos were disturbing. Countless people had died during those events. And for what? What was the point?

What’s the point of any of this? A niggling voice in the back of her mind whispered.

To become Privileged.

The prospect made her sick to her stomach. In the last twenty-four hours, Cressa had seen more than enough to know that she’d never truly be Privileged. Sure, she might complete the program—she had to, since the only alternative was to end up a lab rat—but she would never stare into a camera lens and gloat over killing thousands of innocent people. She would never feel okay using her peers as unwilling test subjects. She would never saunter off after committing mass murder. She wasn’t like those Privileged in the videos. She wasn’t a bloodthirsty killer.

Is everyone else here like that? Cressa wondered, her veins turning to ice as she took in the room brimming with enthusiasm.

She peered over the heads of her classmates, to see the Dame on stage. The woman was smiling serenely, her crystalline blue eyes as calm and tranquil as the bay had been just before the trio conjured the wave. Cressa saw it as an omen.

A storm was coming their way. And it would destroy everything in its path.

Erik

Eden, Isle of Exile

Three Days Before the Vote

“You look like hell, kid.”

Through eyes puffy and bloodshot from lack of sleep and tears I couldn’t will back, I glared up at Miles.

“Yeah, not sure if you recall, but my girlfriend is missing. That hour I spent in my bed didn’t involve a lot of sleeping,” I growled, voice gravelly as though I’d been chewing on pavement. Then, noting the coffee mug in Miles’s hand, I added, “You’d better have made enough for two.”

The older agent took a long, slow sip from the mug, studying me through the wisps of steam rising from the contents within. He smiled, baiting me.

“They pay me to protect you, not to wait on you.”

“They also pay you to protect others from me. Believe me, your job is going to be a hell of a lot harder, especially today, if I’m not properly caffeinated,” I grumbled, plodding through the living room and into the kitchen. “And why are you here, if not to help me out? I don’t need protection in my own apartment.”

I smiled despite myself when I entered the kitchen. A full pot of coffee was sitting on the counter, a clean mug sitting beside it.

“Bring me a refill, will you?” Miles called. “And this morning, I’m here as a friend. I got news for you, kid. Right now, you need friends more than a bodyguard.”

Three short knocks sounded from the front of the apartment, followed a moment later by a set of electronic beeps and the sound of the door opening.

“Erik? It’s me,” Penny announced, her voice reverberating throughout the apartment. I heard a noise like crinkling paper. “I brought breakfast.”

Right, because food is going to help find Talia, I thought bitterly.

“Oh, hey, Miles,” she said. “I didn’t expect to find you here so early.”

Coffee pot and an extra cup in one hand, my mug in the other, I returned to the living to find Penny sitting across from Miles at the small dining table. She was pulling what looked like wrapped breakfast sandwiches from a greasy paper bag.

“I got two for Erik, so if he doesn’t mind sharing—”

“Take it, man,” I interrupted. “I’m not hungry.”

Penny and Miles exchanged glances.

“Erik, you really should—”

I slammed the stainless steel coffee pot down on the table. The wood groaned, then cracked beneath the violet tablecloth.

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t either of you tell me what I should or shouldn’t do right now.”

Neither of them spoke, both afraid of stoking the flames of fury burning hot and fast inside of me. Penny tried to diffuse the situation by sending calming vibes my direction. It was a tried and true method that rarely failed to help me regain control when my temper spiked. This was one of those rare exceptions.

I did not want to calm down. I wanted an outlet for my anger. No, I needed one. And I didn’t really care who or what it was.

I met Penny’s terrified gaze, feeling the fear she was trying desperately to suppress.

In the time we’d known each other, Penny had experienced a colorful array of my many moods, most of which were at the red end of the spectrum. Never once had she so much as hinted that she was scared of me. Even Miles, who was able to maintain a placid exterior in the face of my temper, had worried for his safety on occasion. But never her.

So when I felt the first cracks in Penny’s emotional armor, the effect it had on me was more profound than anything she could have said or done.

Carefully, I placed my coffee cup on the table and eased into a chair. Like a white flag, I pushed the extra mug I’d brought for Penny across the table to her.

Penny sighed, her shoulders slumping as the tension building inside of her dissipated.

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I know you’re just trying to help. And I know I need to eat. I know the best thing I can do for Talia now is to keep my strength up. You don’t need to remind me, Victoria has crammed all the same advice down my throat already.”

Penny reached over and placed a hand on mine, her fingers cold and clammy against my skin. This time, the vibes she sent were sweet and syrupy and reeked of sympathy. Penny, of all people, came the closest to understanding my pain. She, too, loved Talia. And she was almost as worried about my girlfriend as I was.

Miles unwrapped one of the breakfast sandwiches, gave it a sniff, shrugged, and took a large bite.

“Look, I’m not gonna pretend to understand what you’re going through, kid,” he said around a mouthful of egg and cheese on a kelp biscuit. Swallowing, Miles wiped the grease from his fingers on a cloth napkin. “But I do know this: You need to keep your head. Yell and scream all you want at me and girlie over here.” Miles cocked a thumb in Penny’s direction. “Throw shit. Go a few rounds with a punching bag. Do whatever you need to do to burn off that rage.”

Miles paused, hesitating.

“Just remember—not everyone at UNITED is looking to bring your girl back because they miss her. Talia Lyons is dangerous.” He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue. “You know that’s true. She’s dangerous just like you are dangerous. You need to keep your head around everyone who’s not us, to show them that your danger can be reined in. Because, right now, your girlfriend is also an escaped convict.”

“Right, but the orders are to bring her in alive,” Penny stated firmly. “I spoke to Victoria and Brand before I came over here. Victoria assured me that under no circumstance was Talia to be harmed. And Brand said that my uncle has given the same orders.”

“Yeah, Victoria said the same thing to us,” I said. “But it’s easy for Victoria to give that order. It’s not going to be so easy for the agents to follow it. Talia will fight them. If it comes down to a choice between her life and one of UNITED’s agents, she will choose her own. Every. Single. Time. If that happens, no one will care that Victoria Freaking Walburton wanted Talia alive.”

“You’re right,” Penny agreed sadly. “Which is why we need to find her first. It has to be someone she knows and trusts.”

I snorted derisively. “And then what? We bring her back here so they can execute her?”

“Victoria promised to keep Talia safe,” Miles reminded me.

“Yeah, but she’s one council member. And she did vote to execute a ton of people, including my girlfriend.” I held up a hand, anticipating Miles’s argument. “I know. Victoria has it in her head that she can save Talia from the blanket order. Forgive me if I don’t trust the word of a woman who would give such an order in the first place.”

“Uncle Ian won’t let anything happen to Talia,” Penny said quietly. “Don’t trust Victoria, that’s fine. Trust my uncle, though. He’s proven the lengths he is willing to go just to make Talia happy. Don’t for a second think he’ll sit by and let UNITED kill her.”

I did believe Ian Crane would do everything in his power to help Talia. But would it be enough? Like with Victoria, Crane was one individual. How was he going to protect my girlfriend from the rest of the council?

An awkward silence settled over the room. I assumed Penny and Miles were wondering the same thing, neither daring to say it aloud.

“Brand told me that UNITED has deployed teams to locate all of the pods,” Penny spoke up after several long moments. “Talia was smart, though. She programmed each one with a different final destination, and even mapped out really roundabout paths so that none traveled directly to the end coordinates. It’s quite remarkable, really.”

Shaking my head, I remarked, “No way that was Talia. She didn’t have the resources to pull off something like that. Not to mention, my girl is more brute force than quiet intellect. That deal with the pods had to be Anya’s doing.”

“So you don’t believe she was a hostage?” Penny asked.

I’d taken a sip of my coffee, and choked on the hot liquid at Penny’s ludicrous statement.

“Who told you that?” Miles asked, seeming just as surprised.

“Oh, well, no one. I just sort of assumed…” Penny trailed off. “I mean, why would Anya help Talia escape?”

I shrugged. This was something I’d been curious about as well.

While on my political goodwill mission, I’d had barely spoken to anyone outside of Penny, Victoria, and my protectors. The last time I’d seen Anya, she’d been incredibly grateful for our intervention at the auction. But was that gratitude enough for her risk everything to help Talia escape? Had the two been planning this for a while?

Somehow, I doubted that.

“Isn’t it obvious? Anya felt she owed Talia for saving her from that creepy slave auction,” Miles chimed in, licking the last remnants of his breakfast off of his fingers. “Not bad for fish food.”

“Maybe…” I hedged.

A kernel of uncertainty formed in the back of my mind. The feelings leaking off Anya when last we spoke were laced with something bitter. I’d gotten the distinct impression that, though grateful to her, Anya didn’t like my girlfriend much. But that might have changed over time. Last I’d heard Anya was Talia’s doctor on Vault. Maybe they’d become friends in that time together.

I shook away my misgivings before they could blossom into full-on suspicion. Anya was one of the good guys.

Miles leaned back in his chair, tossing the wadded up sandwich wrapper towards the wastebasket in the corner of the room. The makeshift ball dropped neatly into the center of the trashcan.

“Does it really matter why Anya helped Talia?” he asked. “She did. That’s the end of the story. Now we just need to find your girl.”

“I’m not actually sure that she did Talia any favors,” I replied, recalling Victoria’s news about Nightshade.

“No, probably not,” Miles conceded. “But it’s not like Anya knew Nightshade was after your girlfriend.”

“Of course not,” I agreed. “I just wish they’d both stopped to consider how much worse of a position this puts Talia in. I mean, okay, maybe before the escape, Victoria could have convinced the council to spare Tals. But now? Now they just have more ammunition against her.”

“Victoria promised you that as long as she was head of UNITED, Talia was safe,” Miles interjected.

“Right. But after this epic fiasco, don’t you think there is a very real chance Victoria may not be the head of the UNITED council much longer?” I pointed out. “I mean, I don’t think they’ll lock her away on Vault or anything. But I do think they might replace her. If so, Victoria won’t have the resources to protect Talia.”

I paused, wondering whether to voice my next thought out loud. I looked at both Penny and Miles.

You can trust them, I reassured myself. I took a deep breath.

”When Talia contacts me, I’m going to tell her to keep running.” My jaw clenched with resolve. “And then I’m going to join her. It’s the only option we have left.”

A full minute passed in tense silence.

“Look, Erik…” Miles began finally. The uncharacteristic use of my actual name told me that whatever Miles said next would be serious, and he wanted me to know it. “I’ve dealt with Nightshade before. They are seriously nasty people. If they’ve been hired to kidnap Talia, this is the safest place for her. She can’t fight them alone. I’m sorry, but not even your girlfriend is powerful enough for that.”

“She won’t be alone. She’ll have me,” I protested.

Miles shook his head. “You don’t get it, kid. The people they send after Talia will be seasoned bounty hunters. I guarantee they’ve done their homework on not just her, but everyone associated with her. Which includes you. They will know her weaknesses and won’t hesitate to exploit them. Which, again, includes you.

“And Nightshade won’t send just one or two or even ten hunters after her,” he continued, “they’ll send twice as many as they think they’ll need to subdue her. You being with her when that happens might slow them down—hell, it might even stop them the first time around. But they’ll just send more and more and more men, until they succeed. Nightshade is relentless, kid. And when they do manage to send enough hunters to subdue you—and it will be you they target—Talia will go with them gladly. Her antics at that TOXIC prison proved that her life matters a whole helluva lot less to her than yours does.”

I hated to think of Talia out there alone, facing an enemy she wasn’t even aware that she had. More than that, I hated knowing that Miles was right.

Not about Nightshade, necessarily. Miles might have experience with the ruthless mercenary organization, but I had experience with my girlfriend; Talia had a big heart, but she could also be ruthless when warranted. No, what worried me was that Miles was right about Talia valuing my life above her own. I was her greatest weakness. And she was mine.

When I didn’t respond to his lecture, Miles threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.

“Come on, girlie, talk some sense into him, will you?”

Penny’s hands were clasped tightly on top of the table. In her mind, thought bubbles formed and popped so quickly that it was impossible to know what she was really thinking. I tried to get a read on her emotions, but those were also all over the place.

After a long hesitation, Penny exhaled slowly.

“I don’t know much about Nightshade,” she began, twisting her hands nervously. “But I do know that Talia loves you. She wants you safe, no matter the cost. Together, out there,” she gestured vaguely towards the world at large, “you are both in danger. So…I’m sorry, I agree with Miles. Joining Talia isn’t the best option. Not when you’re both being hunted by rogue mercenaries.”

Miles smiled smugly and Penny held up a finger, wiggling it back and forth as if to wipe the expression from his face. Her next words did just that.

“But, I don’t entirely trust Victoria,” Penny continued. “Not in this situation. She is a politician, responsible for a lot of different people. One girl’s life can’t be spared at the expense of so many others without repercussions. And if Victoria is removed as head of the council, her replacement is likely to demand Talia’s head. Literally. Regardless of the outcome of the vote, returning to the islands could be a death sentence for Tals.”

A single tear fell from the corner of Penny’s eye. She squeezed her lids shut, sending several more tears down her cheeks.

“I just can’t…” she began, a quiet sob cutting off her words.

“Aw, come on now, no crying.” Miles shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Her outpouring of emotions clearly made him extremely nervous. He handed Penny a clean napkin to wipe her tears.

She gave Miles a watery smile and sniffled a throaty, “Thank you.”

“So what do you suggest?” I demanded, working hard to keep the anger out of my tone. “Because I’m not leaving her out there to fend for herself.”

“Simmer down, kid. Can’t you see she’s upset?”

I ignored Miles’s chastisement, not caring whether he thought me insensitive.

“You both think I’m some skeleton key that automatically unlocks all of Talia’s vulnerabilities, that my presence will be her downfall. And you, at least,” I jabbed an accusatory finger in Penny’s direction, “doubt Victoria’s ability to protect Talia. So, truly, I want to know, what do you two suggest we do?”

Seething, I sat back in my chair, crossed my arms, and glared at my companions. I needed a plan of action, and they were just shooting me down without finding alternatives. It was maddening.

Penny sniffled again. Her eyes were bloodshot and tears were still flowing freely, but her voice was full of conviction when she spoke.

“We use UNITED’s resources to find Talia,” she said. “Then, once we locate her, we tell my uncle where she is. He has hundreds of soldiers, all loyal to him above UNITED. He can send them to get her, and then Uncle Ian can hide her. Like I said before, he is the person we need to trust right now.”

“Ian is on the council, though,” I pointed out. “Don’t you think it might cause a bit of a rift between your uncle and the other council members if he steals Talia right out from beneath UNITED?”

“I’m sure it will,” Penny agreed. “But he won’t care.”

I stared at her skeptically.

“Let’s let him decide if he’s willing to lose a couple friends for Talia’s sake, okay?” Penny’s confidence in uncle was unwavering. “After everything she did to help him, he’ll help us.”

I sighed. It wasn’t my favorite plan. Nonetheless, the lack of plausible alternatives made it the best possible course of action moving forward.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Okay?” Miles and Penny repeated in unison. Both were shocked that I’d acquiesced so easily.

“Okay,” I said again. “For now, Penny’s plan is all we’ve got. So, for now, I’ll go along with it. But,” I glanced first at Penny, and then at Miles, daring them to refuse me, “weakness or not, if Crane can’t promise his men will reach Talia before UNITED’s agents, I am going to get her myself. She is my world. No matter what you two think, Talia and I are stronger together.”

Neither Penny nor Miles was prepared to argue with me, leading to another awkward silence. They both understood that doing so would be a waste of breath and energy, though I could tell they didn’t agree with my Plan B.

Miles’s communicator suddenly began to buzz, followed immediately by an alert from my apartment’s smart system. Penny jumped when her own communicator vibrated in her pocket an instant later.

Miles tapped his wrist unit. “You’d better get dressed, kid. We’re due upstairs for a briefing.”

Without a word to either of my companions, I headed to the bedroom I’d once shared with Talia.

The briefing about Talia’s escape was held in the auditorium, the only space on Eden large enough to accommodate so many agents. The entire council was present in one form or another; three of the members were physically in the auditorium, while the other seventeen appeared as holograms.

Victoria addressed the hundred or so agents who’d been pulled away from their usual posts to aid in the search for Talia. It was a dauntingly large task force, particularly since its purpose was to find a single person.

Then again, my girlfriend was a highly dangerous escaped convict.

The cynical part of my brain wondered why, if they planned on killing her anyway, UNITED was putting so much manpower into the search.

The rest of my gray matter understood that if someone out there wanted Talia alive badly enough to hire a group like Nightshade, UNITED would spare no expense to prevent that someone from exploiting her considerable power. Even worse, I had a bad feeling that the council wouldn’t hesitate to use that fact as further justification for executing Talia. After all, taking Talia out of the equation completely meant she couldn’t be used as a dangerous weapon against UNITED.

In a frightening epiphany, I wondered if the same argument could be used in favor of adding my and Penny’s names to the execution list. Maybe even the other seven that Nightshade was after, just to be thorough.

The idea sat like lead in my gut. The situation was becoming more complex, more dire, the longer I thought about it.

At the front of the auditorium, Victoria finished reciting Talia’s dossier, just to reiterate how skilled and lethal my girlfriend truly was. Next, the warden of Vault, a man named Cali, took center stage to fill everyone in on the details of the actual escape. Since Victoria had already told me everything the previous night, nothing he had to say was new.

“At this time, it is unclear whether Dr. Pritcher was a willing participant in the escape, or merely a pawn controlled by the inmate.” The warden paused for dramatic effect. “Natalia Lyons is an exceptionally strong Talent and extremely proficient when it comes to using her abilities.”

He paused and gestured to an assistant standing in the corner of the room. A map of the world appeared, with dozens of blinking red dots.

“My team has located all of the pods that were launched at the time of Inmate Lyons’ escape. So far, we’ve recovered nearly half of them,” Cali continued, motioning to the visual display. A large number of the dots turned blue. “Unfortunately, none of those appear to be the one the inmate used to leave Vault.”

My jaw clenched each time Cali referred to Talia as an inmate.

Both Penny and Miles quickly picked up on the reaction. Penny placed a hand over mine and patted absently. Miles, never one to show too much physical affection, gave me a sympathetic smile.

Instead of listening to Cali ramble on about their efforts to recover the remaining pods, I imagined all the different ways I’d love to make him apologize to Talia. Just as they were beginning to get particularly creative, the warden finished. I watched him leave the stage, shooting death glares with every step he took.

Warden Cali was officially on my shit list.

Victoria resumed the podium, and I returned my attention to the front, tuning in as she began giving instructions on how we were to proceed. The councilwoman called out the names of twenty agents, the task force’s team leaders, and announced that each already had the team’s assignment.

Unsurprisingly, Penny, Miles, Frederick, Henri, and I were conspicuously left off her list. Nonetheless, I was glad to see several familiar faces troop to the front of the room as team leaders: Janelle Longpre, Cadence Choi, my brother Edmond, and Marcel, who’d been part of the rescue team that freed me from Tramblewood when TOXIC took me hostage.

All of them liked Talia, and would follow Victoria’s strict orders to bring her in alive and unharmed.

As each of the leaders took turns calling out the names of the agents on his or her team, I was surprised to learn that none of Talia’s closest friends had been selected to take part in the search at all.

After the roll call was completed, I turned to Penny.

“So, we’re just supposed to sit here on this damned island and twiddle our thumbs while my girlfriend is out there?” I asked angrily. In a much lower voice, I added, “And how are we going to make sure your uncle’s men find her before these jerkoffs?” I flung my arms wide to indicate all of the agents in the room, nearly knocking Miles’s head off in the process.

The older agent ducked nimbly out of the way to avoid injury.

“Jerkoffs? Hope I’m not included in that colorful description,” a voice said from behind me.

He’d approached so quietly I hadn’t heard him. I whipped around, confirming the owner of the voice.

“Hey Frederick,” I said, forcing a small smile for my old friend.

“Erik. Penny. Agent DeSanto,” he greeted each of them in turn, bending down to kiss Penny on the cheek before offering his hand to me. We shook, and then Frederick did the same with Miles.

The last time I’d seen Frederick was the night we returned from the auction in England. Along with Talia and me, Frederick had incurred repercussions for his role in freeing Anya from the Poachers. His hadn’t been severe by any stretch of the imagination; Victoria had simply relieved him of field duty and assigned him to her personal staff. She’d been using Frederick’s rare gift of remote viewing to track down the remaining members of Danbury McDonough’s inner circle, so UNITED could interrogate them about their involvement with the creation drug and the extent of TOXIC’s experimentations.

Compared to Talia, both Frederick and I had gotten off far too easily.

Climbing over the back of the seat, Frederick plopped down beside me.

“It’s good to see you, man,” he said. “I’ve been watching you on the wallscreen. Pretty powerful stuff, those rallies.”

“Think they’ve actually made a difference?” Miles asked.

Frederick smiled wryly. “We’ll know soon, won’t we?”

Truthfully, I no longer cared at all which way the vote went. Despite knowing the thoughts were bordering on traitorous, sometimes I even wondered if it wouldn’t be better if the treaty’s renewal failed to pass.

I’d been out there at every rally, facing the hatred and fear head-on. Before becoming UNITED’s poster boy, I’d never really appreciated how unwelcome Talents were in most of the world. So many norms didn’t want us to be part of their society any longer, maybe we should just grant that wish. Maybe it would be better for us to live in our own Talented communities, free of the persecution and contempt.

The only problem was that the Isle of Exile wasn’t large enough to accommodate the number of refugees who would need to immediately flee from their home countries if the vote failed. In a perfect world, the Talented wouldn’t have to live all huddled up on a remote strip of islands, but could instead build communities in countries that welcomed us. It would take time, though, and the Isle was needed in the interim. Before finding out that UNITED intended to solve that problem, at least in part, by offing my girlfriend, I’d felt horrible that only the lottery winners would be relocated.

Not so much anymore. All that mattered to me was Talia.

“Have you seen her, Frederick?” I asked, careful to keep my voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, you know her so well, you should be able to view her, right?”

Frederick looked torn, and I felt his warring internal conflict.

Like me, he wanted to find her. He knew his gifts should allow him to do that. But he felt like using his abilities to help UNITED capture and re-imprison Talia was a betrayal to her. A quick swipe of his thoughts told me that he didn’t know about the proposition the council had passed the previous morning. That was a situation I would remedy as soon as we were alone.

“I haven’t,” Frederick replied. “I’m so sorry, Erik.”

“But have you tried?” I demanded, still speaking in a low voice that wouldn’t carry. “Like, really tried?”

His presence had brought me renewed hoped, something I desperately needed in that moment. Though Talia could block me from her mind, there was no way to block Frederick’s talents.

Frederick’s gaze darted around the auditorium, as though concerned about being overheard. The other agents were all busy being briefed on their individual assignments by their team leaders. No one was paying a bit of attention to our group.

Frederick leaned closer to me. On cue, Penny and Miles leaned in as well.

“I have,” Frederick confided. “And I saw her.”

Penny squealed excitedly, echoing the thrill that tugged at my heart. Frederick held one scolding finger to his lips in warning. I didn’t need to ask whether he’d divulged this very pertinent bit of information to Victoria or the rest of the council; the acrid odor of fear emanating from him clearly indicated that he had not.

“Before you throw a party, I don’t think what I saw will be particularly helpful. Honestly, I’m not even sure that what I saw was…real. The vision—it doesn’t make any sense.”

Frederick shook his head from side to side, as if the action would bring clarity.

“Do you often have fake visions?” I asked, confused. “I’ve only viewed a couple of times, but I’m pretty sure my visions are always accurate. At least, as far as I know, anyhow.”

An image of a roiling sea filled my head. A jolt of pain shot up my arm.

I’d experienced the storm through Talia’s eyes, not using remote viewing. Still, I had been uncertain whether the out-of-body experience was real.

I mean, it definitely felt real. But was it? Had Talia actually been flying across the ocean several hours before? If so, where was Anya? Why had they separated?

“Mine, too,” Penny agreed, drawing me back to the present.

“Have either of you been able to contact her, then?” Frederick asked, again checking the immediately vicinity for eavesdroppers.

“I had a weird flash,” I said. At the same time, Penny said, “Nope.”

“And?” Frederick asked me, making an out-with-it gesture.

“I was in Victoria’s office last night,” I started. “I wasn’t actively trying to contact Tals, but it was almost like she reached for me. She was in the ocean, being pulled under the waves. Then, she started flying. But she was struck by lightning, I think. I don’t know. It happened so fast. And Talia booted me out of her mind before I could ask her any questions.”

“What time was that? Do you remember?” Frederick asked.

I shook my head. “Not sure. Two in the morning? Three, maybe? I tried reaching out to her when I got back to my apartment, but she was blocking me. I also tried to view her, since she can’t prevent that. But that didn’t work either.”

“I also couldn’t get to her,” Penny added morosely. “I’ve tried both mental communication and viewing, too. Nothing either way—just a blank space.”

Frederick nodded, as though he’d expected as much.

“It took me a couple of tries,” he said. “I finally saw her about an hour ago, just before the meeting. I wasn’t even trying, either. It was sort of like she reached out to me, too. I was just sitting in Victoria’s office, listening to Warden Cali explain that his people hadn’t made any progress with their search and bam.” Frederick clapped his hands together once, miming a collision. “Out of nowhere, I’m staring at a girl’s dirty face under a fur-lined hood. She said something like, ‘Oy, you’re awake,’ and then everything went black again.”

“Okay, so Talia is somewhere cold,” Penny reasoned.

I could practically see the wheels in Penny’s head turning as she calculated the distance Talia could have traveled between the time she’d been missing and the top speed of the pods. With unprecedented speed, Penny made a mental list of all the possible places Talia could be. Then, she crossed off the ones with an average temperature above freezing this time of year and was left with only five options.

The process was so dizzying, I regretted reading her thoughts while she did it.

“Why do you think the vision might be fake?” I asked Frederick.

“I don’t know, exactly,” he admitted. “It was hazy, for one. Almost like it was out-of-focus. And it wasn’t at all what I was expecting from Talia, given her current situation. But, in general, it just seemed…off.” Frederick shrugged, his expression apologetic.

“Maybe she’s been drugged?” Penny suggested.

“I guess that might explain it,” Frederick replied. “It would also explain why I couldn’t view her earlier—sometimes it’s difficult to view drugged or sleeping people.”

“When, though?” Miles asked, confused. “She had enough control to escape. She also took down two guards inside her cell. They both claim she used her powers on them, though I’m guessing that’s just their excuse for screwing up. Regardless, when exactly would she have been drugged?”

Penny shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The guilty expression that momentarily darted across her features spoke volumes to me. Penny had a theory. One she wasn’t ready to voice aloud.

I poked Penny’s mental shields, testing for vulnerable spots. No dice.

Just as I was about to take a mental sledgehammer to Penny’s defenses, I noticed that Frederick also suddenly appeared uneasy.

“Spill,” I barked at him, deciding to first take the path of least resistance.

“Talia definitely has use of her talents,” Frederick confirmed. “As you all can imagine, Warden Cali is incredibly pissed about that. He wants to know how this happened. He’s accused everyone and anyone who’s had contact with Talia in the last thirty days of wrongdoing. Even Victoria. The councilwoman denied any knowledge of it, of course.”

He paused, and I pounced on the opening to demand that Frederick get to the point.

“What does Talia having her powers have to do with her being drugged?” I snapped.

It was Penny who answered.

“That escape was elaborate. I mean, extremely elaborate. It wasn’t simply that the opportunity arose and she took it. At least, not entirely. Whoever orchestrated Talia’s jailbreak would’ve needed a lot of time to devise the plan, then even more to put all of the pieces in place. What’s more, Talia would have needed access to her talents for it to work.” She stared at me pointedly, imploring me to connect the dots.

Unfortunately, I understood exactly what she was getting at.

“You think someone was behind Talia’s escape,” I stated. “Someone who wanted her out of jail and alive, but not necessarily conscious. Someone who lured her out, then drugged her once she was free.”

“The pieces fit,” Penny responded quietly. “It makes sense.”

I realized that she’d been thinking the same thing from the moment we considered that Talia might’ve been drugged.

“Now, the real question is, who wants Talia badly enough to go through so much trouble to get her?” Penny continued.

My mind turned immediately to Nightshade and the list of targets. Someone was willing to pay a great deal for her capture.

Out of nowhere, another memory surfaced on the heels of that one—the text communications Talia received at the auction. An unknown number had sent her several messages. The last one had said: I’ll be seeing you soon.

I wanted to kick myself for not remembering sooner. Or put my fist through a wall.

“Did anything more ever come of those text communications?” I asked, interrupting Penny as she started to say something about Anya.

Frederick stared at me blankly.

“The ones from the auction,” I clarified.

Victoria had contacted me while I was off doing the peace rally circuit to tell me the cryptos had been able to trace the messages back to the sender, but the communicator was no longer in use. It had been ditched shortly after the auction.

“Oh, no. At least, not that I know of. But you can ask Victoria in a minute. That’s actually why I came over—she wants a private word with both of you.” Frederick nodded towards me then Penny. He turned to Miles. “She didn’t specify whether you were to come along.”

“I’m the kid’s personal bodyguard. Where he goes, I go,” Miles replied.

Frederick’s blond eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead.

“Bodyguard?” he asked incredulously. “Erik is the last person who needs a bodyguard. Especially on the islands.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s more that he’s supposed to guard other people from me. You know, in case I go mental.”

“Fair enough.” Frederick wasn’t nearly as surprised by this admission as I’d have liked. “Look, we can talk about all of this with Victoria. We’d better go. You know how she hates to be kept waiting.”

The four of us stood. Victoria was still at the front of the auditorium speaking with the warden and several other council members. She didn’t seem to see us, but then two words screamed inside my head: My office. One look at Penny told me that she’d heard them, too.

“I thought she hated mental communication,” I said.

Frederick smiled knowingly. “She’s gotten pretty used to it while you two were gone. It’s the only way she and Talia could talk during their daily visits.”

The fact that Victoria had been visiting Talia shocked me more than hearing the councilwoman’s voice inside my head.

Talia

The Atlantic Ocean

Three Days Before the Vote

The pod broke the surface nearly one hundred miles west of the Isle of Exile. Anya was explaining about a small town where friends of her family had a château in the French countryside. I’d stopped paying attention to her constant nervous rambling not long after we’d zoomed at top speed away from Vault, more interested in the plan forming in my own mind.

I’d told the council that I had no idea as to the whereabouts of my wayward mentee. Technically, that was true. Sort of. Kenly never told me where she planned on going after leaving Walburton Manor, and I had never asked. But prison provided me without a lot of downtime, long stretches where I had nothing but time to contemplate the many wonders of the messed up world I currently lived in. One of the many things I’d pondered was where Kenly might have gone. I’d narrowed the infinite number of possibilities to a mere handful.

Well, actually just one, to be precise.

All roads lead to London, I thought.

Dead set on taking down the Poachers, Kenly and her merry band of cohorts would have wanted to locate themselves in the center of the action. From Victoria’s mind, I knew James, Kenly’s boyfriend, was from a Poaching family and had contacts in London. Most notably, this included his older sister Bryn, who had been feeding UNITED information on the despicable organization for several months. Prior to gatecrashing the Poachers auction, I’d read background intel on the group and knew that many of the major players owned and operated nightclubs in London.

UNITED had the same information that I did. I attributed their inability to find Kenly to her superior cloak-and-dagger skills, as opposed to the possibility that she may not have gone to London after leaving Walburton Manor.

She’s there, I told myself. It was a fact I felt deep in my bones, because it was where I’d have gone in her shoes.

Laying low with Kenly and her friends for a couple of days would buy me a few days to think of a better, long-term hidey-hole. It was risky for everyone involved. And had there been another option for me, I wouldn’t have even considered putting Kenly and the others in jeopardy.

Maybe this is a bad idea, I thought, not for the first time. I hated the idea of leading UNITED directly to Kenly’s doorstep. She’s a big girl. Let her decide, I told myself. Once I contacted Kenly, I would explain the situation, including all of the dangers involved with harboring a fugitive, and then she and the others could talk it over. If they decided I was too big a liability—well, that was a problem for later.

UNITED wanted Kenly, but she wasn’t a high priority target currently. With the treaty vote nearly upon us, the Created as a whole had moved down the list. An escape convict, however, was a top priority. UNITED would spare no expense and no amount of manpower locating me.

Oddly, that knowledge brought about a fair amount of guilt. Another tidbit I’d gleaned from Victoria’s mind was the chaotic state of the world. Each dawn brought with it a dozen new attacks, norms assaulting Talented, Created, and anyone and everyone they so much as suspected fell in either category. The reverse was true as well. The animosity between the two races had never been higher, at least not in Victoria’s memory. UNITED agents were working with local governments to keep the peace until the vote. My escape would draw those agents away from their posts so that they could search for me.

“My family has a lot of friends in that region, they’ll help hide us,” Anya was saying for the umpteenth time.

I was sitting in the driver’s seat, even though the pod was programmed on autopilot. Scanning the control panel, I located the release switch for the glass hood.

“Good. That’s very good,” I mumbled absently in response to Anya’s comment.

I began shedding my prisoner garb, until only my cotton undergarments remained.

“I’ll find a way to get word to E that we’re safe. He won’t be able to meet up with us right away, but he’ll come soon. I’m sure of it. Wait, Talia, what are you doing?”

Anya had finally noticed that I was practically naked.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Of course, you’ll want to change. That prisoner number is a dead giveaway. I bet there is a UNITED uniform in here somewhere,” she said, answering her own question.

Anya turned to look behind her. I put my hand on her shoulder to draw her attention back to me.

“Look, Anya, I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your help. I know I screwed up with Konterra. That woman hates me, and I shouldn’t have let her get to me. It’s just, after she told me about Victoria voting to execute me, I lost it. If you hadn’t already been planning this escape, well, I don’t know what would have happened to me. Using my talents in front of two guards sort of sealed the deal. Not that it matters, since UNITED was already hell-bent on offing me.” Anya’s rambling must have been contagious, now I was doing it. I took a deep breath to regroup. “I can’t let you get in any more trouble on my account. Go to your family friends. Let them hide you until this all blows over. If the vote goes our way, and if you want to, go back to UNITED and tell them I compelled you. Otherwise, stay in hiding. If the treaty isn’t renewed, well, I guess do the same thing. Or maybe it’s better if you stay in hiding. I don’t really know. The islands can’t accommodate all of our kind, so maybe it’s better if you stay with your friends.”

“No. No, that’s not how this works. I knew the consequences from the beginning. Please, come with me. It will be safer for you. For both of us.”

I swallowed my guilt. In a way, Anya was right. She wasn’t a fighter. If she encountered trouble in the form of UNITED agents, she’d be easy prey. But they wouldn’t hunt her the way they would me. I truly believed that.

“No, Anya.” I smiled sadly. “The safest place for you is as far away from me as possible.” Another pang of guilt over what I was about to ask Kenly to do made my stomach cramp. “As soon as I can, I’ll contact Victoria and tell her that I forced you to help me. It won’t matter that Konterra and Les say differently. Once Victoria learns we aren’t together, UNITED will stop looking for you.”

I flipped the release switch.

Anya’s protests were drowned out by the wind and rain suddenly whipping about the small cabin. I stood on the seat. Anya’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, attempting to pull me back down.

“You can’t leave me. You don’t understand,” Anya shouted inside my head.

I blocked her. Too much more of her pleading and I would stay. In my gut, I knew going separate ways was in Anya’s best interests. Mine too, if I was being honest. Alone I had more options, could take more chances. Anya would only slow me down and likely get me caught. I’d be too worried about protecting her to save my own butt.

“I’m sorry!” I screamed, yanking free of Anya’s hold. Then, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the bird form that had become my go-to morph.

It had been a long time since I’d morphed, but the change came quickly and easily, though not painlessly. When Anya grabbed for me a second time, several black feathers were her reward.

Racked with shame and guilt for leaving her to fend for herself, I didn’t look back until I was soaring high above the pod. By the time I did, Anya and the pod were little more than a spec in the distance.

Flying was exhilarating, liberating, and it felt amazing after so much time locked in a cell. The air tasted cool and fresh. Even the rain pelting my feathers couldn’t ruin those first minutes of absolute freedom. I’d missed this so much.

Being directionally challenged, I’d plotted a course using the pod’s GPS system prior to take off. Once up in the air, the map I’d committed to memory wasn’t so easy to follow, though. I had a general idea of where England was in relation to my point of takeoff and hoped that was going to be good enough.

The sky was dark, sapphire blue infused with brilliant streaks of pink and gold. In a matter of minutes the sun would emerge, hopefully driving away some of the rain with it.

I flew north and west, feeling good about my course as the air grew colder and figuring that was probably a good sign. But when day finally did break, the rain was no longer refreshing; it was hard and sharp and clung to my feathers, weighing them down. Flying became increasingly harder. The wind howled around me, great gusts whipping my small bird body in first one direction and then another, and soon I was very far off course.

Diving low to see if flying closer to the ocean’s surface would help, I surveyed my surroundings for a place to land and wait out the storm. The lower altitude did me no favors. If anything, the conditions were worse.

Waves rocketed across the water’s surface, crashing into one another and sending up geysers of frigid salty spray. Soon, tiny icicles hung from my wings, throwing off my equilibrium. Great gale-force winds rolled off of the tumultuous black sea, pushing me back towards the sky. At the same time, the air above smacked me down like a giant fist swatting a pesky fly.

It wasn’t long before icecaps dotted the seascape.

Too far north, I thought frantically, but had no idea how to correct my course. And that was even assuming I could manage to correct my course. The squall was so intense. It was all I could do to stay in the air.

A ginormous wave swelled up out of nowhere. The crest hit my right wing, sending me into a tailspin. Long, liquid fingers reached up out of the sea and pulled me under the water. Conflicting tides yanked my body in too many directions to count. I felt like the favorite ragdoll of quadruplets, each of them having seized a limb and tugging in an effort to claim ownership. For a long, terrifying moment, I thought it was the end.

Erik’s turquoise eyes, eyes I wanted so desperately to gaze into one more time, filled my mind. Images flashed behind my own eyes: My and Erik’s first meeting at my Hunter tryouts; our first mission, when I’d stupidly gotten myself stabbed and he’d taken away the pain so that Henri could stitch me up; the first time we’d kiss; the night after the Coalition attacked a medical facility and Erik returned to my hotel room and we made love for the first time; the last time we’d been together at Victoria’s family home, Walburton Manor.

No! I screamed inside my head. Fight. For him. For us.

Harnessing all of my strength, I flattened my wings against my sides and darted in what I hoped was the direction of up. My bird head broke the surface. Icy cold air burned my lungs as I soared higher and higher towards the ever-darkening sky. Lightning flashed in my periphery, sending a bolt of fear lancing through my heart. When I’d concocted this ridiculous plan, I’d never imagined so many potential pitfalls.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, terrible and ominous.

I needed to find land. Any land.

I stretched my wings and halted my ascent. Gazing down below me, I once again searched the seemingly endless sea for a coastline or an island. It was like looking for a pinprick-sized hole in the world’s largest blanket.

Another bolt of lightning split the sky in two, the cymbal crash of thunder directly on its heels this time. I was flying in the center of the storm. The next bolt was so close that it singed the tip of my wing—just enough to send me into free fall.

It happened so fast. My mind didn’t have time to conjure the images of Erik this go-round. I hit the water back first, Erik’s name an indecipherable screech when it left my beak. Then, the world around me fell silent, and I was lost to the darkness.

Violent tremors racked my body from head to toe. Punishing wind swept across my bare skin like a giant broom with razor blades instead of bristles. Water licked the soles of my feet, occasionally climbing up my legs and over my stomach to cover me in a wet blanket made of ice, only to be ripped away a moment later.

My mind was as numb as my fingers, the cold seeming to freeze my emotions so that I lacked not only the strength but also the desire to move.

“Is she alive?” a voice called from a distance.

I tried to open my lids, but the simple everyday task took a herculean effort. It felt as though my eyelashes were coated with mascara made of pure lead. In the end, I managed only small slits that allowed in just enough sunlight for me to wish I’d saved my strength.

“She’s moving,” a second voice answered, this one closer than the first. “Run back to the house and tell Andromeda to get a bed ready.”

“You’re going to bring her back to our house?” the first voice asked incredulously.

“We can’t leave her here, she’ll die for sure,” the second voice replied. “Go now. Quick. I’ll be right behind you.”

A rustling noise came a second later, and then warmth enveloped me. But the cold had seeped deep into my bones and my body continued to quake with aftershocks. I felt myself being lifted. A long, low moan escaped my lips. Hot pinpricks of pain ran down my right side as though hundreds of fire ants had decided to make a feast out of my exposed skin.

“Shhhh. We’ve got you now. You’re going to be just fine,” a soft voice murmured near my ear.

This time, when I attempted to force my eyelids open using sheer willpower, I succeeded. The face staring back at me was more animal than human, with a great mane of fluffy white hair circling its head and three green slashes across each of its cheeks. Deep-set midnight blue eyes sparkled above razor sharp cheekbones.

“Where am I?” I mumbled unintelligibly, the words slurring together so that it sounded like another long groan.

“Shhhh,” the creature said again, and I got the impression it was female, but couldn’t say why. “Don’t try to talk,” she added.

My head felt fuzzy as though full of cotton, and too heavy for my shoulders. I was no longer cold, but I wasn’t warm either. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything at all. A remote part of my brain knew this was bad, that my body was shutting down. The worst part was that I couldn’t muster the strength to care in that moment. I closed my eyes and let the darkness claim me once again.

I drifted in and out of consciousness for what felt like a very long time.

The first time I came to, I was lying on a cot in the corner of a dimly lit room, bundled in thick blankets that gave off a musky odor that reminded me of the way a horse smells after a long, hard ride.

A figure was standing opposite the cot facing away from me, apron strings tied in a bow at the small of its back. Judging by the small stature and sheet of dark hair cascading down past the shoulder blades, I assumed the person was female and probably young. She held a large bowl in the crook of one arm and was using a wooden spoon to mix the contents. Over the soft clangs of the spoon hitting the sides of the bowl, I could hear the girl humming quietly.

I wondered what she was making. Eggs? Pancakes? Oatmeal? My stomach growled at the thought of food, and then I passed out again.

I next awoke to find the girl hovering over me, the back of her hand pressed to my forehead. Her skin felt cool against mine. She smiled serenely when my eyes fluttered open and our gazes met. I tried to speak, but my lips felt as though they’d been welded together and nothing short of a crowbar was going to pry them apart. The girl shook her head from side to side adamantly. She leaned closer and I realized she wasn’t a girl at all. There were deep lines etched in the loose skin around her mouth and eyes, and her dark hair was shot through with streaks of white and gray.

“Rest,” she croaked, her voice hoarse and oddly deep for such a small person. The hand on my forehead slid down over my eyes, the bridge of my nose, and lightly brushed my mouth and chin.

I got the distinct impression she was telling me to close my eyes.

When I didn’t comply immediately, she added, “Safe.”

A tingly sensation swept over me, and suddenly I did feel safe. I let my eyelids fall shut. Just as I was drifting off yet again, it occurred to me that not once since arriving here—wherever here was—had I worried about my safety.

The sound of two people talking pulled me from a dreamless sleep for a third time. The fog inside my head had cleared some, enough that I was mildly interested in the speakers’ conversation. Ears open, eyes closed, I laid still and listened, hoping one of them might say something that would give me a clue as to where I was.

“Where did you find her?” a man asked.

“Ross and I were out on a hike,” a girl replied.

I thought her voice sounded familiar but wasn’t positive.

“Yes, but where exactly did you find her?” the man insisted.

“You mean like the exact spot?” the girl asked.

I smiled. Classic stall technique.

“Yes, Emma, that is precisely what I mean.” The man was losing his patience.

I heard something that sounded like the sole of a shoe scrapping against dirt and envisioned the girl, Emma, kicking the toe of her boot into the ground out of habit.

“On Freedom Beach,” muttered Emma reluctantly.

“Emma,” the man spat angrily.

Between Emma’s guilty tone and the man’s harsh reply, I assumed Freedom Beach was off limits. It also seemed the girl, Emma, had a penchant for pushing boundary lines.

“You know better. What if you’d been caught?” the man demanded.

“It’s free land, Dad,” Emma said with the contempt of a petulant teenager. “We’re allowed there. Everyone is allowed there.”

“Yes, but there are no rules, no laws in the free lands. If something had happened to you, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. There is no recourse for misdeeds committed in the free lands.”

The room grew quiet, the air heavy with the tension between father and daughter. Curious to know where I was and what mess I’d stumbled into, I opened my eyes. The man and the girl were standing in the middle of the room glaring at one another. His arms were crossed over his chest. The visible half of the father’s expression appeared disapproving and paternal in the lantern light.

Emma was over a head shorter than her father. She too had her arms crossed over her chest and an expression that matched her father’s.

“You’re awake!” someone exclaimed.

Neither Emma nor her father had glanced in my direction, until the speaker, a small boy sitting in the corner, started pointing towards the cot excitedly. Both father and daughter turned.

“Hi,” I said uneasily. “Um, my name’s Talia.” Struggling with the heavy blankets, I tried to sit up, but found someone had tucked me in so slightly that my body was practically pinned to the cot.

All three people—Emma, her father, and the boy—continued to stare at me as though I was a green-skinned alien. The boy recovered first. He grinned and waved.

“I’m called Ross,” he told me. Then, pointing first to the girl and then the man, he added, “That’s my sister Emma, and our father Jeb.” Ross’s deeply tanned face turned thoughtful. “What were you doing on the beach naked? Temperature’s well below freezing this time of year. Don’t you know you could’ve died? You almost did die. But Andromeda made sure you didn’t.”

“It’s a long story,” I replied vaguely. Finally managing to extricate myself from the blankets, I shifted into a sitting position. That was when I realized that I was still naked. I pulled the blankets up around my shoulders, repositioning my body so that my back was against the wall.

“What’s your tribe, girl?” Jeb demanded, not looking nearly as pleased to see me as his son.

“Tribe?” I repeated.

Emma moved closer to the cot. Her father grabbed her arm to hold her back. She shook him off and came to sit on the edge of the hard mattress. Eyes so dark blue they appeared almost black studied me intently. Self-consciously, I brushed tangled curls back from face, tucking the knotted strands behind my ears.

Up close, I noticed smudges of green paint beneath Emma’s eyes. A hazy memory floated to the surface of my mind. The creature that had carried me had also had green paint on its face.

“You brought me here, didn’t you?” I asked Emma, giving her the same scrutinizing appraisal she was giving me. The girl was tall, thin, and wiry. I guessed her age to be around fourteen or fifteen.

“What’s your tribe?” Jeb repeated.

“Yes,” Emma said in answer to my question, ignoring her father’s mounting agitation.

“You must be stronger than you look,” I told Emma, also ignoring her father.

“That makes two of us.” Emma grinned.

It took me a moment to realize she wasn’t referring to my physical strength. Emma, like Erik and me, had the ability to sense other Talents and their strengths.

“Damn it, girl. Tell us where you belong so we can send you back,” Jeb hollered, striding forward to tower over his daughter’s shoulder.

“Come on, Dad, can’t you see she isn’t from here?” Ross interjected. He stood and joined his father. All three family members were staring at me as though I was the newest attraction at the zoo. Gesturing in my direction, Ross added, “Look at her. That skin’s too pale to have seen the sun lately. It’s smooth, too.” He pointed to where my hands were clutching the blankets beneath my chin. “She doesn’t even have callouses.”

Apparently spurred on by her brother’s appraisal of my appearance, Emma chimed in. “Yeah and she’s got paint on her toes, they’re purple.”

The look of awe and jealousy Emma gave me was almost comical and definitely a little unnerving. Automatically, I crossed my legs and curled my toes underneath my knees to hide them, even though several blankets stood between them and Emma’s and Ross’s curious gazes.

“No scars on her body either,” Emma added, reminding me uncomfortably that she had firsthand knowledge of that fact.

I pulled the blankets tighter around me. “Where am I?” I asked the question burning a hole in my mind.

As though I hadn’t spoken, Jeb demanded to know: “Are you from the mainland?” Though his tone wasn’t nearly as harsh as it had been earlier.

“Obviously she is, Dad,” Ross answered for me.

Still, Jeb stared expectantly, unwillingly to believe his son unless I confirmed his words.

I swallowed hard and debated how much to tell them. I considered insisting I would only answer their questions once they’d answered mine, but figured outnumbered and naked on foreign land gave me very little bargaining power. Using my talents to pull the answers I wanted from their heads also crossed my mind. That too seemed like a bad idea. Emma, at least, knew I was gifted and might feel me invade her mind, which had the potential to turn the closest thing I had to an ally into an enemy.

“Sort of,” I admitted finally. “I’m not from here, if that’s what you’re really asking. I sort of crashed here. There was this storm and lightning hit my wing—that’s the last thing I remember. Then, your daughter,” I nodded to Emma, “found me and brought me here.”

Jeb rested one hand on Emma’s shoulder and glared down at me from his impressive height. I felt like a child caught telling a fantastical tale to get out of trouble.

“Planes can’t fly over Pelia. Even if they could, our scavengers found no wreckage washed up on the beach. So you want to tell me the real story of how you came to be here.”

At least he finally believes I’m not from some rival tribe or whatever, I thought.

I ran my tongue over my cracked lips, stalling for time as I, once again, debated my options. The truth was complicated. Given that the current global climate was decidedly chilly where Talents were concerned, the truth was also potentially dangerous. The people I knew who were sensitive to Talents were all Talented themselves. Meaning Emma was likely Talented. Then again, half of my life had been spent exclusively in the company of other Talents. Norms could feel my kind; it was just rare for them to understand why they felt either a draw towards someone like me, or an overwhelming urge to run for the hills when I was nearby.

No matter what, I decided against divulging the whole escaped convict thing. That would definitely come across badly.

“You can shape shift, can’t you?” Emma asked kindly.

It wasn’t really a question. Her expression made it obvious she already knew that I could.

“And when you say lightning hit your wing, you mean a bird wing, right? Andromeda treated your arm for a pretty severe burn.”

I pulled my arms from beneath the covers and examined the skin on both forearms. A pink patch of shiny, tender skin started just below my elbow and extended several inches towards my wrist.

“She makes really good herbal creams,” Emma explained. “You’ll be good as new in another couple of hours.”

“Is this true?” the father asked. “Can you change forms?”

I nodded. “Emma is right. I did fly here as a bird. Well, I was aiming for England, but got a little of course with the storm.”

“A lot of course,” Ross snorted.

I was about to ask just how far off I’d veered, when the father spoke again.

“What else can you do?” Suspicion poured off of him, but the accusatory tone was gone. “If I’m going to have you in my house with my children I need to know what all you’re cable of.”

I caught Emma’s gaze out of the corner of my eye. She was shaking her head subtly.

“Nothing. I’m just a Morpher,” I said. Seeing three confused expressions, I explained, “That’s what we call people who can shape shift where I come from.”

The father nodded slowly. “Okay. Then I suppose you can stay with us for the time being.”

“Wait, what? No. I don’t want to stay here. I need to…”

Needed to what? Hurry up and get back to civilization where I was wanted by an international organization? Make a mad dash for London to meet up with another fugitive? Return to the world so that I could die?

Be with Erik.

That was what I truly wanted. But as long as UNITED had their tentacles wrapped around Erik, that wasn’t a viable option.

“I need to get to London,” I finished lamely. “My friend is expecting me.”

The lie wasn’t even convincing to my own ears.

Jeb stared at me thoughtfully for several moments past comfortable. I thought maybe he expected me to cower, or at least look away under his scrutinizing gaze. If so, he’d misjudged me.

“Storms are bad this time of year. Another one is just around the corner.” He shrugged noncommittally. “Once it passes, you might have a few days window where you could fly out. Now, why don’t you get dressed and Emma and Ross can show you around, help you get the lay of the land.”

A few days? I couldn’t stay in the frozen tundra for a few days.

Why not? A voice inside my head wanted to know. An iceberg in the middle of nowhere was probably the safest hiding place possible.

“You can borrow some of my clothes,” Emma added quickly, pulling me from my mental debate.

Ross, who was both younger and significantly shorter than his sister, was more likely to have clothes that fit me, but he didn’t offer.

“Sure, thanks,” I said, forcing myself to return Emma’s dazzling smile.

Though I had no intention of staying longer than absolutely necessary, I figured a tour of my temporary digs was as good a way to pass the time as any. Besides, I was incredibly curious about the island. At least, I assumed I was on an island.

Twenty minutes later, body sore and achy, I was dressed in the odd assortment of garments Emma had pulled from her closet. Between the mismatched and heavily patched thermal leggings and shirt, fur-lined brown leather pants and vest, and down-filled overcoat, I was roasting as I laced up well-worn boots and slipped my hands into soft gloves.

“Ready?” Emma asked once I was dressed.

“If the temperature outside is thirty below, then yes, I’m ready,” I replied.

Ross grinned. “Closer to fifty below.”

When we exited the tent, I quickly learned that he wasn’t joking. Maybe exaggerating slightly. But it really was frigid.

It turned out the place I’d been recovering was a medical hut—sort of. The woman, Andromeda, who had cared for me wasn’t a doctor or nurse, but rather one of the village healers.

“She can cure any illness, mend all broken bones, and fix any ailment. She’s truly a genius,” Emma told me as we departed on our tour. “It’s thanks to her that you still have all of your fingers and toes. Frostbite was starting to set in when I found you.”

A genius? Or Talented? I wondered. Healing wasn’t a modern ability, but the first generation of Talented children born after the Great Contamination had exhibited a much wider range of talents than those of us living now.

I decided not to voice my question just yet. I wanted to get a better read on the situation first, just in case Emma and her family were part of some anti-Talent cult. Jeb had repeatedly demanded to know my ‘tribe’ after all.

Outside the healing cabin, snow covered the ground in a fluffy white blanket that glimmered prettily in the sunlight. Icicles were suspended from bare tree branches, dripping frigid water from their spiky ends.

“It’s so beautiful here,” I said honestly.

Ross and Emma exchanged knowing grins.

“What?” I asked. “You don’t agree?”

“Mainlanders always think snow is pretty,” Emma explained.

“Yeah, just wait ‘til you’ve been here awhile. It gets old fast,” Ross added.

I didn’t bother correcting his assumption that I’d be there for awhile. As soon as the next storm passed, I was off.

“Do you get a lot of, um, mainlanders?” I asked Emma as we followed a stone path through a small group of huts similar to the one where Andromeda had nursed me back to health.

She shrugged her shoulders. “A few.” Then, as if picking up on the nervous energy swirling inside of me, she added, “Never this time of year, though. Ocean is too rough for boat travel, and the storms are too bad for a hover to fly anywhere close to here.”

“Even so, hovers can’t fly over Pelia,” Ross interjected, echoing a statement his father had made earlier.

“Why is that exactly?” I asked.

Ross was walking several steps in front of me and turned so that I could see his ruddy red cheeks peeking out from the circle of white fur lining his coat’s hood.

No wonder I thought Emma was an animal, I thought. Even knowing better, it was hard to believe Ross was entirely human beneath all of the leather and fur.

“Too much energy, it screws with the dials and stuff. Pilots used to crash here all the time. I guess they wised up though, ‘cause we only get a few idiots a year now who attempt it. This is the marketplace,” Ross said, abruptly changing the subject before I could ask what he meant by too much energy.

The path ended in a town square sort of area. More of the huts lined the perimeter, each one with a painted sign swinging above the entrance. The snow had been cleared away, leaving carved wooden benches, a gazebo, and two small frozen ponds visible. And in the very center of the square was an enormous octopus. Chiseled from the world’s largest ice cube, the statute stood over fifteen feet tall with ten-foot tentacles extending from the creature’s bulbous head and lazily draping over a sea rock with flowers etched into the face.

“Mr. Robb does a new one every year,” Emma informed me.

“Yeah, last winter he did a mermaid. That was my favorite so far,” Ross added.

“Only because she was topless.” Emma smiled indulgently at her younger brother. “Come on, let’s make a quick round of the shops, warm up a bit. Then we can see the rest of the village.”

Even though we’d been outside less than twenty minutes, my cheeks and lips were numb and talking was becoming a chore.

“Sure, sounds great,” I replied, glad Emma had been the one to suggest going in out of the cold.

The square was fairly quiet, only a handful of villagers wandering about. This, Emma informed me, was because most people were working. She assured me the foot traffic would increase steadily as the day went on.

First we visited one of two restaurants in the entire village, a place called simply Pattie’s. The interior reminded me of a rustic tavern, quaint and cozy with fires burning in two hearths at either end of the dining room.

The aroma wafting out from the kitchen made my mouth water and my stomach grumble. I was famished. The flight from Vault had cost me a lot of calories, and I was suddenly desperate to replenish them.

“You must be starving,” Emma noted. “Shifting—or, rather morphing—for such a long period of time must have drained you.”

“It did,” I agreed, once again curious about Emma’s extensive knowledge of the Talented and how our gifts worked.

She must be Talented, I decided.

We stayed only long enough to devour some sort of meat on an edible stick, which was surprisingly delicious. Though I refrained from asking what type of meat it was and what the stick was actually made of. Then, we took steaming mugs of fragrant, extremely sweet lilac tea to go.

From there, Ross and Emma showed me the butcher shop, the bookstore, the jewelry boutique, the bakery, and, finally, the toy store. Emma seemed to want to linger in the toy store, so I perused the selection of handcrafted wooden games and beautiful dolls with dried and dyed sea kelp for hair and iridescent pearls for eyes.

Alex would love this stuff, I thought with a heavy heart.

My longing to see Alex was nearly as great as my desire to see Erik. The little boy had experienced so much upheaval in such a short amount of time. He’d become attached to me so quickly that I felt guilty being away from him. No matter how many times I tried to tell myself the separation was not by choice, I couldn’t ignore the voice inside my head that insisted it was. After all, I had chosen to break the rules and knew, or should have known, the consequences. So, really, in a way, I had elected to take a sabbatical from my duty to care for Alex.

“Talia? Can…me? Talia…tell…you’re okay? Are…safe?” Even though the thoughts were broken and sounded as though they were coming from an ancient radio, tears sprang to my eyes. Erik. I’d have known his voice anywhere.

“Erik? I’m here. I’m safe. I’m so sorry I ran.”

His reply didn’t come immediately. And when Erik’s voice spoke in my mind a second time, the reception was even worse. “Tal…shit show. Frederick says…fur…animal. Hurt? Crane…safe. Asylum.”

“You’re breaking up, Erik. I can’t really hear you. The reception is off or something.”

“Just…are, Tals.” And then, there was only dead air.

Even though I knew the connection was lost, I still screamed his name in my head. I couldn’t help it. It didn’t matter if I only received every third word he sent, I just wanted to hear his voice.

“Emma only likes to come here so she can she her boyfriend,” Ross sang as he sidled up next to me.

I jumped, caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

“Daydreaming of the mainland?” Ross asked.

“Something like that,” I muttered.

“What’s it like? Dad says mainlanders are heathens. That it’s not safe to visit.” He studied me with open curiosity. “You don’t look like a heathen. What’s your home like? Is it big? Oh, and what do your parents do? Are they like lawyers or something? Dad says there are a lot of lawyers on the mainland, and that’s why the justice system is so screwed up.”

I opened my mouth, but had no idea how to answer. Opting for the path that invited the least amount of new questions about myself, I asked, “Emma has a boyfriend?”

“Yep.” Ross pointed across the store. “That’s Mr. Smoochy. I call him that because that’s what they like to do—smooch.”

I glanced over towards the counter. Sure enough, Emma was chatting animatedly with a good-looking boy behind the register. Both Emma and the boy wore identical dopey expressions and giggled coquettishly at anything the other said. The scene was as adorable as a newborn puppy and as sickeningly sweet as confections made by a heavy-handed baker. I had to look away after a moment. Watching them, on their own little island where the population never exceeded two, gazing longingly at one another reminded me too much of the way I felt with Erik.

What have I done? How could I have been so freaking stupid? Would I ever learn my lesson? Was I ever going to grow up and start thinking before leaping?

Not for the first time since fleeing Vault, these and many other unanswerable questions flooded my thoughts.

I half-expected Erik to send a response. But the voices inside my head were all my own. I tried calling out to him.

“Erik? Can you hear me?”

The words echoed inside my skull. Silence followed. Erik wasn’t blocking me—that much I was sure of. My thoughts weren’t even reaching him. It was the weirdest thing. Were my talents broken? Was that even possible?

Just to be sure, I tried moving several of the dolls on the shelf in front of me. They stood on their tiny feet and saluted me.

Nope, not broken, I thought, frustrated.

“His name’s Kip, and he’s eighteen. Dad says Emma’s too young to date, so she has to come here if she wants to see him,” Ross was saying beside me, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Sometimes they sneak off together at night. I followed them once. They went to Freedom Beach and kissed for like hours. It was sort of boring to watch after the first couple of minutes. This other time…”

Freedom Beach—that was where Emma had told her father that she and Ross found me.

“Ross, what’s Freedom Beach?” I asked, interrupting his diatribe about Emma and Kip and their affinity for feeding each other ‘like babies’ as Ross put it.

Before Ross could answer, the front door to the toy shop opened and gaggle of children poured inside, followed closely by two wizened and harried looking caretakers who seemed unable to control their charges.

With one last baleful glance at Kip, Emma turned to Ross and me and nodded towards the door.

“We had better get going, this place will be a zoo for the rest of the afternoon with those children on the loose,” Emma muttered under her breath as we departed the toy store.

At Ross’s insistence, the siblings showed me the frozen ponds before heading out to explore the rest of the village.

“Cool, huh?” Ross asked excitedly when we reached the edge of the nearest pond.

“Cool,” I echoed, staring down at the neon shapes zooming back and forth beneath a thick layer of ice.

In varying shades of blue, green, purple, and orange, the fish were so brightly colored it was like gazing into the sun. When I turned away, neon starbursts exploded before my eyes for several moments.

“You’re missing the best part,” Ross whined, tugging the sleeve of my coat to draw my attention back to the pond.

Reluctantly, I followed his finger to the spot he was indicating. For a moment, I had no idea what I was supposed to be seeing. Then, just beneath the top layer of ice, the words came into focus: Good afternoon.

“Whoa.” Surprised, I jumped back from the edge of the pond.

“Neat trick, huh?” Ross asked.

“It’s not a trick, stupid,” Emma said, smacking her brother lightly on the back of the head. “You really need to pay better attention in your lessons.”

I was with Ross. Glowing fish were one thing. Synchronized spelling fish, however, were a different story.

Though the Great Contamination had occurred nearly a century ago, rural and island communities such as this one still saw the lingering effects. The wildlife—animals, vegetation, and even insects—were often larger, stranger, and, in some people’s view, more deformed than in the areas surrounding major cities and landlocked states and countries. But working together to form a message, even a simple one, suggested these fish had superior intelligence and cognitive thought processes that far exceeded those of the ones I was accustomed to.

“Do the bears here talk, too?” I asked Emma, only half joking.

“Don’t be silly, there aren’t bears in the woods.” She grinned devilishly. “The shadow wolves, now they can be quite talkative.”

I wasn’t sure whether or not she was kidding.

The rest of the tour was sort of a letdown after the fish. Emma and Ross led me through the clusters of cabins where the villagers lived. We visited the school; a large barn-style structure that abutted a forest of snow covered trees.

“Mrs. Honeywell gets really angry if people mess around inside when we’re on holiday,” Ross informed me.

“Is it a holiday?” I asked, confused.

“Yeah, storm season. We always have these three months off, so we can help with the snow removal, food gathering, and security,” Emma said.

“Security?” I asked. “From what?”

“Animals mostly. The storms drive them out of the woods; they get scared and attack villagers. So we set traps for them. Once caught, we either release them back into the wild or hand them over to the butcher. Just depends on their size and age.” Emma’s expression darkened. “Then there are the other tribes. The weather reduces visibility and the watchers aren’t able to see all the way to our borders from the towers. Other tribes take advantage of that and come into our territory to steal food and supplies.”

“How many tribes are there on—Pelia, right?” I asked, suddenly insanely fascinated by this primitive culture.

“Five. Ours is the largest. But the others are more vicious.”

“And then you have the free lands, too?” I asked, recalling bits and pieces of earlier conversations.

“Exactly. Anyone can go into the free lands to hunt or fish or whatever. But there is no law in the free lands. Anything goes. Usually it’s not a problem. I wander around there a lot.” Emma shrugged. “Every once in a while, though—well, it can get pretty dangerous. That’s why Dad doesn’t like it when I go there.”

“I see,” I replied, though I wasn’t really sure that I did.

Ross thought mainlanders were heathens. At least we didn’t have designated areas where anarchy reigned supreme.

“Up here is the fishing cove. Come on.” Emma waved me forward. “Let’s see what they’ve caught.”

We made our way down to a winding path cut through a particularly dense clump of trees to a bluff. Men and women in waist-high rubber pants, elbow-length rubber gloves, and woolen knit caps stood at the edge of the bluff reeling in an assortment of sea life with poles mounted into the rocky terrain. The fish weren’t quite as exotic looking as the ones in the pond had been, but most were vibrant oranges and yellows, and a few had patterned scales.

Behind the fishermen and fisherwomen, clusters of teenagers roughly Emma’s age stood around wooden barrels full of the caught fish. One girl had what looked like a crudely made wooden ruler, and was measuring the fish from nose tip to tail end. Every so often she would toss one back over the bluffs, presumably if it were too small to eat. A boy had his gloved hands around the head of a pretty turquoise squid. He stroked the sea creature with his thumbs, causing it to squirt a blue-black liquid into a pail held by another boy.

Erik.

That damned squid was the same beautiful shade of sea green as my boyfriend’s eyes. Once again, I cast out my mental net, calling his name.

“Erik? Can you hear me?”

“Tal…cutoff. Something…weird going on.”

Just like before, the reception was fuzzy, with bursts of static overpowering some of Erik’s words. Never one to give up without a fight, I tried again.

“Safe. I am safe,” I sent. I repeated the phrase over and over again in my mind, praying the simple message would get through to him. I didn’t want Erik worrying about me.

A hand came to rest on my arm.

“Talia? Are you okay?” Emma asked.

The white noise, as well as Erik’s garbled words, ceased abruptly. I sighed, annoyed and despondent. What was it about this damned island that made mental communication so difficult? Was it too much to ask for a couple of minutes of uninterrupted conversation with my boyfriend? Just enough to let him know that I was alive and well.

I shook my head to clear thoughts of Erik. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I assured Emma. “I just spaced for a minute.”

She studied me closely for several long moments. “Okay. If you’re sure. We can always go back if you’re tired.”

“No. I’m fine, really.” I smiled. “Promise. We can stay.”

“Good,” Ross interjected. “You definitely don’t want to miss this.” He pointed to the line of fisherman standing at the cliff’s edge.

To distract myself, I directed my gaze to the fisherman. I watched as one of the fishing lines went taut. The woman manning the pole struggled to reel in the line, the thin shimmer of rope bucking and twisting as the two opponents at either end fought mightily to win the game of tug-o-war.

“A little help here!” the woman shouted to no one in particular.

The man standing beside her rounded his pole and leapt effortlessly over the side of the bluff, disappearing from view. I gasped but no one else seemed the least bit phased. They all continued on with their individual tasks with little more than a glance towards the roaring ocean.

“It’s not a far drop,” Emma assured me. “And the water’s calm here.” She pointed to the left, to a point far off in the distance where the bluff jutted out into the ocean. Then she drew an invisible line in the air with her finger that traced the curve of the rock face, ending at another sliver of land on the right that also extended fairly far out into the ocean. “The cove keeps the wind back.”

A moment later, the man who’d jumped into the water scrambled back up over the bluff nimbly, a knife clutched in one of his gloved hands. Both the knife and his rubber glove glistened red with blood.

“Pull ‘er up, Dot,” he told the fisherwoman.

Dot reeled in a now lifeless emerald green fish with curved horns like a ram and two pointy fins protruding from its back. It was enormous, easily longer than I was tall and probably weighed twice as much. But now that the fish was unable to fight back, the fisherwoman had no problem hauling it over the edge all by herself.

“Ohhh, a horned tuna!” Emma exclaimed knowledgeably. “They’re hard to catch but so worth it. I better tell Dad to get down to the butcher shop first thing to get a few pounds.”

“Is that thing safe to eat?” I asked.

“The horned tuna? Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Emma replied with a laugh.

I shrugged, feeling stupid. “I don’t know. I mean, we eat fish where I come from. But they don’t have horns or compete in the synchronized spelling bee.”

“Well, we eat all types of sea creatures here. That tuna isn’t even the strangest looking fish you’ll see at the butcher shop,” Emma told me.

I was doubly glad that I hadn’t inquired about the meat on stick we’d eaten for lunch. In life, it had probably had pink skin and antlers or eight eyes and a spiked tail. The thought gave me chills.

We returned to the village with the sun still high in the sky, though it had to have been fairly late in the day. On the walk, Ross told me all about how he was an apprentice hunter and usually spent his days learning to trap and kill a slew of animals I’d never heard of for food and clothing.

“Have you ever been hunting?” Ross asked me.

I smiled wryly. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“What’s the largest animal you ever caught?” he challenged, as though he didn’t believe me.

Before I could find a delicate way to explain my hunting experiences had all been a lot less noble than his, Emma interjected, “Stop pestering her, Ross.”

The young boy’s face fell at his sister’s rebuke. But, as I was quickly learning, Ross wasn’t one to stay down long. His smile returned as fast as it had vanished.

“You want to see something really cool?” he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes that reminded with a pang of the one Erik wore when he was about to suggest something naughty or overtly sexual.

Since Ross was only eleven—a fact he’d proudly announced when telling me about his apprenticeship—I doubted he was about to make a lewd comment.

“Is it as cool as the frozen fish ponds?” I asked, trying to match his enthusiasm, but failing miserably now that Erik was once again in the forefront of my thoughts.

As the day wore on, it seemed as though more and more things reminded me of Erik. I had to speak with him again. Like really talk to him. The brief snippets that broke through whatever barrier was interrupting our mental communication channel were not sufficient. I wanted him to know I was headed to London, eventually anyway. And I wanted to make sure Anya had made it to safety. Since they’d hatched the elaborate escape plan together, Erik must have known her final destination and a way to contact her.

“Oh, way cooler. Like tripod cryptid cool,” Ross answered solemnly, pulling me once again back to the present.

“Ross,” Emma warned, his name sounding like a hiss when it left her lips.

Ross stared at his feet, pretending to be appropriately abashed. But I caught the smirk he couldn’t hide when his sister turned away.

Curious but reluctant to cause strife between the siblings, I decided to change the subject for the time being. And as much as tripod cryptids sounded fascinating, my time alone with the duo was running thin, and I needed some answers. Once Jeb was back in the picture, I had a feeling the only way I was going to get any would be by force.

The more time I spent on Pelia, the more confident I became that this was an island of extremely gifted individuals. Normally, I was able to pick a strong Talent out of a crowd. I’d thought Emma might be Talented because of the vibrations she was giving off. But I was starting to think that it wasn’t just Emma giving off those vibes. The entire island called to me in a way no other place had. Despite nearly freezing to death, I’d felt safe there since the moment I crashed-landed.

I was starting to understand what Ross had meant about the energy surrounding Pelia. It was eerily similar to the energy that surrounded me.

“So, when is the next storm supposed to hit?” I asked aloud.

Tipping her head back and closing her eyes, Emma paused and let the sunshine warm her face. She drew in a deep breath that caused her chest to expand and her nostrils to flare.

“By midnight, I’d say. The conditions will grow steadily worse through the day tomorrow and the brunt of the storm will come,” she filled her lungs a second time, “around dinner tomorrow evening,” Emma finished as she exhaled. “But, Mr. Pimms can give us a more accurate time table.”

She began walking again as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Stunned, it was a moment before I hurried after her.

“Emma, are you—what’s your ability?” I’d been about to ask if she was a mind manipulator, like me, but remembered she and her family weren’t familiar with the classification terms UNITED used to describe the various talents.

“She hasn’t got one,” Ross answered for his sister.

“Neither do you,” Emma retorted irritably.

Ross shook his head vehemently. “No. That’s not true. Brady says I’m super strong for my age. I can uproot a tree all on my own,” he boasted.

“That’s not a real gift. Loads of people can do that. Come on, Dad will go through the roof if we’re late for dinner.”

Emma increased her pace, practically running the rest of the way through the village and only slowing when she reached the steps of a comparatively large cabin.

Dinner was indeed already on the table when we filed inside. Wonderful aromas filled the home, and my stomach grumbled loudly. It had been hours since we ate the mystery meat skewers, and I was still calorie deprived from my flight. Not to mention the gruel on Vault wasn’t exactly filling.

Following Emma and Ross’s lead, I shed my outer layers of borrowed clothing and hung them on wooden pegs protruding from a wall by the front door.

“Dad, we’re home!” Emma called as she deposited her muddy boots in the corner with several other pairs of equally dirty shoes.

“It’s about time. Hurry up, Andromeda has out done herself tonight.”

Jeb appeared in a doorway on the right, his large frame filling the entire space easily. He smiled tightly at each of his children, but when his gaze landed on me, there was nothing but suspicion lurking in his expression.

“Natalia Lyons.”

It felt as though one of the many icicles I’d seen that day pierced my chest. I was positive that I had not told them my full name, which meant—

“Escaped convict, considered highly dangerous. Does that about cover it?”

Erik

Eden, Isle of Exile

Three Days Before the Vote

“Sorry to have kept you all waiting,” Victoria said by way of greeting, striding into her own office with none of her normal grace and polish. Her golden-amber eyes swept the room as she performed a quick headcount. “Good, it seems all but one person is here.” The councilwoman turned to her assistant. “Hank set up the connection.”

Hank gave a small bow before retreating to the outer office.

I looked around the room impatiently. In addition to Frederick, Penny, Miles, and myself, Penny’s other half, Brand Meadows, Henri Reich—my and Talia’s former teammate and longtime friend—and a man around Victoria’s age with an expensive suit and snooty accent were already seated inside the office. So whom were we waiting on?

A moment later my question was answered. Ian Crane appeared as a hologram sitting in a comfortable looking armchair next to Victoria’s desk.

“Ian, thank you for taking time out of your—”

“No need to thank me, Victoria,” Crane cut her off. “I am as eager to find Talia as you are, though likely for a very different reason.”

I smiled appreciatively at Crane, grateful he at least cared more about Talia’s wellbeing than the public relations nightmare her escape had created. Or, well, rather would have created had UNITED informed the media. Thus far, everyone wanted to keep her disappearance quiet, just as they’d kept her incarceration quiet, to prevent mass hysteria.

“We are all on the same side, Ian,” Victoria said sharply. She gestured around the room. “Every single person in this room has a vested interest in finding Talia Lyons, one that goes beyond our organization.” The councilwoman paused and stared pointedly at first me, then Frederick, and finally Penny. “And at least three of you are capable of tracking her from a distance.” Focused back on me, she continued, “The truth, Erik, have you been in contact with Talia?”

Nine sets of eyes bore down on me. The combined weight of their love and concern for my girlfriend made my throat constrict.

“Erik, I know you must be very worried about her,” Crane began. “And I know you want to help her. The best way to do that is to tell us where she is. It probably feels like a betrayal—”

“I don’t know where she is,” I snapped angrily.

Miles put a hand on my shoulder and guided me back to my seat. Until that instant, I hadn’t realized I’d gotten to my feet.

“Keep it together, kid,” he murmured, talking out of the side of his mouth.

Crane still seemed skeptical.

“He’s telling the truth, Uncle Ian,” Penny chimed in. For good measure, she added, “I haven’t spoken to her either.”

“What you both need to understand is that UNITED is not the only people looking for Talia,” Crane said, clearly trying a different tactic to persuade us to be honest.

“He knows, Ian,” Victoria said. “I have explained about Nightshade.”

Identical grim expressions came over both Victoria’s and Crane’s faces. Henri, who had never mastered the art of blocking his mind but excelled in projecting his thoughts, started to ask about Nightshade. He got as far as, “What’s Ni—”, before Victoria held up her hands for silence.

“Time is short. The treaty vote will take place in three days. Pass or fail, once the decision is made all of UNITED’s resources will be diverted to either the evacuation of those refugees selected for relocation to the Isle, or maintaining the peace in the more hostile nations. A manhunt for an escaped prisoner will no longer be a priority.”

Personally, I found that fact uplifting. Once the heat surrounding Talia died down, she would be a lot safer. At least from UNITED.

Victoria launched into an abbreviated version of the story she’d told Miles and me the night before. Once everyone was up to speed on the situation, the councilwoman paused to let the newcomers digest the new information. Then, she dropped her next bombshell—the planned executions of all Level Four and Five prisoners on Vault.

Even before she’d finished speaking, the room was in an uproar. Frederick and Henri were on their feet, shouting protests to the room at large. Brand was outraged, his expression murderous. The guy might have come across as cold and unfeeling, but clearly he did have a large heart. Not even the proper dude in the expensive suit seemed to think that new plan was a good one. Only Penny, Miles, Crane, and I remained unfazed by Victoria’s little speech.

“Everyone calm down,” Crane said from his holographic chair. His voice did not rise a single octave above normal, but the command it carried was enough to silence the protesting duo of Frederick and Henri.

“You agree with this?” Frederick demanded.

Crane held up his hands in a placating gesture. “It doesn’t really matter whether I agree or disagree, Frederick. The council has voted, and the decision is binding. What matters now is finding Talia and keeping her safe.”

“Why?” Brand asked.

“Brand,” Penny hissed, hurt by what she clearly perceived to be insensitivity.

Brand reached over and took Penny’s hand, which she snatched out of his grasp with an annoyed huff.

“What I mean is: Why are we specifically trying to find her? It’s ridiculous to bring her back only to execute her. Why don’t we leave her be? If the vote fails, won’t she be safer, or, I don’t know, alive, if we leave her wherever she is? Even if the vote passes, we’d only be bringing her back to face punishment.”

“And if Nightshade weren’t involved, I would agree with you,” Crane replied. “But they are. That changes the situation drastically.” He shot a sidelong glance at Victoria. “The councilwoman and I have talked it over, and we agreed that once you all have located Talia, I will provide her asylum in the United States for the time being.”

“So I guess you already outlined your plan with your uncle?” I sent Penny.

“No. I haven’t had the chance. And I certainly wasn’t going to bring Victoria into the loop,” she sent back.

“Now, for the last time, has anyone in this room spoken to Talia?” Crane asked. He cast his penetrating stare on each of us in turn. “Erik? Frederick? Penelope?”

“No,” Penny and Frederick replied empathically.

“Erik?” Crane turned his penetrating gaze on me.

But I was no longer aware of my immediate surroundings. Victoria’s office was still visible, as were all of the occupants. But interposed over the furniture and my friends were shelves of toys, an old-fashioned sales register, and several people in heavy coats with fur-lined hoods. I recognized my girlfriend’s vibrant purple eyes and freckled nose immediately.

“Talia? Can you hear me? Talia, please tell me you’re okay? Are you safe?” I sent.

“Erik? What’s wrong?” Crane demanded.

I ignored him. Nothing mattered but holding on to this vision of Talia.

“Erik…safe. Sorry…ran.”

The words in my head were stuttered and Talia’s voice sounded distorted. After a moment, the image of the toyshop began to waver. It took every ounce of my power to hold the scene in place.

“It’s okay, Tal. Just tell me where you are. It’s a shit show here. Frederick says he saw you looking up at something with fur. An animal maybe? Are you hurt? I’m with Crane now. He wants to send his men to bring you to the U.S., where you’ll be safe. He says he’ll grant you asylum.”

“Erik, you’re scaring me.” This time it was Penny’s voice that nearly tore me away from Talia.

“You’re…up. Can’t…hear. Reception…off.”

The reception was off. Why? Why couldn’t I talk to Talia like we normally did? Was the problem on my end? Were my Created powers finally frying my brain?

“Just tell me where you are, Tals,” I sent.

The toy store disappeared. As did Talia’s voice inside my head.

“Erik, what just happened?” Victoria demanded, golden eyes rounding with alarm.

“She’s safe. I think,” I said hollowly.

“Good. That’s good. Where is she?” Crane asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“She wouldn’t tell you?” Penny asked, surprised.

“No. I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense. I was able to talk to her like we normally do, but half of her words weren’t clear. All I got was that she’s somewhere she feels safe.”

I felt useless. How was I ever going to find Talia if we couldn’t talk mentally?

“But she didn’t say where she is?” Crane insisted.

“No,” I snapped. “I could feel that she felt safe. She said ‘safe’ at some point. But no, I don’t know where she is. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I communicate with her?”

No one had an answer for that.

“Could you tell anything about her surroundings?” Victoria asked.

“She was in a store. A toy store, I think.”

Both Victoria and Crane looked skeptical.

“I know. It sounds crazy. But that’s what I saw,” I said, running my hands through my hair and wanting to rip out the strands at the roots. “There were other people in the shop, too. A young boy was right next to Talia. And two other teenagers were across the store.”

Now even Frederick and Henri were looking at me like I was nuts. Honestly, I didn’t blame them. The story sounded ridiculous, even to me.

For several long moments, no one spoke. There was a lot of exchanging of pointed glances and dubious looks shot in my direction. I didn’t need to read anyone’s minds to appreciate how worried my friends were for my mental state.

“She reached out once, she’ll do it again,” Crane said finally. “Just keep trying to make contact with her.” He turned his attention to his niece. “You too, Penny.” Crane gave me another pointed stare. “In the meantime, Victoria and I have discussed the places we believe Talia would most likely use as her hiding spots. None include a toy store, however.”

“I’m not lying,” I growled.

“No one thinks you are, Erik,” Crane said calmly.

“You guys wanted me to reach out to Talia, which I did. I can’t help that you don’t like what I saw.”

Victoria cleared her throat, and then started up where Crane had left off, as though I hadn’t spoken. “Coalition headquarters in California is one option. She hasn’t arrived there yet, but Ian’s men are on the lookout. The McDonough School is another option. It is currently vacant, which means she could stay there without detection. Another team of Ian’s men is already on their way there. The McDonough School is close to D.C. It’s possible she stopped in the city for some reason. Maybe someone on the street recognized her and she ducked inside the store to hide out.”

The tone of Victoria’s voice suggested that she wasn’t buying her own theory.

“Talia won’t go to either of those places,” I interjected before Victoria could name another long shot locale. The councilwoman raised her eyebrows in question, so I continued. “The school doesn’t hold happy memories for her. If she goes anywhere associated with TOXIC, it will be Elite Headquarters in West Virginia. But I doubt that, too. Doesn’t feel right to me. And Coalition headquarters is in California. It never gets cold enough there for fur.”

“Look, kid,” Miles began, placing a hand on my arm. “I don’t doubt that you believe what you saw was real, but—”

“It. Was. Real,” I snapped.

“Erik’s vision is in line with what I saw earlier,” Frederick interjected. All those suspicious glances that had been directed at me were transferred to Frederick. “Early this morning, I was able to view Talia very briefly. I saw her with a girl in a fur-lined jacket, which does suggest she is somewhere extremely cold.”

“Why is it you failed to mention this before now?” Victoria demanded.

Frederick sighed. “Because I wasn’t sure it was real. It was just like Erik described, with the whole scene feeling very fuzzy, for lack of a better word. Normally, when I view someone, the image is sharp, and I feel as though I am really a part of the picture. This wasn’t like that.”

“Okay, well, the fact that you both made contact with Talia and believe she is somewhere cold is a start. You do know her best, Erik. Do you have any guesses as to where she might be?” Crane asked me.

I glanced around the room at my friends. Henri was still seething over the whole proposition 2690 thing. Frederick was staring at his hands, contemplating whether he should have spoken up sooner. But until I’d confirmed his earlier vision, he truly had believed there was a chance it was some sort of bizarre hallucination.

Brand was staring at Penny forlornly, attempting to implore her to look at him. I didn’t have to read his mind to know that his only interest in Talia’s wellbeing was for his girlfriend’s benefit. Penny was ignoring her other half and using all of her strength to simultaneously view Talia and open up a mental communication channel. It wasn’t working.

Then there was the guy in the suit. What was he even doing in Victoria’s office? He’d yet to voice an opinion on anything.

“I really don’t know where she is now,” I said after the long pause. “But I do think I know where she’ll go next.”

“Where?” Crane asked.

“London?” Penny squeaked, reading the thought from my head.

I glared over at her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “It just popped out.”

Facing Victoria and Crane, I repeated, “London.”

Crane looked perplexed, apparently unclear as to why Talia would choose a city she wasn’t familiar with. Victoria, however, wore a knowing expression and, if anything, seemed slightly embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of the possibility sooner.

“Of course,” Victoria breathed. “Kenly Baker.” Her eyes narrowed on me in suspicion. “How long have you known Ms. Baker’s whereabouts?”

“Really? You want to have that conversation now?” I deadpanned.

“Wait, Kenly’s in London?” Frederick asked. “Why haven’t our agents found her then?”

“Not important,” I grumbled.

“Actually, it sort of is,” Henri interjected. “If UNITED agents have been searching London for Kenly and haven’t found her, then what chance do we have of finding Talia? And how is Talia going to find Kenly?”

“Kenly is with a group of native Londoners, all of whom have a great deal of practice playing hide-and-go-seek with the Poachers. I’d say they’re pretty good at flying under the radar. Talia will have no problem finding them, because Kenly will tell her exactly where they are,” I said impatiently.

Crane cleared his throat. All eyes in the room turned towards him. “I assume there is another reason you believe Talia will go to London?”

It was Victoria who answered. “To see Erik, of course. Once she learns he will be there for the final peace rally before the vote, Talia will go there to see him. If only from a distance.”

“I suppose that settles it then,” Crane replied. “If we don’t find her soon, London will be it.”

The room fell silent.

Someone coughed. The man in the suit took several steps away from the wall he’d been leaning against. He coughed again.

“Hans Walburton,” Victoria said by way of introduction and gestured towards the man in the suit. “British Intelligence. He also happens to be my younger brother.”

The shock showed on nearly everyone’s face. None of us had ever thought of Victoria having a brother. Personally, I’d always just figured Victoria sort of sprang into being. Even after visiting her family home, the thought of her having parents and a sibling was just weird.

“It is nice to meet all of you.” He spoke in a clipped British accent similar to Victoria’s. “I, of course, already know who each of you are, so introductions are not necessary.” Hans cleared his throat again. “First, let me say that I do believe you, Erikson. I do believe that you saw Natalia just a moment ago. What you are describing, the breaks in transmission, the surreal quality of the vision—it suggests what you saw may have been a memory of Natalia’s. Or, quite possibly, she altered your perception of her surroundings to throw you off.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” I snapped.

Hans held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Not for your benefit, no. But she must be aware that UNITED is using all their resources to locate her. She may not have qualms about disclosing her location to you or Agent Kraft, but she would not want others to be able to accurately view her.”

My brain started to hurt. What Hans was saying made sense, yet I wasn’t even sure Talia would know how to do something so convoluted.

“Another possibility is that Natalia is currently somewhere with an extremely high energy field, like say an island or seaside town. That energy is what is disrupting your communication. If I had to guess, I would say it may be a mix of the last two—a high-energy field combined with an altered perception. I say this because I have just received credible intelligence that Natalia is in Nice, France. The energy in the region is higher than normal.”

Hans’s theory about the energy field did make me feel a little better. At least if there was an explanation as to why my talents weren’t working properly, it meant I wasn’t short-circuiting.

“High enough to cause disturbances?” Crane asked.

“Normally I would say no,” Hans admitted. “But there are several factors that could influence that. There have been an abnormally large number of storms in that region of late. Many have been manmade, caused by a Created Talent. That type of a storm creates huge amounts of energy. It is quite likely that the field surrounding Nice is stronger than usual.”

“Wait. Backup. France? No. Talia wouldn’t go to France. It doesn’t make sense,” I said dismissively.

“Forgive me, but I beg to differ.” Hans glanced down at his communicator and began reading off of the screen. “My source informs me that two young women were seen exiting a private pod dock not two hours ago. Both were dark-haired, one with curls and the other had very straight hair. One, he reports, had green eyes, while the other had purple. Both young women are said to possess abilities.” Looking up, Hans directed his next comment at me. “Nice does have a number of shops. It is very possible that you did see Natalia in a toy store. Possibly it was only her attire that she altered, since the weather in Nice is quite warm currently.”

“What about Frederick’s vision?” I challenged.

Again, Hans held up his hands. “I am afraid I do not have all the answers. I only know what I am being told. That is that Natalia and another young woman are in Nice.” He turned his attention on Victoria. “If I were you, that is where I would start my search.”

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Three Days Before the Vote

Despite Gracia’s many admonishments, the 2P girls couldn’t be quieted on the way back from the auditorium. Everyone wanted to talk about the videos the Dame played for the cadets. The excitement was infectious, and it seemed the more they discussed the nuances of each incident the more the virus thrived.

Though she’d finally met the entirety of her Phase earlier that day, Cressa stuck close to Nydia and the others she’d met in the commons the previous evening. Lyla and Shyla Towers might have been huge gossips, but the twins seemed better informed than just about anyone else Cressa had met at the Institute. For that reason alone, she endured their company.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Lyla remarked, nudging Cressa with her elbow. They were among the last cadets waiting near the elevator bank outside the auditorium, having hung back while the cars came, filled, and left again. The twins seemed intent on staying up as far past curfew as possible, which had come and gone while the student body was inside the theater. Gracia was directing the elevator traffic, so Cressa, Nydia, the twins, and Daphne were currently enjoying several minutes of freedom from her constant supervision.

“Aren’t you impressed by the videos?” Lyla pressed. “The Dame has really stepped it up.”

“Of course I am,” Cressa replied quickly. “I mean, who wouldn’t be, right?”

Really, the question is who would be impressed by those senseless acts, Cressa thought. She glanced around, hoping someone would speak up.

“Nydia isn’t. Right, Nydia?” Shyla interjected.

Nydia toyed with the ends of her silver ponytail, a nervous gesture Cressa had noticed her roommate performing every time attention was directed her way.

Nydia stared at the ground, as though the patterned marble was particularly fascinating. “Of course I am,” she said, mirroring Cressa’s response.

Lyla and Shyla rolled their eyes in unison, then both shot Cressa a look that plainly invited her to join in their exasperation. Instead, Cressa decided to take the heat off of her roommate.

“I guess I’m just wondering…why do so many people need to die?” Cressa asked. Four sets of eyes sent her mystified looks. Panicked, Cressa backpedaled. “I understand that eventually there will be a lot of causalities, just like with any war. But I mean right now, before any fighting had actually begun. Doesn’t it seem…I don’t know, excessive?”

“The people dying are norms,” Daphne said, as if that were answer enough. She shook her head, clearly confused by Cressa’s concern.

“Right, but we were all norms before coming to the Institute,” Cressa pointed out. “So are our friends, and our family.” She glanced over at Daphne. “Well, for the most part they are.”

The other girls exchanged uneasy glances, and Cressa immediately regretted giving voice to her concerns.

“Look,” Daphne said, “just think about it like a video game. You need to detach yourself, that’s all. Besides, doing it this way means there will ultimately be fewer casualties.”

Cressa knew she should hold her tongue. But now that she’d started down the path, she wanted to have this conversation. More than anything, she simply couldn’t comprehend their flippant attitudes. The audience’s applause echoed in her ears. Didn’t they know that they were applauding needless deaths?

“How do you figure that there will be fewer deaths?” she asked. “Didn’t you see all those people outside the CN Tower? And on that bridge? We’re talking thousands, and those are just two incidents. We have no clue how many others there have been. And I don’t understand—why blame the Created? If the Dame is hoping to impress the world, shouldn’t she be taking credit?”

To Cressa’s surprise, Nydia was the one who spoke up in reply.

“It’s simple strategy. If the Created are blamed for those killings, then the masses will be less resistant when the Dame introduces the world to the Privileged. UNITED has already proven they cannot control them, so we will be viewed as saviors—the only ones able to stop the Created. The world’s governments will be happy to have us clean up the mess caused by the Created, which will make it much easier for the Privileged to take over.”

“Exactly,” Daphne agreed. “The world’s leaders will practically beg the Dame to send us in. I bet even UNITED will be happy to have our help.” She paused, wrinkling her brow. “Well, they’ll be happy at first, anyway. Once they realize that the Dame means to usurp them, well, things might get a touch messy. But I’m sure even the UNITED council will decide to join the Dame in the end. Sure beats the alternative, right?”

Cressa was about to ask what the ‘alternative’ was, but she never got the chance. The elevator arrived again, with an impatient Gracia onboard.

“Hurry it along. You lot are the last ones, and I have somewhere important to be,” Gracia snapped, waving Cressa and the others forward.

“Where?” Daphne asked.

“You know I cannot tell you,” Gracia snapped with a frown.

“Is it happening tonight?” her sister asked quietly. Gracia nodded tightly, but didn’t say anything.

“I thought it would be—” Daphne started, but clamped her mouth shut when Gracia shot her a warning glare.

The rest of the ride to the 2P floor was silent, with Gracia seeming uncharacteristically fidgety. Alternating between bouncing on the balls of her feet and crossing and uncrossing her arms, she seemed ill at ease in her own skin.

It seems tonight is the night, Cressa thought, glancing surreptitiously at the older girl. Evidently, the Institute wasn’t wasting any time before performing the facial reorg and whatever body modifications were necessary to make Gracia physically indistinguishable from Natalia Lyons.

Despite the brave face she’d been putting forth, Gracia was obviously not feeling quite so smug any longer. She’d told Sir Tate earlier that she was to undergo the procedures as soon as Dr. Masterson’s schedule allowed, but she probably hadn’t thought it would be so soon. Cressa almost felt bad for Gracia; she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to know you were heading off to be transformed into someone else entirely. Never again would Gracia be herself.

The elevator arrived at the girls’ floor with a ding. When the doors opened, Leslie and Suzu were waiting in the atrium.

“Cadet Beaumont, there you are,” Suzu proclaimed, peering closely at Gracia. “Dr. Masterson and her team are ready for you. Leslie and I are here to escort you to med bay.”

“What about the 2P girls? Who will make sure they get to bed?” Gracia asked, chewing the inside of her cheek anxiously.

Cressa wasn’t fooled by Gracia’s words of concern—they were clearly a stall tactic.

She’s having second thoughts about relinquishing her identity, Cressa thought. She didn’t fault Gracia for having misgivings; it made her human. If anything, Cressa would have found it strange if Gracia wasn’t nervous about the procedures.

And on top of that, the aftermath would be terrifying.

Like most public figures, Natalia Lyons was equally hated and loved by the global population. Except, the hate she received was far more vehement. Impersonating such a controversial girl intrinsically carried an enormous risk—one that might very well cost Gracia her life.

“They can manage tonight on their own,” Leslie replied. She stared pointedly at each of the girls in turn. “Isn’t that right, girls? You will all be on your best behavior in Cadet Beaumont’s absence?”

It was just like in the auditorium, when Gracia had ordered Cressa and the others to behave and not embarrass her. Leslie’s command was so forceful, it dwarfed all other thoughts in Cressa’s head. And just like earlier, Cressa, Daphne, Nydia, Lyla, and Shyla all answered in unison.

“Yes, ma’am,” they sang.

“Good. Then we will be off. No bed check tonight. Normal lessons will commence tomorrow morning after breakfast.” Leslie focused her attention on Gracia. “Let’s go, cadet.”

Cressa and her classmates watched the older girls board the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, the strange sensation brought on by Leslie’s directive vanished.

The twins joined hands and did a funny little skipping dance around the atrium.

“The witch is gone! The witch is gone!” they chanted. Lyla spun her sister under her arm and then dipped her low, both girls giggling uncontrollably.

“So we’re definitely going to do it, then?” Daphne asked, an unmistakable note of glee in her voice.

“Yep,” Lyla confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “Hartley and both Jacobs are in. And,” a huge grin overtook her expression, “they promised they’d bring him.”

Confused, Cressa looked at Nydia to see if she was in on whatever secret plans the twins and Daphne shared. The disapproving glint in her roommate’s eyes would’ve made Gracia proud, but Nydia didn’t say a word.

“What do you say, Cressa? Want to go exploring with us?” Lyla asked mischievously.

“Exploring?”

“Oh, don’t do it, Cressa,” Nydia pleaded. “If you’re caught, you might be dismissed. It’s not worth the risk.”

Ignoring Nydia, Daphne added, “Kev Leon is coming.”

So they have seen him, Cressa thought.

“He just advanced to Phase Two yesterday, same as you,” Daphne continued. “I can’t believe he’s been here for so long and none of us noticed.”

Remembering the way Kev had looked on the ride from med bay to his floor, as well as Dr. Masterson’s comment about the star’s adjustment issues, Cressa wondered if maybe he’d been hidden away until recently.

“You guys don’t even know for certain that he’s a cadet,” Nydia said. “All you have is Hartley’s word, which means little. Hartley also told us that Natalia Lyons was coming to the Institute, and that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Gracia becoming a clone tonight likely means that she will be taking Natalia’s place soon,” Lyla argued. “So, Natalia Lyons probably will be coming to the Institute any time now—just like Hartley said. Daphne, didn’t Gracia tell you that the Dame knows Natalia personally?”

“Yep. That’s how she has so much source material from her,” Daphne said knowingly. “The Dame just needs to get Natalia away from UNITED’s brainwashing, then she can bring her and Erikson Kelley over to our side.”

“So not important right now,” Shyla interjected. “We were talking about Kev Leon, who is definitely here. Right now. Hartley is Kev’s roommate. He’s seen him.”

“So have I,” Cressa said quietly.

Eight eyes instantly turned to stare at her.

“Seriously?” Lyla demanded.

“Um, yeah. He received his second injection right around the time I did. We rode on the elevator from med bay together.”

Shyla swatted her on the arm, a little harder than Cressa thought necessary. “And you didn’t tell us? Some friend you are.”

In Cressa’s opinion, “friend” was overstating her relationship with the twins. She didn’t contradict Shyla, though.

Lyla grabbed Cressa’s hand and squeezed. “Tell us everything. What did he say? What did you say? Is he as perfect as I think he is?”

“Not now,” Daphne interjected. “We need to get in bed, just in case someone else comes around for a bed-check.” The younger girl met Cressa’s eyes. “If you’re up for a little fun, meet us in the commons in one hour. Got it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Cressa replied, uncertain if she actually would.

The girls split up, heading to their respective rooms.

While they changed into pajamas, Nydia kept shooting worried glances at Cressa, though she remained quiet. The pair brushed their teeth and washed their faces without speaking a word. Neither of the Towers sisters joined them in the bathroom, so Cressa didn’t even have their constant babble to distract her from Nydia’s anxiety.

Anxiety that was steadily seeping in to Cressa, too.

“Are you going to go?” Nydia finally voiced what Cressa knew she’d been wanting to ask since Lyla had first mentioned exploring the Institute.

Instead of answering her roommate, Cressa posed a question of her own.

“Do you think it’s a trick? Are they setting me up? Or are they really planning on wandering around the Institute?”

“Oh, they’re doing it. They twins have been wanting to explore since they first arrived, and Gracia’s absence has finally presented them with the opportunity they’ve been waiting for.” Nydia hesitated for a long moment, and then plunged forward. “If you go, I won’t tell on you. But it’s a bad idea, Cressa. You will get caught. The Dame doesn’t miss anything. The others have trained already with invisibility, but you haven’t.”

Cressa hadn’t considered that last point. She wasn’t sure how long the other girls had been able to manipulate light, but even one lesson with the ability was better than Cressa’s zero.

Still, Cressa was too curious to turn down the opportunity. She wasn’t sure when she’d get another chance to snoop around, if ever. In truth, the more Cressa learned about the Institute, the less she wanted to be a part of it. But that didn’t change the fact that she was a part of it. And if the day’s demonstrations had taught her anything, it was that she always would be, one way or another.

Something her father used to say popped into Cressa’s mind: Business dealings are a lot like making sausage; you’re better off not knowing the details and processes, just enjoy the end result.

In retrospect, that was sort of how Cressa had viewed the mystery surrounding the Institute prior to arriving. She hadn’t known the details of becoming Privileged, only that the endgame was going to be amazing.

Cressa’s vision of the wonderful life she would lead once she was Privileged had changed a great deal in the last twenty-four hours. And so had her desire to let things unfold organically. She wanted to learn every sordid detail of the Privileged-making process. Sooner, rather than later.

“I’m going with them,” Cressa told Nydia. “It may be a risk, but I don’t care. I’m tired of being in the dark.”

Talia

Pelia Island

Three Days Before the Vote

“I can explain,” I began, and then had no idea how to finish that sentence.

I mean, sure, I could explain that yes, I was indeed Natalia Lyons the escaped convict. But that seemed like a supremely bad idea given the circumstances.

I could lie. That also seemed like the wrong way to go, though. Particularly since I’d already opened my big mouth, so it wasn’t as though I could take back those three ominous words. Unfortunately, that left me with one option: manipulation.

“Dad, I think we should hear Talia out.” Emma moved to stand between her father and me.

“She’s a criminal,” Jeb snapped. “What more do we need to know?”

Emma’s voice was calm, her posture relaxed. “For starters, we might want to know where exactly she’s from. You know that our kind is frequently persecuted for made up crimes. That is probably what happened to Talia.”

The suggestion carried physical weight, and I realized immediately that Emma was wielding her own brand of subtle manipulation. It was so refined that had I not been a skilled manipulator myself, I might not have noticed the trace amounts of power she was using.

Emma turned slowly to face me, making sure to keep her body firmly positioned between Jeb and me. “Isn’t that what happened Talia?” she asked.

Interestingly, the younger girl did not attempt to compel me. She was simply offering me a way out, and I was only too happy to accept.

“Yes. I’d rather not get into specifics, but I was imprisoned for a very minor infraction. In many places, my crime wouldn’t have come with jail time.” Not a lie. Only UNITED agents received a one-way ticket to Vault for insubordination.

“What was this so called ‘infraction’?” Jeb demanded.

Emma was strong; I could feel the power she was using. She was also smart. Holding her father captive in her thrall would have only worked for so long. Allowing him to retain some degree of control over his mind meant that even once Emma was gone, Jeb would still believe whatever tale we wove. He would also remain suspicious, but that was okay. Hopefully I’d be on my way to London soon.

“Breach of protocol,” I replied in answer to Jeb’s question. “I broke my employer’s rules.”

Jeb studied me for several long moments. He didn’t like me—that much was obvious. The fact didn’t hurt my feelings. Most people I encountered weren’t fond of me.

“I see,” Jeb said finally. “Well, I don’t appreciate liars. You should have told us the truth earlier.”

The tension in my muscles lessened.

“Come on, Dad. Did you really expect her to introduce herself as an escaped convict?” Ross interjected. “You would have thrown her back to the sea on her ear. Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

“Right, of course.” Jeb turned to head into the dining room. “I will want to hear the full story later, though,” he called over his shoulder.

Dinner consisted of some fatty meat cooked in a myriad of spices, with a vegetable concoction in gravy on the side. For dessert, we had bickerberry pie—whatever that was. Everything was amazingly delicious. But the best part of the meal was the conversation, which Emma and Ross skillfully directed towards themselves. The siblings kept up a constant stream of chatter about the sights they had shown me during our tour, the impending storm, and just about any other topic under the sun that couldn’t segue to me and my prior incarceration.

Family mealtime also provided me with the perfect opportunity to read Jeb’s mind. I needed to know how he’d found out about me. Had UNITED sent out a public service announcement? Warned people to be on the lookout for me? That didn’t bode well.

From Jeb’s mind, I learned that was exactly what had happened. Sort of. The public at large had not been made aware of my escape. Intelligence agencies around the world had. And Jeb had contacts in more alphabet agencies than I knew existed.

The tip had come from Vanuatu. This was surprising only because I’d never heard of the place. Jeb’s informant had sent a fax—like an honest-to-goodness piece of paper—to alert him of my disappearance, since Vault and Pelia were relatively close. Thus far, Jeb had not reported me to UNITED. Unlike so many people I’d dealt with, Jeb was interested in my side of the story. Sending a wrongfully accused and convicted teenage girl back to her captors did not sit well with him, and he wanted to know more about my crime before condemning me.

With a little help from Emma, I hoped to delay giving Jeb too many details of the events surrounding my incarceration. I was guilty. And I wasn’t sure whether Jeb would believe my crimes harmless once he knew the intricacies.

“I thought Ross said you don’t have an ability?” I teased Emma when we were changing into pajamas.

She had offered to let me share her bed, but I’d insisted a sleeping bag and the floor would do just fine.

Emma’s tanned cheeks flushed. “I don’t.”

“You can compel people,” I said. “Where I come from, that’s a pretty incredible gift.”

Emma turned away to hide her face. “Yeah, well, not here. Not in our tribe. Mental abilities scare people.”

I folded the clothes Emma had lent me earlier into a neat stack and placed them on the floor next to the sleeping bag. “That’s true where I come from, too.” Peeling back the top layer of cushy down-filled fabric, I crawled between the folds. “Is that why you didn’t want your father to know the extent of my talents?”

Emma sat on the edge of her bed, wringing her hands in her lap. She nodded. “I knew who you were the moment I saw you on the beach,” she admitted guiltily. “You are sort of famous, you know. I figured Dad would recognize you, too. But he didn’t. At least not right away.”

In most any other place, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Emma recognized me. But Pelia was so far off the grid. I hadn’t seen a single tech gadget all day. How did they get world news on such a remote island? Did it all come in via fax?

“School,” Emma answered my unasked question. “We studied TOXIC and the Battle of D.C. in school. Sort of as a cautionary tale. Our tribe doesn’t believe in mixing races. They believe it only leads to problems—like what happened with TOXIC.”

“So everyone here is Talented?” I asked.

“To some degree, yes. We are all physically stronger, have better senses, and a keener intellect than most mainlanders. For some of us, that is the extent of it. Others can shape-shift, harness electricity, control the elements, heal, teleport—you know, the same abilities you and your friends have.”

“Teleport?” I asked, unsure I’d heard her correctly. Teleportation was a long defunct ability. No documented cases had been seen in over seventy years.

Emma’s dopey expression from earlier returned, the one she’d donned while talking to her boyfriend.

“Yeah. This guy I know, Kip, that’s his thing.” She blushed crimson. “You probably didn’t notice him, but he was the guy working at the toy store.”

“Is he the only one?” I inquired.

“Yeah. Well, the only one in our tribe. I think some of the others might have a teleporter or two. His father had the gift, as well.”

“Had?”

Emma’s expression turned somber, and she crossed her legs atop her mattress.

“He went missing two years ago,” she said quietly. “On a supply run. We’re pretty self-sufficient here. We grow our own food and the herbs the healers need to make poultices and stuff, but every once in a while we do need medical supplies from the mainland. Mr. Ozolos went to fetch some medicine and never returned.”

There was more to Emma’s story—the guilt pouring off of her was so intense I felt as though I was being smothered by it. I put up a wall to block her emotions.

“How strong is Kip? How far can he teleport?” I asked, partially to change the subject away from the boy’s missing father and partially because a new plan was forming in my mind. For that plan to work, I needed this Kip character.

Emma toyed with a strand of her long, blonde hair. “As far as he needs to, I think. He’s only gone off island a couple of times, always with a teacher. But he’s passed all of his ability’s tests with flying colors.” Pride for her boyfriend swelled inside of her, the feeling so overpowering that even with my mental shields in place I still felt the effects.

“Emma,” I began, deciding how best to phrase my request. Subtlety wasn’t really my forte, so I went with the direct approach. “Can Kip take people with him on his, um, trips?”

“Of course. Our abilities teacher can’t teleport on his own. As long as Kip is touching a person, he can take them along for the ride.”

Just what I’d wanted to hear.

“Where do you need to go?” Emma asked, correctly guessing my intentions.

It occurred to me that Emma might be reading my mind, but I wasn’t positive.

“London.”

“For the vote?” Emma asked, surprised.

Guess she wasn’t reading my mind after all.

“Not entirely. You said you knew who I was when you first saw me. So you also know who I work for, right?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Okay, well, they have likely sent teams of agents after me, so I need to hide. I have some friends in London who can help with that. I just need to get there.”

I’d actually forgotten that the vote would take place in London. Emma’s reminder made me rethink my plan to meet up with Kenly. London was probably teeming with UNITED agents. If not, the city would be infested with them shortly.

“You could stay here with us,” Emma replied in a small voice.

The desperate look in her eyes made my heart hurt. Reluctantly, I dropped my mental barriers and let Emma’s emotions wash over me. Loneliness. She was incredibly, overwhelmingly lonely. Her gifts made her feel like an outcast. Constant worry over being found out kept her up at night. But she also hated hiding who she was. A part of Emma wanted to go to the mainland, where she thought she would find more people like her. That was the reason she hadn’t told her father about my talents. And why she’d intervened once Jeb learned my true identity. In me, Emma had found a kindred spirit, someone with mental abilities similar to her own.

I crawled from beneath the covers and joined Emma on the bed. Mushy, gushy feelings weren’t my thing, but I did understand how she felt. Even among my peers, I’d always stood out. My talent was rare, and I was exceptionally powerful. That power made me dangerous, and few of my classmates wanted to be around me because of it.

“I wish I could stay here,” I told her kindly, more than a little surprised to find that was true.

Life on Pelia was simple. Sure, there was probably the same political nonsense as anywhere else, but being labeled an outcast for my abilities was nothing new. And if Emma had been able to hide her talents, then I could do the same. Then there was the fact that no one on the island wanted to kill me. That was a definite check in the pro column.

“But you can’t,” Emma guessed.

“No, I can’t,” I agreed. “I have a life, sort of. I do have people who depend on me. People who need me. People I love.” Erik’s face swam in my mind. I closed my eyes and pushed his image to the corner. “I need to get back to them,” I finished, nearly choking on the words.

“I understand. When would you want to leave?” Emma brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand, and I realized she’d started crying.

“As soon as I can. I just need to get word to Kenly—that’s my friend in London—and tell her that I’m coming. I can get her exact location. That way Kip can take me straight there.”

Emma eyed me askance and snorted. “How do you intend to contact your friend?”

“With my talents,” I said as though it should have been obvious, which it should have been. Emma had said she knew about me, which meant she knew what I was capable of.

“Doubtful. The energy around the island is too great. Your mental reach would have to be pretty incredible to push through the barrier. No offense, but not even you are that strong. You’d need a boost. So will Kip for that matter. That might be tricky come to think of it. Boosters are locked up tight.”

Emma kept talking, but I stopped listening.

If the energy surrounding the island was too great for me to mentally communicate with Kenly in London, how had I heard Erik earlier?

He’s Created, I told myself. It wasn’t my talents that had allowed us to speak, but rather his. That had to be it.

I opened my mind completely, fully expecting a barrage of mental voices to invade my mind. And they did. I heard Emma contemplating whether to ask if she could come with me to London. I heard Ross reading to himself in the room next door. I heard Jeb debating whether to turn me in. I heard an unfamiliar female voice humming a tune somewhere inside the house, and could only assume it was the healer, Andromeda.

Other, fainter, mental ramblings reached my ears from nearby houses, all jumbled together in one buzz of white noise. Just like when I’d talked to Erik earlier, the reception was patchy, though. I only heard bits and pieces of random thoughts. I concentrated on the white noise, attempting to parse out the individual thoughts. But I couldn’t.

I cast my mental net wider. Louder buzzing, but the thoughts reaching my ears were still disjointed. Then, because I was clearly a glutton for punishment, I decided to try reaching Erik again. Pushing my talents to their limits, I called into the ether. “Erik? Erik? It’s me. Can you hear me?”

The words reverberated inside my head, as though they’d bounced off a wall and were hurdling back towards me.

I concentrated harder. I could do this. I was the most powerful manipulator alive today.

“Erik? Talk to me. Say something. Say anything,” I begged.

“Talia? Talia? What’s happening?” Emma’s hands were on my shoulders, shaking me insistently.

I blinked, surprised to feel soggy fabric against my cheek. I was no longer sitting, but curled on my side on Emma’s bed.

“I’m okay,” I muttered to Emma, who was leaning over me with pure terror in her eyes. Pushing myself to a sitting position, I saw a small puddle on the blanket where my face had been. I touched my cheek. My fingers came away wet. Tears were pouring from my eyes, dripping down my chin and onto my chest.

“Did I pass out?” I asked Emma, stunned.

“No. I mean, I don’t know. Power was shooting out of you in sparks, and you started convulsing. Then you fell over. It happened so fast.”

Shakily, I patted her hand. “I’m really okay. I was just trying to contact Erik. And, I don’t know, it didn’t work.” Using the sleeve of the sleep shirt Emma had let me borrow, I wiped away the last of the tears I hadn’t realized I was shedding.

“Of course it didn’t. I told you, you can’t use telepathy to talk to someone not on the island.”

“I did earlier today. Twice,” I replied, frustrated by my shortcomings. “Or, I don’t know, I guess Erik contacted me earlier.”

Emma shook her head adamantly. “No. He didn’t. Erikson Kelley, your boyfriend, that’s who you are talking about, right? He’s where exactly? The Isle of Exile?”

“Yeah. He was last time I checked, anyhow.”

“Then he definitely wasn’t contacting you earlier. It’s not possible. I’m telling you, it takes like a thousand times your power to break through the energy field. It’s not possible to do without a booster.”

I thought a thousand times was a pretty large exaggeration, but I understood the message.

“Erik is Created,” I told Emma. “He is like a thousand times stronger than I am,” I added with a smile. “He’s always got a booster in his system.”

“I guess it might be possible in that case,” Emma said dubiously.

“The conversation was broken up. I couldn’t hear everything he said, just every couple of words.”

Emma nodded. “Okay, well that makes more sense. I guess I’ve just never met someone that powerful.”

“He’s one of a kind,” I said. Remembering Penny had all the same abilities as Erik, I amended, “Well, technically he’s one of two of a kind. But that’s not important.”

Just then, a high-pitched whining noise started somewhere deep inside the house. I heard Jeb’s bedroom door open, and then his sock-clad feet moving across the wooden floorboards. A second door opened. The whining noise grew louder.

“Can you hear that? What is it?” I asked Emma.

“Fax machine,” she replied absently.

The noise ended abruptly. I focused on Jeb’s mind, curious as to whether this newest fax was another alert about my escape. His thoughts were laced with static, but I was able to hear every word. Those words terrified me.

Received word the Lyons girl washed up on Freedom Beach and is currently staying at your home. Please confirm immediately. Once you do, we will send a team to collect her. Do not warn her. She is dangerous. Bounty on her is large. You will receive twenty-five percent, as you have in the past. NS.

Who the hell was NS? And how did he or she know I was on Pelia?

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Three Days Before the Vote

Cressa watched the minutes drag past on the desk clock. Exactly fifty-eight minutes after entering her room with Nydia to change for bed, Cressa peeled the covers back and climbed out of her bunk. She positioned her pillows in a reasonable facsimile of a body beneath the blankets, figuring the ruse would be passable at a glance.

“Be careful,” Nydia muttered, just as Cressa was easing the bedroom door closed.

“I will,” Cressa whispered back.

The twins, Daphne and, to her surprise, Ritchie were waiting in the atrium.

“Thought you might chicken out,” Lyla said when Cressa entered the rotunda.

“Guess you have more stones than we gave you credit for,” Shyla added, sounding simultaneously impressed and annoyed by this fact.

Shrugging, as though she routinely took midnight strolls around top-secret facilities, Cressa tried her best to sound nonchalant. “I’m curious, same as you.”

Ritchie tossed her mane of coarse magenta hair behind one shoulder.

“Don’t lie, you just want the chance to rub shoulders with a celebrity,” she taunted. “Daphne says you’ve already met him once. Well, so have I, Cressa.” Ritchie pronounced Cressa’s name as though it were a dirty word. “My father’s stylist is partners with Kev’s manager’s brother’s best friend, so Kev knows me. Don’t get any silly ideas—he can spot a fame troll a million miles away.”

Cressa simply stared, unable to follow the convoluted connection between Ritchie and Kev Leon.

Whatever, it doesn’t matter, Cressa told herself. She hadn’t joined their excursion because of Kev, anyway. Cressa was risking her parents’ disappointment and possible dismissal from the program for answers, not some guy. Even if that guy was Kev Leon.

A scurrying noise drew all five girls’ attention towards the corner of the atrium. Cressa blinked as the smooth, stone wall began to move. Before she could react, a section of the wall swung open and three boys tumbled through the doorway, giggling loudly.

Lyla sighed and rolled her big brown eyes.

“Could you toads be any louder?” she demanded.

A tall, slim boy with skin the color of café au lait crossed over to where Lyla was standing with her hands on her hips, and slung an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s all good, Ly,” he drawled. “All the floor captains are out for the night—the Dame is having them watch Gracia become a clone. So, we’re free and clear. We have the run of this place.” He directed a dazzling smile at Cressa. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

“Hartley, this is Cressa, she’s the newest 2P,” Lyla explained, then pointed to the other two boys in turn. “And that’s Jacob, and Jacob.”

Cressa gave a little wave, and the Jacobs nodded.

“It is very nice to meet you, Cressa, I’m so glad you’re up for a late-night romp around this old place,” Hartley said. He turned to the rest of the group. “Where do we want to start?”

“Where’s Kev?” Ritchie demanded. “You promised to bring him along.”

Hartley rolled his vibrant indigo eyes.

“Sleeping, the ninny. The kid barely speaks. I think the head docs are giving him something for his ‘adjustment disorder,’” he said, using air quotes.

“Aren’t we good enough for you?” one of the Jacobs asked, sticking out his bottom lip.

“No, you aren’t,” Ritchie snapped. “This is dumb, I should just leave.” Despite her words, she stayed put.

“I say we start in med bay,” Lyla declared with a mischievous smile.

“Are you mad?” Daphne demanded. “Hartley just said that’s where everyone is tonight. We’ll be seen for sure.”

“Not likely, as long as we stick to the shadows and use our invisibility. We’ll be fine. Besides, don’t you want to see your sister’s transformation? I know I do,” Lyla said. “Unless, of course, you’re too scared?”

Daphne took the bait. “I’m not scared. I’m just not stupid, either. But,” a shimmery light appeared around her small frame, “I have all but mastered invisibility.” With a nearly inaudible pop, Daphne blinked out of sight. “Can you say the same?”

Cressa felt a tug on her ponytail. An instant later, Daphne reappeared by her side.

By the uneasy expressions on the others’ faces, Cressa surmised that they weren’t nearly as adept at using light manipulation as Daphne.

At least I’m not the only one, Cressa thought.

Hartley chuckled nervously. “Med bay it is, then. Follow me.”

The group, including Ritchie, who evidently didn’t want to be left out of the fun, clamored through the opening in the stone wall.

Inside, the passage was dark and smelled like mold.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” Lyla whined. “Hartley? Is that you? Get your hand off my butt.”

Buzzing came from somewhere in the distance, growing louder by the heartbeat. Suddenly, a soft yellow light brightened the passageway. It wasn’t bright enough to banish every shadow, but it was a huge improvement over the pitch darkness.

“Who did that?” Ritchie asked.

The cadets all stared at one another, Daphne wearing a smug smile.

“This place is an old boarding school, from before the Great Contamination. It’s been in the Dame’s family for generations. She only had it overhauled like ten years ago, when she first opened the Institute. Daddy’s firm did the renovations. These secret tunnels were part of the original structure, and the Dame asked daddy to keep them. I bet she uses them all the time.” Daphne pointed to the row of lit antique lamps affixed to the stone walls lining either side of the tunnel. “I happen to know all of those are connected to the same switch.” Triumphantly, the little canary gestured to a panel next to the entranceway they’d come through. “That one.”

Cressa followed Daphne’s finger towards the panel. The stained glass mosaic was too fancy for the stone walls and earthen walkway. Squinting for a better look, Cressa saw three interlocking circles that formed a triangle at the center, with an unblinking eye in the overlap. There was something unsettling about the image, sending a chill up Cressa’s spine that settled uneasily at the base of her skull.

It’s just decoration, you’re being silly, she told herself. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the eye was watching her.

The others didn’t seem nearly as bothered by the strange picture, save Ritchie. She kept shooting the panel furtive glances, as though expecting to find the eye following her as she hopped from one foot to the other.

“Well, guess that makes this sort of useless,” Hartley said sheepishly, pulling a flashlight from the waistband of his pants. The other two boys also produced flashlights.

“So you were just using the darkness to cop a feel?” Lyla rolled her eyes. “Such a charmer.”

“Can we just go already?” Ritchie asked, hugging herself to ward off the chill only she and Cressa seemed to feel. “This place is super creepy. And there are freaking cobwebs.” She nodded to shimmering tangle of webbing in one corner of the low ceiling. “Are you lying, Daphne? Because the Dame would have had these tunnels cleaned if she used them. No way that woman slinks around in here with the spiders and who knows what else.”

“I’m not lying,” Daphne protested. “You’re just jealous because your family isn’t tight with the Dame. Once the Privileged take over, the Beaumonts will be rewarded far above your lot. My sister is about to be the Dame’s most prized disciple, and I’ll likely be next. Dr. Masterson said—”

“Oh, please,” Ritchie retorted, rounding on Daphne. “Gracia becoming a clone is simply dumb luck. It has absolutely nothing to do with your family.”

“Shut it, both of you. I think I hear someone,” Lyla snapped.

The group went silent. Cressa concentrated, listening for an indication that they were not alone. She heard what sounded like running water, and possibly rodents scurrying about, but nothing that made her think other people were farther down the passage.

“It’s nothing, you’re just paranoid. Let’s go,” Shyla said, elbowing her twin.

Hartley took the lead, using his flashlight to point out cracks in the steeply sloping ground so the others wouldn’t trip over them. The twins followed right behind, Lyla asking him question after question about Kev Leon, much to Hartley’s annoyance.

Cressa hung towards the back with Daphne and one of the Jacobs, who was also using his flashlight to illuminate the path beneath their feet.

“Does he know where we’re going?” Cressa asked the other two, after Hartley chose to turn down a tunnel off of the main passageway.

“Down,” Jacob said with a smirk, indicating the gradient that was carrying them ever downhill.

“Wow, that’s really helpful,” Daphne shot back.

“Yes, he knows,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Med bay is one of our favorite haunts.” A mischievous grin spread across Jacob’s face. “You can see into certain of the rooms from inside the tunnels. We’ve seen all kinds of crazy stuff. Never a clone being made, though. This will be a new one for us.”

A pit of dread formed in Cressa’s belly.

“What sort of crazy stuff?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer. Had the boys, and possibly other trouble-making cadets, watched her injection procedures? Had they seen her panic attacks inside the incubation chamber?

Jacob’s smile grew impossibly wider. “Want to take a detour?”

Before Cressa could answer, Jacob yelled up to Hartley. “Hey, Hart, let’s take them to the farm. We’ll make it a quick trip.”

The farm? It sounded benign, but Cressa somehow doubted that they would find adorable piglets and fuzzy lambs in the Institute.

“Yeah, sure. The turn’s up here on the left,” Hartley called back.

“Does the Dame keep horses here?” Daphne asked, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Back home, we have a racing stable. There’s a professional breeder on staff that flies all over the world to find the best mares to carry our stallions’ foals. Daddy lets me ride the slow horses—the ones who lack the mutation that makes them run real fast. We can trace our horses’ lineage all the way back to the Contamination, to the very first racing horse with the mutation,” Daphne finished proudly.

In that moment, Cressa finally saw the familial resemblance between Daphne and Gracia. Like Cressa and pretty much all of the other cadets, the Beaumont sisters were from an affluent family. Unlike most of the cadets, they liked to boast about their wealth and social status.

“There are a few horses,” the other Jacob, who was walking beside Ritchie, replied with a chuckle. “And plenty of livestock.”

Something about the way he said it gave Cressa the impression that ‘livestock’ was an euphemism. She couldn’t imagine what Jacob was eluding to, but felt queasy.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to find out.

The entrance to the tunnel that housed the farm was hidden. Had Hartley and the Jacobs not already known the location, the group would have walked right past the moveable stone slab.

“All the doors down here can only be opened using telekinesis,” Hartley explained, pressing his palm flat against a section of stone. He screwed up his face in concentration, and there was a slight stirring beneath his hand. The thick slab slid an inch or so to the left, just enough to emit a thin beam of light into the tunnel.

“Here, I got you, Hart.” The Jacob with Cressa and Daphne elbowed the others aside to stand beside Hartley.

Together, the two boys focused their energy on the section of stone. It moved another couple of inches, before refusing to go any farther.

“I don’t understand,” Hartley said, wiping a trickle of sweat from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Usually I can open it by myself.”

“Maybe it’s been reinforced to keep flunkies out,” Ritchie said, sounding relieved. Besides Cressa, Ritchie was the only other member of their illicit excursion team showing reservations about entering the farm.

“Or maybe your powers are fading,” Lyla suggested snidely. “I hear that can happen. Better watch out, Hart. It might not be your nighttime wanderings that get you dismissed.”

Hartley laughed, but Cressa could tell Lyla’s flippant remark bothered him.

Dr. Masterson’s serum did not give them indefinite power. In order to retain their abilities, they needed regular injections, some more frequently than others. The timing simply depended on how well the individual’s body retained the foreign genetic material.

“Let Cressa and me try,” Daphne called, grabbing Cressa’s hand and dragging her forward. “We both advanced recently, so our telekinetic powers were just boosted.”

Daphne pressed her palm to the wall as Hartley and Jacob had done. When Cressa hesitated to do the same, Daphne shot her a pointed look.

“What are you waiting for?” she hissed.

Cressa really didn’t want to visit the farm, whatever it was, but she also didn’t want the others to think her childish or scared. And wasn’t this what she wanted? To uncover the Institute’s grisly secrets?

With a heavy sigh, Cressa complied, positioning her hand beside Daphne’s on the stone.

“On my count,” Daphne instructed, and then began counting down from three.

Part of Cressa hoped they wouldn’t be successful. That way, she could feign disappointment right along with the others, and then move on.

No such luck. The girls’ combined efforts made the door fly open as though someone had greased the tracks.

“Nice one,” Hartley said, clapping Cressa on the back. He slid past her through the opening. The 2P boy smiled down at her as he went, though the friendly expression didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I’d be worried, too, Cressa thought.

Since she knew absolutely nothing about Hartley, Cressa wasn’t sure how long he’d been a 2P, or how he rated power-wise among his classmates. Nonetheless, an obvious deterioration in ability strength was never a good sign.

The Jacobs followed Hartley. The twins and Daphne were only steps behind, just as eager to see the farm as the boys were to show it to them. Ritchie hesitated in front of the entrance, indecision playing across her expression. After several long beats, she finally darted through the opening.

“Holy bananas! You have to see this, Cressa.” Daphne’s voice echoed on the other side of the wall.

Even before she crossed the threshold, Cressa knew this passage was different from the other tunnels they’d been in so far. For starters, it was over double the width, allowing Hartley, the Jacobs, Daphne, the twins, and Ritchie to stand in a straight line across it. The ceiling was much higher, too—thirty or forty feet, by Cressa’s estimation.

But the most notable difference was the floor-to-ceiling glass panes on either side of the tunnel. Not quite ready to see whatever was on the other side of the windows, Cressa kept her eyes focused straight ahead. Over the heads of her classmates, she saw a winding metal staircase that stretched three-quarters of the way towards the rounded ceiling. Three walkways were attached to the staircase, each one extending farther down the tunnel than Cressa could see.

“They’re so cute,” Daphne cooed, breaking away from the others to press her face against the glass on the left side of the tunnel.

With that, Cressa dared to look. If Daphne thought whatever was on the other side of the window was cute, it couldn’t be anything too bizarre.

It wasn’t. There actually were dozens of cows, llamas, and horses roaming around in, if Cressa’s eyes weren’t deceiving her, a pasture. Except, that wasn’t possible, since they were underground.

Joining Daphne, Cressa studied the pasture that seemed to stretch for acres. A thick carpet of bright-green grass covered the ground. There were even apple trees dotting the landscape, and a bright yellow sun shining down from a cloudless sky.

So it really is a farm, Cressa thought, relieved. This wasn’t scary in the least. In fact, the animals really were sort of cute, just like Daphne said.

She was still confused, though.

“How far down did we go? Are we still above ground?” Cressa asked the boys.

“Nope,” Hartley answered with a mischievous smile.

“Is this an e-screen?” Cressa asked no one in particular. She tapped the glass with her fingernail. A cow grazing nearby cocked its head to one side.

“Nope, it’s a simulated environment,” Hartley replied knowledgeably.

Cressa recalled learning about simulated environments in her eighth grade history class. They’d been popular after the Great Contamination.

With the world’s water supply contaminated by the nuclear waste, farmers had been unable to breed and raise livestock that was deemed safe for human consumption. Some genius had created indoor farms as an alternative, with hydroponic systems, heat lamps, and expensive filtration devices.

“I didn’t know those still existed,” Cressa commented.

“Me neither. This is the first one I’ve ever seen with my own eyes.” Hartley shrugged. “It’s probably left over from back in the day. If what Daphne says is true, this farm might have been part of the original school.” He squeezed Cressa’s shoulder. “If you think this is cool, just wait until you see the rest. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Hartley started up the staircase, turned at the halfway mark, grinned at the entire group, and tipped an invisible cap. “My name is Hartley, and I will be your tour guide on tonight’s adventure.” Pretending to be a conductor, he mimed tooting a train horn with one hand, going so far as to use sound effects. “Next stop, observation deck one, the frog pond.”

The twins, giggling maddeningly, raced to join Hartley as he resumed climbing the stairs. Both Jacobs followed, shaking the metal staircase and making the twins squeal with delight.

“Oh, a frog pond!” Daphne exclaimed. “That sounds neat.” She hurried to join the others.

Ritchie had one hand on the metal handrail, but paused before advancing beyond the first step. She turned to Cressa.

“Do you think it’s really a pond?” she asked uncertainly.

Cressa had been pondering that very same question.

The farm was real, maybe the pond would be, too, she thought optimistically.

Ignoring the niggling sensation telling her to run, Cressa blew out a long breath. “Only one way to find out, right?”

“I suppose,” Ritchie responded, and then began climbing the staircase.

By the time the two girls reached the first observation deck, the twins and Daphne were stunned and speechless. That did not bode well. In the brief time Cressa had known the other girls, the three chatterboxes had yet to come across a topic they couldn’t discuss at length.

Steeling her nerves, Cressa walked over to the railing on the right side of the observation deck and peered over. Glowing blue tubes running from the floor to the ceiling caught her attention immediately, distracting Cressa from the bigger picture.

“What are those tubes?” Shyla asked.

“Electric cages,” Hartley explained, sidling up next to Cressa. “If the PDs touch one, they get zapped. I’ve seen it happen—not a pretty sight.”

“Electric cages?” Cressa repeated weakly.

That was when she noticed that the tubes were arranged in square patterns. While there were only about two inches between each tube, there were larger gaps every six feet or so. And on closer inspection, Cressa was able to make out green-clad figures lying inside of each cage.

Gasping, Cressa swayed back and forth, stumbling back from the viewing window. Hartley rushed to catch her before she fell on her butt.

“Are those the dismissed cadets?” she whispered as Hartley steadied her.

“Far as I know. I recognize some, but I haven’t been at the Institute long enough to know many PDs,” Hartley replied.

“What’s a PD?” Daphne wanted to know.

At the same time, Lyla turned an accusing glare on the boys. “That room looks nothing like a pond.”

One of the Jacobs chuckled. “Nah, it’s just what we call it, because the uniforms are green. You know, like frogs.”

“Yeah, and they’re our pool of PDs,” the other Jacob added. He directed his next words to Daphne. “That stands for practice dummies. 7 and 8Ps can sign one out to practice telepathy and manipulation on. Pretty cool, huh?”

No, Cressa thought, bile rising in her throat. Not cool. Not cool, at all.

Cressa wanted to turn away. The sight was beyond her worst imaginings. Even though she’d heard the rumors, and seen Damon Bizon, she wasn’t prepared for this.

How could the Dame keep people locked in electric cells? How could she keep them locked in cells at all? It was beyond cruel.

“I like feeding time,” one of the Jacobs said. “The PDs are much more active then.” He screwed his face up like he was about to cry, and when he spoke, his voice was high-pitched and whiny. “Please, let me out. I want to go home. Don’t let them hurt me.” He laughed. “Stupid prats. They can’t seem to get it through their thick skulls that the Dame’s society only has two types of people: the Privileged, and everyone else. They couldn’t hack it as Privileged, so they’re getting a taste of how the other half will live once we take over.”

“You won’t be saying that when it’s you down there,” Ritchie shot back.

“What are you talking about? I’m well on my way to being Privileged,” Jacob snarled. “I take my light manipulation exam in two days.

“Yeah? You think so? Not if your power keeps fading, Jacob. You and Hartley couldn’t open that door. If I were you, I’d have a little more empathy for the people you call frogs.” Ritchie crossed her arms over her chest and stared daggers at the group. “I’ve seen enough. I’m going back.” With that, she stomped noisily down the staircase and disappeared through the doorway.

Cressa considered following Ritchie. She’d seen more than she could stomach, far more than she’d bargained for. And yet, she’d only just begun snooping around the Institute. There were still two more observation decks above this one, and a part of her did want to know what was on the other side of those viewing windows.

Knowledge is power, she reminded herself. You need to see more.

“You guys want to see the source stables?” Hartley asked, as though reading her mind. His tone was different, though, no longer quite so smug or exuberant. Apparently, Ritchie’s comments about him becoming one of the PDs—that couldn’t possibly be their official name—had hit home.

“I don’t know, Hartley,” Lyla began, exchanging uneasy glances with her twin. “Maybe we should just head to med bay now. The procedure has probably already started, we don’t want to miss it.”

“Yeah,” Shyla agreed, nodding jerkily. “We definitely don’t want to miss it.”

“Oh, come on, we’re already here. You at least need to see the stables,” Jacob protested.

“Look, guys, I get it,” Hartley interjected. “Seeing the PDs is disturbing the first time. We come down here a lot, so we’re used to it. These goons,” he cocked a thumb towards the Jacobs, “forget they both had nightmares after our first journey down in the tombs. The PDs were once us. And yeah, we could become them. That’s scary. But the sources, they’re traitors to our kind. They were born with abilities, yet they refuse to join the Dame’s cause. They’re naive enough to believe that peaceful coexistence is a good thing. They don’t understand that they were born superior to the norms, and they’re wasting their gifts by not using them to help Privileged-rule happen.”

“Stupid gits,” one of the Jacobs muttered.

“Their stupidity is our salvation,” Hartley said pointedly. “They are undeserving of their talents, which is why the Dame transfers their abilities to us—the worthy.”

At the start of Hartley’s speech, Cressa had started to like the boy a little bit more; he at least seemed to appreciate how unnerving this all was for newbies. Hartley’s last comment, however, made Cressa reevaluate her stance. It wasn’t that Hartley’s beliefs were all that fantastical. In fact, they were in line with the Institute’s manifesto. The issue for Cressa was hearing the Dame’s objectives spelled out in such black-and-white terms.

Or, maybe I’m just finally realizing the scope of what the Dame is doing, she thought miserably. What I’m doing.

Turning on that frigging light had truly been an eye-opening experience for Cressa. Part of her wished that she had failed her exam and was still a 1P, allowing her to remain both ignorant and innocent just a little while longer.

“I want to see this source stable,” Daphne was saying when Cressa tuned back in to the conversation. “Gracia will be in surgery for hours. The mods she needs will take all night. We have plenty of time. Besides, I’m more interested in the final product.”

Lyla and Shyla rolled identical big brown eyes.

“Whatever,” they chorused in unison.

With the majority of the group in agreement, no one asked Cressa’s opinion. And when the group started for the second observation deck, she followed without comment.

It can’t be worse than those electric cages, Cressa told herself, shuddering.

As she climbed the stairs, Cressa gave the frog pond one last sorrowful look, her thoughts and prayers with Damon Bizon. Since the PDs were all asleep, and therefore lying on the thin cots inside their cages, she was unable to differentiate one from the next. Still, Cressa knew Damon was in there somewhere, likely sobbing into his pillow and dreaming of a home that was lost to him.

At the second landing, Hartley stopped and spun to face the group, causing a mini backup on the staircase.

“Just remember, the sources are traitors,” he warned. “I know their situation seems dire, but they deserve much worse. If the Dame didn’t need them, they’d be dead. So don’t feel bad for them.”

Why did he have to say that? Cressa wondered, her imagination immediately going into overdrive.

But nothing she envisioned was worse than the reality Cressa soon faced.

There were no cages inside the source stables. Instead, row after row of men and women on hover gurneys filled the room above the frog pond. There were dozens and dozens of them, all lined up with little space between the gurneys, save a few wider walkways. Each source had tubes protruding from his or her mouth, nose, and arms, making them look more like misshapen insects than humans. Many of them had their eyes open, staring vacantly at the ceiling above. Doctors navigated the rows of gurneys, stopping at each one to check the source’s vitals on the monitor and make adjustments accordingly.

Bile rose again in the back of Cressa’s throat, this time making it all the way to her mouth. There were no words to describe her absolute and total revulsion. The frog pond paled in comparison to the source stables. Cressa wanted nothing more than to run back to her room and hide beneath her covers, like when she was little and had bad dreams about the boogeyman hiding in her closest.

By the age of seven, Cressa understood the boogeyman was a fabrication of her overzealous imagination. But this nightmare was utterly real. Looking at the people—yes, people, not sources—hooked up to machines that stole their blood while they lay in a medically-induced state of sedation, neither sleeping nor awake, Cressa believed the boogeyman was very real. She even had a name: the Dame.

“What’s on level three?” Cressa asked, shocked by her own ability to form a coherent sentence. Her voice didn’t even shake when she spoke—another tremendous feat, given the roiling in her belly.

The other girls were silent. Lyla’s skin had turned a sickly shade of green, while her twin was white as a ghost. Even Daphne, who’d been so insistent on seeing the source stables, was fighting disgust.

Hartley, despite his speech about the sources being traitors and unworthy of their natural talents, wore a deeply troubled expression. Evidently he’d been playing up the part of the Dame’s loyal disciple, but he wasn’t actually so far down the rabbit hole that he’d lost all sense of human decency.

The Jacobs were a different story. As where everyone else was outwardly disturbed by the scene, they were invigorated by the spectacle. They kept laughing and pointing at certain individuals, making asinine comments about the females’ bodies and rating their beauty on a scale from toad to supermodel.

Hartley cleared his throat loudly. “Um, what? Level three? Oh, it’s…honestly, I’m not actually sure what it is. There’s just a room up there with a really big incubation chamber.” He shook his head dismissively. “It’s always empty, don’t know what it’s used for.”

“I want to see it,” Cressa replied calmly.

A switch had flipped inside of her, turning off Cressa’s emotions. She felt hollow and detached. While the sensation was weird, it was preferable to the chest-tightening, panic-inducing horror she’d been experiencing.

“Yeah, sure. If you want.” Hartley waved her forward. “Come on.”

Her face a blank mask, Cressa followed Hartley up the third and final staircase.

“We’re going to stay here,” one of the Jacobs called after them. “I like to watch the redhead. She’s got killer curves.”

This was one derisive quip too many for Lyla, and she snapped. Rounding on the Jacobs, Lyla launched in to a tirade with enough four-letter words to make a nun flee.

“Sorry about them,” Hartley told Cressa sheepishly. “The Jacobs really aren't that bright.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that out. But I thought you didn’t care about those people?” Cressa baited.

“I believe in the Dame’s vision, that’s how I rationalize all of this.” Hartley made a sweeping gesture meant to encompass the entire cavern. “I really do believe those people down there are traitors. I mean, they were born Talented. They are so lucky, and they don’t even realize or appreciate it. But us, you and me, we have to jump through a million hoops just to be able to do the same things they could do as children. It’s not fair.”

“So you’re jealous—that’s what you’re telling me?”

Hartley laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. Oh, hey, looks like we have some action going on inside the chamber.”

They’d reached the third-story landing, and Hartley was pointing towards the viewing window. In the middle of a bright white room was the largest incubation chamber Cressa had ever seen. People in white, puffy suits stood around the chamber, pushing buttons and adjusting knobs, while robotic arms with laser fingers swung continuously around the person inside.

“Holy clone! That’s Gracia!” Daphne shrieked, shoving Cressa from behind in her race to the railing of the observation deck.

“Shh!” Hartley warned. “I don’t know how soundproof the glass is.”

Focused on the chamber and the doctors, Cressa’s gaze hadn’t quite made it to the holo-image on the far side of the chamber. Sure enough, when she looked up, the face on the right side of the display was Gracia’s. On the left half, Natalia Lyons’ cold violet gaze stared out from the projection.

“She’s breathtaking,” Hartley muttered. Cressa didn’t have to ask which girl he was talking about.

To someone who’d never seen Natalia Lyons, Hartley’s comment might have come across as simple admiration for a pretty girl. Because Natalia was beautiful, there was no denying it. But seeing such a lifelike image of the girl for herself, Cressa understood that ‘breathtaking’ was the only term for her. There was something about Natalia that drew Cressa in, mesmerizing her, and made her want to be close to the Talent. The feeling was a lot like when Cressa had met Sir Tate, except exponentially stronger.

Without conscious thought, Cressa’s feet carried her to the railing to stand beside Daphne. Fascinated, she watched the holo-screen as Gracia’s side slowly transformed, feature by feature, to become more like the image of Natalia. The longer the robotic arms worked, the sharper Gracia’s cheekbones became and more heart-shaped her face appeared. Even the purple hue of Gracia’s irises deepened, until it perfectly matched her source’s.

“This is so freaky,” Hartley said.

One level below, Lyla was still shouting at the Jacobs, unleashing weeks of pent up aggression on her targets. Cressa blocked out the fighting, too engrossed with the cloning process to care.

“Do you think the Dame is in one of those bubble costumes?” Hartley asked.

“No, she’s probably watching through that camera.” Cressa pointed to the black orb spinning above the incubation chamber. “That’s probably how the floor captains are observing, too.”

“She already looks just like her,” Daphne remarked, sounding much like the child she still was. “I can’t believe my sister is gone.”

The coldness inside Cressa started to thaw, sending a rush of emotion through her veins. She didn’t fight it. Daphne was young and immature, and sort of annoying at times, but that was because she had yet to reach puberty. The little canary’s heart was breaking for the loss of her big sister, a girl she clearly looked up to and admired, no matter how much she pretended otherwise. And Cressa couldn’t ignore the overwhelming desire to comfort Daphne.

Wrapping an arm around Daphne’s shoulders, Cressa pulled the younger girl into a hug. “Gracia’s not gone,” she soothed. “Changing her appearance doesn’t change the person she is inside.”

Though if she does take on some of Natalia’s personality, that might not be a bad thing, Cressa thought wryly.

The media may have painted Natalia Lyons as cold and impersonal, which were probably necessary traits for an assassin, but Cressa doubted that was the whole story. She’d seen images of Natalia and Erikson together on various UNITED missions. The way they looked at each other was enough to soften even the hardest of hearts. And any teenage girl—it was crazy to think Natalia Lyons was only a few years older than Cressa—who’d risked her own life to save her boyfriend’s had to be good at the core. A lot of girls said they’d be willing to do the same, yet Natalia had actually done it.

Those lasers better be able to give Gracia a heart and a soul, Cressa mused. Otherwise, she had no chance of fooling anyone into thinking she was Natalia.

Holding on to Cressa as though she were the lone buoy in a turbulent sea, Daphne started to weep. Clearly uncomfortable by the little girl’s tears, Hartley stepped back to give them space.

“It’s silly, I know.” Daphne hiccupped. “Gracia and I don’t even like each other. But she’s the only family I have anymore. Our parents aren’t going to be Privileged. Who knows what the Dame will do with them? Gracia says we won’t see them again. Ever. She said they’ll be better off than most norms, but nowhere near as valued as us.” This made Daphne cry harder. She reached out and started to stroke the glass, like she was petting Gracia’s new face.

Cressa was about to reassure Daphne that the Beaumonts would live a glorious life once the Dame came into power, as parents of Privileged children. But the words were still on the tip of her tongue when all hell broke loose.

Erik

Nice, France

Two Days Before the Vote

My team of misfits landed in Nice, France just as the sun was coming up. The mission was off the books, so to speak. The council, minus Victoria, believed we were detouring to France on our way to London for a bit of sightseeing. The fact that they actually believed the lie made me question whether they were really the best group of people to be governing UNITED. Of course, they didn’t know that Victoria’s brother had provided us with credible intel, in his mind at least, that both Talia and Anya were in Nice.

The seaside town was quiet and peaceful when we arrived, save the hordes of Talented already on the docks.

“What’s going on there?” Henri asked, pointing to the line of over a hundred men, women, and children.

“A lot of Talented are relocating already,” Frederick told his boyfriend in a low voice. “They know their chances in the lottery aren’t good, so they are immigrating to countries they believe will be tolerant even if the treaty is overturned, like the U.S. and England.”

We’d arrived in an unmarked heli-hover, but the refugees still seemed to guess that we were with UNITED. Many of them began pointing excitedly in our direction, anticipating that we were there to help with the evacuation. The emotion pouring off of the crowd was a suffocating mix of hope and desperation.

Penny drew in a sharp breath and stumbled as our team filed onto the tarmac. Brand reached over to steady her.

“Just concentrate on blocking them,” I sent her.

“It feels wrong. We have spots on the islands, the least I can do is feel their pain and empathize with their misery,” Penny sent back.

“You can’t, Penny. That much depression is crippling. And right now, we need you at your best. Talia needs you at your best.”

With Brand’s help, Penny stood up straighter. Steely determination shone in her lime irises, and she nodded.

A man in a black pinstriped suit approached our group. He saluted, remaining rigid as we all returned the gesture.

“At ease, son,” Miles told the newcomer.

“I am Agent Nadir, British Intelligence. Hans Walburton has asked that I escort you all around Nice. I am at your disposal and would like to help in any way possible.” The man’s dark eyes turned sympathetic. “I have heard a great deal about Natalia Lyons and her work against the Poachers. A close friend of mine was a victim of the Poachers. He is free now, but he still has nightmares about his time in captivity. Anyone willing to fight against such an organization is a friend to me.”

“Thank you,” I told him.

“Right. Well, I think some of us are going to start by talking to the harbormaster,” Miles replied.

Agent Nadir became uneasy. “You plan to split up, sir? I was told you would be operating as a team.”

“And we are team. A team that will cover a lot more ground if we divide and conquer,” Miles answered.

After the meeting in Victoria’s office, the councilwoman and Crane had agreed that the best course of action was to send Henri, Fredrick, Miles, Brand, Penny, and me to Nice to follow the tip from her brother. I’d wanted to leave immediately, but Crane thought that if word of UNITED’s presence in Nice got back to Talia and Anya they might leave before we landed. He argued that giving them time to settle in would create a sense of security. Of course, that was assuming that Nice was their final destination, at least until they left for London. Because I was positive that Talia was ultimately headed to London.

I was also positive that we wouldn’t find Talia in Nice, no matter what Hans Walburton thought. But Talia hadn’t reached out to me again, and I’d been unable to contact her. So, with my only other options being to wait on Eden or head to London, I’d conceded to the mission. At least going to France made me feel like I was doing something productive to locate Talia, even if this venture proved a bust.

“Very good, sir,” Agent Nadir told Miles.

“Kid, you wanted to talk to the harbormaster with me, right?” Miles asked, addressing me.

“Definitely,” I said.

I doubted that the two girls the man had seen were actually Talia and Anya. Yes, the descriptions matched my girlfriend and her coconspirator, but that didn’t mean much in my opinion. Since Talia’s escape, UNITED’s tip line had been flooded with false leads and dead ends. Considering the news of her disappearance was limited to trusted law enforcement officials and UNITED informants, I was amazed by the number of calls and messages.

“Brand and I will come with you guys,” Penny announced.

The look of concern Brand shot his girlfriend made me shake my head and refuse her offer. Even with her mental shields in place, Penny was still bothered by the mass of refugees. Too bothered to concentrate on the task at hand.

“I think you two and Henri should start canvassing local businesses,” I told her. “Agent Nadir can help with that. A lot of the cafes and such should be opening about now. Show their pictures around; see if anyone remembers either Anya or Talia. Search people’s memories for images of both just to be certain. Frederick, Miles, I will speak with the harbormaster, and then do the same.”

Reluctantly, Penny agreed to the plan. She pulled up a map of the town on her communicator and we divvied up the shops between our two teams before parting ways.

“Oh, and make sure you modify the memories of anyone you speak to so that they can’t tipoff the girls if they see them again,” Miles called after Penny and the others.

“No.” I shook my head. “It would better if you suggest they tell Talia you or I are looking for her. If she knows we’re here, and she is really here, she’ll come find us.”

“Got it. See you guys in a couple of hours,” Penny called back.

The harbormaster was a young guy named Martin with a scraggy beard, several facial piercings, and even more tattoos. Unfortunately, he also enjoyed a party lifestyle and was suffering an extreme hangover.

“Yeah, I saw those chicks,” Martin said from behind his incredibly cluttered desk. He leaned back in his chair and yawned. Squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming through the dusty blinds, he reached behind him and touched a switch on the wall to close them.

“Yesterday morning, right? About what time?” I asked.

Miles, Frederick, and I were standing opposite Martin, partially because there was nowhere to sit and partially to impart that this was not a social visit. We wanted answers, and we wanted them quickly. Had it not been physically painful to be inside Martin’s head, I would have dispensed with the question and answer route and just pulled the information from his mind. But one quick peek inside his muddled thoughts was enough. It had felt like icepicks were being jabbed in both of my temples.

Martin blew out an alcohol-laced breath that made me queasy. “Early. Like wicked early. Maybe six a.m.? Nah, probably a little later. The sun was up. Yeah. The sun was totally up. So probably closer to like eight.”

I glanced at my companions. Talia had left her cell around one in the morning. The pods had deployed at 1:37 a.m. Six hours to reach Nice seemed excessive. Those pods traveled pretty damned fast. This furthered my assumption that the two girls Martin had seen were not Talia and Anya.

“Tell us again what the girls looked like,” Miles said.

“Like I told Hans, they were both skinny chicks. One was hella scary. She was all fierce and pissed off looking.”

“Which one?” I interjected, though I was pretty sure I knew.

“The pretty one,” Martin said decisively.

“Which one was the pretty one?” Frederick demanded, sounding as frustrated as I felt.

If this kept up, I was going to have to suck it up and dive back inside Martin’s head.

Martin scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know. She was real pretty. Though it sorta looked like she’d been on a three-day bender, you know? Big black circles under her eyes. Oh, snap.” The harbormaster snapped his fingers. “Green eyes. She had these big, green eyes, looked like they belonged in a ring or something. That was the pissed off one.”

Anya. Interesting. She was definitely pretty, but compared to Talia, well, there was no comparison in my mind. My girlfriend was gorgeous. Maybe I was bias.

“Really?” Frederick sounded shocked. His response had more to do with the pissed off descriptor than the attractiveness factor. “What about the other girl? What was she like?”

Martin shrugged and drank from a large mug of reheated coffee on his desk. “Kinda quiet? She didn’t say much. She just followed the other girl around. The pretty one did all of the talking. She wanted to know where they could rent a hover.”

“Wait, you actually spoke to the girls?” I asked.

“Yeah. Like I told Hans—at least, I think that’s what I told him. Memory’s a little foggy sometimes, if you catch my drift?” Martin grinned impishly.

I wanted to smack some sense into him. The guy was a moron.

“Yeah, we understand you loud and clear,” Miles replied, revulsion rolling off of him in waves. He got out his communicator and pulled up two pictures, one of Talia and one of Anya. He angled the screen towards Martin. “Are these the girls you saw?”

Martin nodded. “Totally. That’s totally them.”

“Okay, so you spoke to Talia and Anya, right? They wanted to know where to rent a hover? Did they say where they were going?” I demanded, putting a little something extra behind my question to speed along this painfully slow process.

“Nah. Oh, but they wanted one with long-range capabilities. Not like a rec hover. Something sturdier. I sent them to the rental shop on Canal. It’s only like a mile walk.” Martin gulped more of the burnt black coffee.

Miles turned to me. “Anything else, kid?”

I gritted my teeth and prepared my mind for the onslaught of pain that was about to come. Just as I’d predicted, being inside of Martin’s head felt as I imagined being inside of a blender would feel. Blades seemed to be slicing and dicing my brain as though wielded by a master chef. My thoughts became jumbled and incoherent. Images that I couldn’t un-see invaded my mind: Martin doing body shots off the stomach of a girl in desperate need of a shower; Martin engaging in some incredibly kinky acts with twins who, in his mind, looked just like Anya; Martin waking up in the morning with the worst case of cotton mouth known to man.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and waded through the muck in search of images of the real Anya and my girlfriend. Even though Martin had confirmed the two girls he spoke with were Talia and Anya based on their photos, I didn’t trust his judgment. I wanted to see the interaction firsthand.

Finally, I found the memory. Through Martin’s eyes, I saw Anya asking him about the hover rental. She did indeed look peeved. Though Martin had been more interested in those of Anya’s features that were below her chin, so I couldn’t get much of a read on her facial expressions throughout the short conversation. Behind Anya, Talia stood off to the side, partially obscured by the door to Martin’s office. Her chestnut curls hung over her face. Her arms were crossed over her chest protectively, and she was curled into herself as though uncertain.

With considerable effort, and tremendous relief, I separated from Martin’s mind.

“If you see either girl again, you will not tell them you spoke with us. If they ask, you have not been in contact with UNITED or Hans Walburton or any other intelligence agency. Do you understand?” I ordered.

Martin’s already glassy eyes became even glassier and unfocused under my command. He nodded slowly.

“You never saw us,” I said, just to reiterate the directive. Not having any experience manipulating chemically altered brains, I wasn’t sure how much was sinking in.

Miles, Frederick, and I left without so much as a goodbye. The harbormaster was snoring before we made it halfway down the dock towards the exit.

“I thought you wanted Talia to know you are looking for her?” Frederick asked once it was just the three of us.

“I do,” I said through clenched teeth. “But the girl with Anya wasn’t Talia.”

Miles and Frederick both stopped dead in their respective tracks. I kept going. We needed to meet up with Penny and the others ASAP.

“Kid, come on. Be serious,” Miles called. “You heard what Hans said about altered visions and energy field disruptions. I don’t completely understand how that all works, but it makes sense. I know you think Talia must be somewhere cold, but that might not be true. Besides, Martin identified Talia in the photo.”

I turned and started walking backwards. “I’m dead serious, Miles. I know Talia. That girl wasn’t my girlfriend. She looked just like her, but it wasn’t her. Hurry up. We have to find the others. And contact Crane and Victoria. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but it can’t be good.”

“Erik, I get that this is very difficult for you. You are under a lot of stress right now—”

I silenced Frederick with a glare. “I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you are. It’s just—”

“I know what I saw,” I snapped. “Trust me, Frederick. If you saw a guy that looked exactly like Henri, but his mannerisms were wrong and his demeanor didn’t fit with the guy who know, wouldn’t you know the difference?”

“I’d like to think so,” Frederick replied. “But how is there a girl running around that looks exactly like Talia? Does she have a secret twin?”

“Like Hans said, I don’t have all of the answers. I just know what I know. And I know the girl Martin saw with Anya was not Talia.” I blew out a long breath. “Now, please, let’s go find the others.”

Miles and Frederick thought I was finally succumbing to the mental instability caused by the creation drug. Nothing I said was going to change their minds, which was why I needed an ally. Once Penny saw the images I’d pulled from Martin’s addled brain, she would help argue my case.

“Where are you guys?” I sent Penny.

“Café Americano on Main. Why?”

“Stop making inquiries and wait there for us,” I replied.

“Is everything okay? What did the harbormaster tell you?” Penny asked.

“I’ll explain when I get there. I want everyone together so I don’t have to keep repeating myself.”

Penny’s response was hesitant. “Okay, we’ll see you soon.”

Penny, Brand, Henri, and Agent Nadir we crammed into a back booth at Café Americano when we arrived. I didn’t waste time with explanations just yet. Penny’s interpretation of the memory needed to be unbiased, otherwise no one was ever going to believe me.

“Look into my head, at the memories I read from the harbormaster’s mind. Tell me what you see,” I demanded, pulling a chair over to the end of the booth.

Miles and Frederick eased into the booth, both wearing identical skeptical expressions.

“Okay, what am I looking for exactly?” Penny asked.

“Just look and tell me what you see,” I repeated.

Penny closed her eyes and concentrated. I brought Martin’s memory to the forefront of my mind to make it easier for her to access.

“What a perv,” Penny muttered as she watched Martin talking to Anya. Then, she gasped and her eyes popped open. “What’s going on? Who is that girl? And why does she look exactly like Talia?”

I leaned back in my chair and grinned, satisfied. “That’s exactly what I’d like to know.”

“You’re sure it’s not Talia?” Frederick asked, still a little dubious but no longer outright skeptical.

“Positive,” Penny confirmed. “I mean, she looks just like Talia, enough to fool most people. Erik and I,” she gestured between us, “aren’t most people. The girl the harbormaster saw was insecure, uncertain. Does that sound like Talia to you guys? And letting Anya do all the talking?” Penny shook her head emphatically. “No way. Talia is used to being in control. She’d never have let Anya take the lead.” Expression turning thoughtful, she added, “But what does this mean?”

No one had an answer for that. Who was this Talia lookalike? And where had she come from? Who was she working for? How did Anya know her?

“I’ve got to call Ian. He’ll want to know about this,” Brand said, rising from the table and stepping outside where it was quieter.

“So will Victoria,” Miles added. He didn’t move. “Do we want Victoria to know about this?”

I trusted Victoria Walburton as much as I trusted any politician, maybe a smidgen more if I were being honest. And the councilwoman had been sincere when she spoke about keeping Talia safe. She’d also agreed to hand Talia over to Crane to hide, which further cemented my belief that she was on our side.

“Yeah, call her,” I decided.

Miles nodded and rose. He joined Brand outside to make his call.

“What should we do now?” Penny asked. “Go back to the islands? Go to London? Stay here and find the doppelgänger?”

“Let’s talk to the hover rental people,” Henri said, automatically assuming the role of leader.

He was used to being in charge, which was fine by me. I needed time to think, time to process, and time to come to terms with something I didn’t want to consider.

“Sound good to you, Erik?” Henri asked, pulling me out of my own head.

“Let’s do it,” I said.

The manager of the hover rental dealership was unlocking the front doors when we arrived. Unlike the harbormaster, Mr. Kempf, the manager, was actually French and spoke very little English. Luckily Henri knew enough French to get us through the conversation.

Mr. Kempf had not been on duty when Anya and the fake Talia came in, but he was eager to help and had no qualms about relaying the transactions details to us. I didn’t even have to compel him either. Anya had been smart, renting the hover under an assumed name. She probably hadn’t counted on me remembering her mother’s maiden name, or Anya’s own middle name, which was the alias she’d chosen. Or maybe she had. I was no longer certain of anything.

According to the dealership’s records, Lauren Caputo rented a black Y-90 Mizuto hover capable of going up to five hundred miles without recharging. She was scheduled to return the vehicle later that day at a drop-location near the French-Swiss border.

“What is near there?” Henri asked Mr. Kempf in French, a fact I knew since I’d fed him the question.

The manager contemplated the answer for several long moments, before finally answering in broken English. “Farms, I do think. There are a lot of cow farmers. That is all.”

“Cattle farms?” Penny sent me, furrowing her brow in confusion. “Does Anya have family out there?”

“Her immediate family lives in upstate New York, but I don’t know about her extended relatives. It’s possible,” I sent back.

Henri thanked Mr. Kempf for his help, and then Penny set about making sure the manager didn’t remember either our talk or the group of UNITED agents who’d paid him an early morning visit.

“Should we go to the drop-off location?” Frederick asked as we headed back to the docks, where we’d left our unmarked hover.

“We might want to call in reinforcements,” Brand spoke up. “Something about all of this doesn’t add up.”

“I agree,” I added. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“Erik,” Penny began timidly.

“Don’t,” I warned before she could continue any further down her current thought path.

“But doesn’t it seem likely—” she started.

“I don’t know, Penny,” I growled. Running a hand through my hair, I sighed. “I don’t know what is likely anymore. None of this makes any sense. All that I am sure of is this: The girl with Anya isn’t Talia. That means Talia isn’t in France. She probably never was.”

We reached the docks. The line of Talented waiting for passage out of France was longer than it had been hours before. People were haggling with pod and hover owners, bargaining for use of the vehicles so that they could get to the States, England, and several island nations known for their tolerance of our kind.

“It’s your call, kid,” Miles said to me. “Either we go to this BFE town and look for Anya and the imposter, or we head back to the islands.” He considered what he’d just said. “Or, I guess we go to London. Since you’re so sure your girlfriend is headed there.”

“I can continue to make discrete inquiries here, if you like,” Agent Nadir offered. He’d been fairly quiet up to this point, acting as more of a tour guide than anything.

All eyes turned to me, expect for Penny’s, which were lingering on the ever-growing crowd of refugees.

“London,” I said decisively. I turned to Agent Nadir. “Thank you for your help. If you wouldn’t mind updating Hans if you hear anything new that would be great. But don’t make inquiries. This just got a whole lot more complicated.”

“Of course. As I said, I would like to help Natalia Lyons in any way possible.” Agent Nadir offered me his hand, which I shook.

“Thank you,” I repeated. Turing to Miles, I gave my next order. “Call Victoria. Give her an update, and tell her we’re headed for London. Have her send a team to that drop-off location near the border.” I caught Penny’s eye. She nodded gravely, already knowing what I was going to say next. “Tell her Anya Pritcher might be a double agent.

Talia

Pelia Island

Two Days Before the Vote

After the fax Jeb received, I’d been ready to leap out of bed and hunt down Kip immediately. NS was coming for me. Whoever he or she was, I didn’t want to be around to find out. Emma had insisted that we wait, however.

The fax sender wanted confirmation from Jeb that I was indeed on Pelia. And Emma thought we could send back a denial, supposedly from her father, and ask for the source behind the rumor of my presence. Since I was insanely curious about who had reported my arrival, I agreed to her plan.

Between the two of us, we were able to alter Jeb’s memory of receiving the fax and compel him to sleep. Then, we scribbled out the response, along with our request.

Since fax machines were not modern devices, I left the actual transmission of the document in Emma’s hands. We waited up all night for a reply. But never received one.

I whittled away the hours with repeated attempts to contact Erik. There too, I struck out. Though I did succeed in making myself pass out three more times, much to Emma’s chagrin. Each time she shook me back to consciousness, Emma shoved food into my hands and demanded I eat to replenish the calories I was stupidly burning in my fruitless attempts.

Just before sunrise, Emma finally agreed to go in search of Kip. And because we didn’t want Jeb receiving a response to the fax we’d sent the mysterious NS, we unplugged the machine. To be safe, I wanted to fry its antiquated insides, but neither of us possessed electrical manipulation abilities, so that was out.

Ross, Jeb, and Andromeda were sound asleep when Emma and I crept out of her house.

Finding Kip was easy, since he worked the morning fishing shift.

“You must be the new arrival everyone is gabbing about,” Kip said to me after giving Emma a lopsided grin. He removed one large rubber glove and offered me his hand. “Vester Ozolos, but everyone calls me Kip,” he said by way of introduction.

“Talia Lyons,” I replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same.” Kip turned to Emma. “What’s got you out of bed and down at the cliffs so early?”

Emma glanced guiltily at me. She was having second thoughts about asking Kip to take me to London. I didn’t blame her, not after what had happened to his father. But the trip would be a quick there and back for him. It would also save me the trouble of navigating my way across the ocean, seeing as that hadn’t gone so well for me the last time.

“Can we talk somewhere private?” Emma asked Kip, her voice low.

Kip’s grin split his handsome face and his light almond-shaped eyes twinkled mischievously. He reminded me so much of Erik in that moment that my heart felt as though it were being ripped in two.

Soon. You’ll see him so soon.

I didn’t know whether that was true, but I had to hold on to the hope that it was. Otherwise, I’d go insane.

“Why Emma Montague, what would old Jeb say about his baby girl going off into the woods with some ruffian?” Kip waggled his finger. “He’d strap a chastity belt on you faster than—”

“Not alone,” Emma interrupted, her cheeks the color of ripe tomatoes. “Talia is coming, too.”

Kip made a pouty face. “Shame.”

“Kip, be serious. We need a favor,” Emma said, tone grim.

This sobered Kip. “Yeah, okay, sure. Give me just a sec.”

Kip peeled off his other glove and tossed the pair of them on the ground next to a tackle box. “Hey, Rig, I’m taking ten. Cool?”

Another fisherman, presumably Rig, standing beside the table where other worker bees were busy measuring and gutting the fish, nodded absently.

Kip led Emma and I back up the path we’d taken to the cliffs and into the woods beyond. The trees near the forest edge were leafless and covered in a thick layer of ice. Deeper inside the woods, white and gray leaves clung to icy branches, shielding us from the rising sun. Beneath my boots, powdery snow crunched as we walked. We didn’t stop until we were far enough from the edge that there was no chance of a passerby seeing us.

“So, what’s up?” Kip asked, leaning against a thick tree truck and crossing his arms over his chest.

Emma looked to me. I cleared my throat, acutely aware of how arduous the favor I was about to ask truly was.

“I understand that you can teleport,” I stated flatly. No reason to beat around the bush. Either Kip would agree, or he wouldn’t. I had no intention of manipulating him if he declined to help. That just seemed wrong.

“I understand that you can read minds and force people to do your bidding,” he shot back, smiling despite the unease leaking off of him.

“Sure can,” I said, matching his smile with one of my own.

A branch cracked beneath Emma’s feet as she shifted uncomfortably.

“Now that we know what we’re all capable of, mind telling me why you two wanted a clandestine meeting in the woods?” Kip was no longer smiling, and I felt the moment realization dawned. “Where is it you need to go?”

“London,” I answered.

“When? There’s another storm coming. I don’t know if I’ll be able to take you after it starts,” Kip warned.

“I’m ready as soon as you are,” I told him.

To his credit, Kip didn’t shy away from the task. If anything, he seemed excited by the prospect of getting away from the island, even briefly. He tapped his index finger against his elbow as he complied a mental list of all of the things he’d need to do in preparation for the trip. Just as Emma had intimated, Kip needed a booster to break through the energy field. He also believed we’d need to go to the top of Mt. Tipper—whatever that was—in order to pull this off.

I remained silent, listening to Kip’s mental ramblings and trying not to think about the fax and NS. Admittedly, I wasn’t doing a stellar job at the latter task. I wanted to know the identity of NS. It might have been someone in UNITED. I wouldn’t have put it past the organization to put a bounty on my head. Still, that didn’t feel right for some reason.

“Alright. We can leave in an hour. Well, two by the time we reach the top of Mt. Tipper. But first we’ll need to stop by the school and borrow a booster,” Kip announced, pulling me away from my own thoughts. He eyed me critically. “I don’t suppose you have moral qualms with breaking and entering or stealing, do you?”

I laughed. “Hardly. Escaped convicts rarely worry about such trivial crimes.”

Kip’s eyebrows winged northward. “Escaped convict?”

“Is that going to be a problem?” I asked calmly. I wanted him to know the truth before he broke his society’s rules to help me. It was only fair.

“Not for me.”

“Good,” I replied.

At the edge of the woods, our little group parted ways. Kip returned to the cliffs to tell his boss that he wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t finish his shift. Emma and I went directly to the school.

“If you tell me where to go, you can stay out here and keep watch,” I offered, not wanting her to get in any more trouble than necessary on my account. Truthfully, I wanted her to go home. That way she could claim ignorance to the entire plan. But Emma was firm on staying with me until the end. She even planned to make the trip with Kip and I, but I wasn’t going to allow that.

“Keep your mind open. I can guide you to the supply closet in the nurse’s office. It’s pretty easy to find,” Emma replied.

I made quick work of the lock on the front door, disengaging the two halves with my telekinetic powers. Once inside, I followed the map in Emma’s head straight to the nurse’s office. The school was only one floor, so finding it would have been easy even without her help. The closet was also locked, and also extremely easy to open using my talents. Vials of substances I’d never heard of lined the shelves, everything from Cat’s Paw to Hydelophine.

Tachatrine. I read the word from Emma’s thoughts and located the booster easily—whoever had organized the drug supply had a bad case of OCD.

Since I wasn’t sure whether Kip would need to drink the concoction or inject it, I pocketed three syringes to be safe. By the time I finished my felonious acts, Kip had joined Emma by the front doors.

They were mid-argument when I slipped outside.

“You need me,” Emma was saying. “Mt. Tipper is on Hoya land. If you’re caught—”

“Which is why you need to stay here,” Kip shot back.

“I know this island better than you do. You need me,” Emma repeated, stomping her foot angrily.

“I’m guessing Hoya is another tribe?” I interrupted.

Both Kip and Emma turned, startled to find me listening to their bickering.

“Yes, it is,” Emma said through gritted teeth. “And they aren’t one of the friendlier ones. I am familiar with all of the trails on the mountain. I can make sure no one catches us trespassing.”

Crap. This just got a whole lot stickier.

I started having second thoughts about this plan. Throwing caution to the wind, morphing, and braving the storm seemed like the better way to go.

“Jeb is our leader, Emma. You are his daughter. If the Hoyas capture you,” Kip shook his head, frustrated, “it would be really bad.”

Neither Emma nor Kip actually knew what would happen if this other tribe captured us, but they were both convinced the punishment would be severe. Great. Why was everything so damned difficult?

“Look guys, you don’t need to do this. I can fly to London. I didn’t understand all the risks involved when I asked you to take me originally.”

“The famous Talia Lyons shying away from a challenge. That goes against everything we learned about you in school,” Kip said, the dare evident in his tone.

“Oh, I’m not worried about me. I can take care of myself. It’s you guys I worry about.” I hesitated. “I’m not even sure how safe you’ll be with me in London, even if you drop me off and return immediately.”

“That’s not an option. I won’t be able to teleport again right away, too much energy required. I’ll have to stay in London for, minimum, a couple of hours. Really I’m thinking more like a day.” Kip waved off the protest I was about to make. “Don’t worry. I won’t cramp your style. You can go off and do your thing. I’ll lay low at a café, maybe sightsee. I have always wanted to visit a big city.”

And the twists just kept coming. I rounded on Emma. “You should have told me that,” I said accusingly.

She shrugged. “You wouldn’t have agreed.” Her voice had a hard edge, at odds with the desperation I felt from her. “You don’t understand what it’s like here, Talia. We live in a tiny, closed-off society. It’s downright primitive. We learn about the ‘real world’ in school, but we never get the chance to be part of it. Right now, the biggest thing in our history since the discovery of the Talented is about to take place in London. And I am stuck on this stupid island. I just want to experience life. That’s why I told you about Kip in the first place. I knew you’d want to utilize his abilities.”

Emma was way more manipulative than I’d given her credit for, and not simply in the gifted sense.

“We’re wasting time,” I declared. “I know there is nothing I can say to make Emma stay behind, either on the trip up to Mt. Tipper or the one to London. So, I won’t waste my breath. If you have to stay in London for a couple of hours, well, I guess that’s how it has to be. You will stay with me, though. The city is extremely dangerous on a normal day. This close to the vote, it will be suicide for you two to wander around on your own. Those are my terms. No amendments, no arguments.”

“I’m in,” Kip said instantly.

“Me too,” Emma agreed, her relief palpable.

“Okay. Emma, lead the way,” I said before I gave too much more thought to mess I’d made of their lives.

“There is one thing I need to do first,” Emma said. She withdrew a folded piece of paper from her jacket pocket. “I want to leave this note for my dad. So he’ll know where I went. We can leave it in Andromeda’s healing cabin. She’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Yeah, okay,” I agreed.

The detour took all of ten minutes, and then we were off for Mt. Tipper.

The three of walked in silence. Emma and Kip were annoyed with each other. Emma because she thought Kip was treating her like a baby. Kip because he didn’t understand why Emma couldn’t understand that he only wanted to keep her safe. I filtered out their thoughts and tried to reach Erik yet again.

Unfortunately, the only thoughts in my head were my own. And they weren’t comforting. I had yet to choose an exact location in London for Kip to teleport us to. I didn’t know the city well enough to select a secluded spot. Walburton Manor would have been a good option, but it was too far from the actual city. With Emma and Kip along, I couldn’t just morph and fly the rest of the way. Victoria did have a bunch of hovers in her massive garage. Knowing her, the vehicles were alarmed, and stealing one would tip her off.

Just as I was wracking my memory for the name of that shady pub where I’d met Riley, one of Kenly’s friends, voices invaded my thoughts.

I grabbed ahold of Kip and Emma, who were walking on either side of me. They stopped abruptly, and I held a finger to my lips. In a voice barely above a whisper, I muttered, “Guards. Three of them. Fifty yards ahead. Let me go first. I’ll incapacitate them.”

My companions were skeptical, but they both nodded their agreement.

Alone, I crept silently through the woods, using the guards’ voices to guide me in the right direction. When I had them in sight, I locked onto their minds and prepared to order them to sleep.

“Talia!”

The scream was both inside my head and ringing in my ears. I whipped around in time to see six furry white objects dragging two people between them. Emma stumbled and fell to her knees. Kip reached for her, but one of the furry objects slapped him hard across the face with a huge paw. The boy tripped but recovered quickly, venom in his infuriated gaze when he met his attacker’s eyes.

I snapped into action, sprinting towards Emma, Kip, and their captors without any thought as to how I was going to help. Instinct born from my years of training kicked in. Using telekinesis, I ripped two heavy branches clean off of a tree near Emma and the others. I brandished them like clubs, smacking the two furry heads closest to my new friends. The captors released their respective grips on Emma and Kip.

“Run,” I screamed, still barreling towards the action.

Kip hauled Emma to her feet and together they headed in my direction. Behind me, the original three guards I’d heard were yelling words in a language I didn’t speak. I focused the tree branch weapons on the four people pursuing my friends, smacking them to the ground and slowing their advances.

“Where’s the boost?” Kip yelled, gasping for air.

“My pocket,” I shouted back.

“Talia, behind you!” Emma screamed.

Not bothering with makeshift weapons this time, I sent the guards trying to sneak up on me flying with one huge gust of power. I heard one moan and another curse as they landed off in the distance.

Two of the guards chasing Emma and Kip were on their feet again. When I went at them with my tree branches, the smaller of the two waved a hand to deflect the blows. She, at least I thought it was a woman, snarled and hissed jumbled insults. The only ones I understand were my name.

How did she know my name?

Something small and pointy was suddenly hurtling through the air, set on a collision course with my head. I swatted at the object with my mind.

Knife, I thought, as the object sailed harmlessly ten feet to my right. The blade sunk into the bark up to the hilt.

Out of nowhere, dozens of voices were thundering inside my head. Reinforcements, I realized with a stab of fear. We were about to be seriously outnumbered, and I had a feeling that Emma at least wasn’t a great fighter. I spared a second to gauge the closeness of the newcomers. One hundred yards and closing fast. Too fast. And not all of them were in human form.

More sharp objects were winging towards me from too many directions to count. I deflected them with my mind, hating being on the defensive when the only way I was going to win this battle was with a strong offense. Or, I could not play the game. Which was what I’d decided to do.

I made a decision.

“Take off your jacket, Kip,” I shouted, already fumbling in my pocket for the booster and syringe. I transferred the liquid to the hypodermic needle using my mind, since performing the stunt manually while running wasn’t feasible.

Kip didn’t hesitate. Feet still in motion, he shed his outer layers until only a thin thermal shirt remained. I sent a pointy object of my own catapulting through the woods. My target: Kip’s arm.

Kip and Emma were approximately twenty feet away from me when the syringe pierced his skin through the fabric of his shirt. He clung to Emma with one hand and extended the other towards me, but we were too far away for me to grab it just yet.

All around us, the woods were crawling with more Hoya tribesman in their white furry outfits. Arrows zipped through the air. Spears whistled. Rifles cracked. I summoned all of the power I could muster to halt the projectiles. Kip depressed the syringe’s plunger, and then threw the needle aside.

“Give me a location!” he bellowed.

The name of that stupid pub finally surface, and I blurted it out. “Pink Giraffe.”

Picturing the pub in my mind, I sent the images to Kip. I had no idea how his gift worked, but it was the only idea I had.

We were still five feet apart. So close. And yet so far.

The barrage of pointy objects was still converging on us. My strength was waning. I wasn’t going to be able to hold them off much longer. In one last-ditch effort for salvation, I sent a tsunami of power downward. The ground quaked violently. I dove for Kip and Emma. My fingers closed around Kip’s ankle as the earth beneath me split in two.

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Two Days Before the Vote

“What’s happening? What did you guys do?” Lyla’s frantic shouts from the level two observation deck were barely audible over the screeching siren filling the cavern.

Hands over her ears, Cressa tried to dampen the noise, to no avail. Both Daphne and Hartley were wide-eyed and terrified.

“Breach in the Observation Catacomb. Breach in the Observation Catacomb. All available personnel, please respond immediately. Breach in the Observation Catacomb. Breach in the Observation Catacomb.” The message played on repeat, the pleasant female voice at odds with the high-pitched shrieking of the alarm.

“Run!” Cressa screamed to Daphne and Hartley.

Without waiting for a response, she sprinted for the staircase. When Cressa reached the landing, she saw the twins and the Jacobs were already on the move. Taking the stairs two at a time, she reached the first floor landing before checking behind her to see if Hartley and Daphne were following. Hartley nearly collided with Cressa when she abruptly stopped. Daphne, who had much shorter legs, had yet to reach the second flight of steps.

“Save yourself,” Hartley shouted as he sped by Cressa.

Shooting furtive glances between Daphne and the entranceway, where Shyla’s ponytail was disappearing through the opening, Cressa was torn. Daphne was obviously the weak link, and would probably slow Cressa down. Still, she couldn’t leave the younger girl behind, even if it meant being caught herself.

“Come on, Daphne! We need to hurry,” Cressa called.

Still halfway between the first and second floor landings, Daphne leapt, attempting to take the remaining steps all at once. Her back foot left the stair at an odd angle, causing her ankle to twist. The little canary smacked the handrail with her hip. In horror, Cressa watched Daphne tumble over the side of the staircase, as if in slow motion.

“Daphne!” Cressa shrieked the girl’s name as she ran to the edge of the landing.

Like a rag doll, Daphne somersaulted ungracefully through the air, screaming like a banshee.

Cressa reached out instinctively, as if this were a movie and she might actually have a shot at snagging the other girl’s arm and saving the day. Unfortunately, this was real life. Daphne was falling too fast, and was too far away for Cressa to have a prayer of playing the hero.

You may not be a superhero, but you do have powers.

Concentrating all of her energy, just as Madame Gillis had taught her, Cressa reached for Daphne with her mind. The little canary’s tiny body continued to free-fall. Panicking, Cressa pushed harder, exerting so much energy that she started to sweat profusely, despite the cold draft in the air. Just as she was certain that Daphne was going to slam into the ground, the younger girl jerked violently. Her spine bowed to the point her legs were nearly above her little blonde bun. Stomach inches from the earth, Daphne came to an abrupt halt.

“Please be okay.” Repeating the phrase like a mantra, Cressa released her and raced down the last set of stairs. By the time she reached Daphne, her friend was on her hands and knees on the ground, dirt and tears streaking her cheeks.

Cressa knelt beside Daphne and gathered the little girl in to her arms. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” she cooed, just as her mother used to do when Cressa was a child.

Overhead, the sirens were still blaring. The ground vibrated beneath Cressa. Though she was unable to hear the pounding of the guards’ boots in the outside tunnel, she was sure that was what was causing the earth to rumble.

“Get her up. We need to go, unless you want to see the inside of one of those electric cages.”

Hartley, Cressa thought, relieved. Despite his callous warning to leave Daphne behind, he’d stayed to help them.

But the figure that emerged from the shadows beneath the staircase was too short to be Hartley. The golden wreath of hair encircling his head like a crown was also much different than Hartley’s close-cropped dark locks.

“Kev?” Cressa asked disbelievingly. She’d barely whispered his name, but the star nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah, it’s me. Hurry. They’re coming.”

Kev darted over and pulled Cressa to her feet, then Daphne. Still shaken from her fall, Daphne was too shocked to react to Kev’s sudden appearance. By unspoken agreement, Kev and Cressa each looped an arm around Daphne’s waist and dragged her towards the entranceway.

Peeking his head through the opening, Kev looked right and left. He swore under his breath.

“They’re here. We have one shot. Follow me.”

Nodding, Cressa helped Kev carry Daphne into the outer tunnel. There were no sirens out there, so Cressa was able to hear the guards rushing toward them from both sides, even though she had yet to see them.

Kev didn’t go far before stopping.

“Can you hold her on your own?” he asked Cressa.

“Yeah, I think so.” Readjusting to accommodate more of Daphne’s weight, Cressa nodded decisively. “Yeah, I’ve got her.”

Kev released his hold on Daphne and focused on the section of wall in front of them. Just like the entrance to the observation cavern, there were no obvious markings to indicate there was a secret entranceway before her.

He laid both his hands on the wall and pushed. The stone gave way under the combine efforts of his mental and physical strength, moving several inches inward.

The shouts and footfalls of the guards grew louder.

Cressa’s heart was racing faster than a Kentucky Derby winner. One of those electric cages had Cressa’s name on it already—she just knew it.

Kev gave the door another hard shove. With a groan, the stone slab retreated a full foot this time. He grabbed Daphne roughly by the arm and forced her through the opening. The little girl whimpered, but didn’t fight him.

“Go,” Kev insisted.

You don’t need to tell me twice, Cressa thought, sliding sideways through the doorway.

Kev was much broader than Cressa or Daphne, and didn’t fit quite so well in the small space. He got stuck when he tried to wedge himself through the opening.

Cressa met his penetrating gaze, alarm flashing in both their eyes.

“Just go,” Kev told her. “Run straight, until the tunnel dead-ends. Then, take a right. Pass the first three turnoffs, then you’ll take another right. That will dump you in the tunnel that connects to your floor. Got it?” He spoke so rapidly that Cressa had a hard time understanding his instructions. But that wasn’t the only reason she hesitated.

Kev could have run earlier. He probably would have already been safe and sound back in his own bed, far away from the tunnels and the guards. Yet, he hadn’t. Not only had he likely saved Daphne’s life, he’d stayed to make sure both girls made it out of the observation catacombs.

“No,” Cressa said decisively. She grabbed ahold of Kev’s arm and tried to pull him inside the tunnel with her.

Wincing, Kev twisted and turned to no avail. “Please, just go,” he pleaded with Cressa.

She considered it, but again refused to repay his acts with cowardice.

Switching her focus to the partially open stone door, Cressa took a deep breath and concentrated on moving the slab with her mind. A sharp stab of pain shot through her head, and her brain felt like her legs usually did after running the mile in gym class. Ignoring her own fatigue and discomfort, Cressa focused harder. She could do this.

It was like she was back in the exam room, except failure carried much steeper penalties. There wouldn’t be another chance. From the noise in the tunnels, she knew the guards were nearly upon them. Only the many twists and turns in the passageway had kept them from seeing Kev thus far. But as soon as the first of the Dame’s men rounded the bend, he’d be caught.

“I can do this,” Cressa grunted.

With one last shove that made her entire body shake from exertion, the stone moved just enough for Kev to wiggle the rest of the way through. To Cressa’s surprise, the door sprang shut behind him, plunging the trio into utter darkness.

The stone walls were thick, drowning out the sound of the guards on the other side. Cressa could only hear her own beating heart and Kev’s panting.

Exhausted, Cressa leaned against the tunnel wall, letting the cold stone cool her sweaty skin. For several long moments, no one spoke, all three contemplating how close they’d come to being the Institute’s newest PDs.

Finally, Daphne broke the silence.

“Thank you, both of you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet still echoed in the passage.

Cressa’s eyes began adjusting to the darkness, and she was able to make out the silhouettes of the other two. Daphne was ashen, clearly still shaken from her near-fatal accident. When she took Cressa’s hand, Daphne’s was damp with perspiration and trembling.

“Thank you,” Cressa replied pointedly, understanding that Daphne must have been the one to close the door.

“Oh, well, it’s the least I could do.” Daphne giggled nervously. “I sort of lost it out there. If you two hadn’t been there…. Like I said, it’s the least I could do.”

Cressa found Kev in the darkness. He was bent at the waist, rubbing his ribs with one hand. “Why were you there?” she asked accusingly.

“Huh? Oh, you mean in that freak show of a room?” Kev shrugged. Even in the dark tunnel, Cressa could see the smirk that melted so many hearts. “I like to look around at night—been doing it since I arrived. I knew Hartley and his lackeys were out for a stroll, so I decided to follow. You know, see if they’d discovered stuff that I hadn’t. I saw you guys go in to that observation room, and I followed you.”

“Good thing you did.” Cressa glanced sideways at Daphne. “Really good thing.”

“Yeah, those guys are jerks,” Daphne added. She was clearly trying to sound annoyed, but her voice shook when she spoke.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Kev replied. “Hartley’s the worst, and the other two are just idiots. All three of them have been trying to cozy up to me since I arrived. Hartley even ratted on his former roommate to make sure there would be a vacancy when I advanced, so we would live together.”

“What? Really?” Cressa had sort of liked Hartley. His beliefs were a little too radical for her taste, but at least he hadn’t reveled in the sources’ suffering like the Jacobs.

“Yeah,” Kev confirmed. “His old roommate was the one who discovered the tunnels in the first place. One night when he went exploring, Hartley reported him to Gregor. The kid was dismissed immediately.”

“Did he become a PD?” Daphne asked.

Kev nodded. “Yep. Didn’t you guys have a demonstration today in class? Like where you saw an 8P take his advancement exam?”

Daphne and Cressa exchanged glances, then nodded in unison.

“Figured as much. So did we, and the PD used in ours was Hartley’s old roommate. Man, I hope that rat gets caught. It would serve him right.” Kev sighed. “Look, we aren’t in the clear yet. We need to get back to our beds before the guards go searching the dorms. I can get you back to your floor, but you’re on your own from there.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Cressa agreed.

It seemed Kev knew the tunnels better than Hartley and his friends. Even without the added advantage of a flashlight or the lamps, which apparently didn’t connect to the same switch that Daphne had turned on earlier, Kev knew the location of every crack, root, and low-hanging section of ceiling.

The walk back took three times as long as the walk there.

“There are several hidden passages way that would get us back faster,” Kev explained. “But I don’t think any of us are up for using telekinesis to open the doorways. We need to save what little energy we have to open the entrances to our floors.”

“Do you think the Dame has sent Leslie and Gregor to do bed-checks?” Cressa asked. “If so, I vote for taking our chances down here. One of these tunnels must lead to the kitchen, if not an exit.”

“No, we need to at least try making it back,” Daphne replied. “Gracia told me that a while back, a group of cadets was caught sneaking out of bed to explore down here. The Dame didn’t want the whole school knowing about the tunnels, so she just sent her guards down here to smoke them out. Like, literally smoke them out. According to Gracia, they pumped knockout gas through the ventilation system. The kids passed out, and then guards just wandered around until they found their unconscious bodies.”

“And you couldn’t have told me this before I agreed to come along?” Cressa groaned.

The younger girl shrugged. “I didn’t want to scare you off. The other girls are all pretty nasty to me, always making snide comments because I’m so much younger than the rest of you, and because Gracia is my sister. You’re the only one who has been nice to me.”

Cressa thought back over the conversations between Daphne and the other 2P girls. The twins had made several rude remarks aimed at the little canary. Then again, the twins were just sort of brats. Daphne wasn’t their only target; they made fun of everyone. So far, Cressa hadn’t found herself on the receiving end of their bitchiness, though she knew it was only a matter of time. And she didn’t doubt they traded jokes about Cressa behind her back.

“This is you guys, up here on the left,” Kev said, interrupting her musings.

Cressa’s gaze followed the direction he was pointing. There was no obvious opening, just a wall of smooth stone.

“Are you sure?” Cressa’s eyes darted around the tunnel. It didn’t look like the spot where they’d entered the passage—the bizarre light panel was no where in sight.

“Pretty sure. I watched a few 2P girls go through here a couple of weeks ago. There is definitely a door there, anyhow.”

Cressa scrutinized the section of wall, which appeared identical to the rest of the tunnel. “How can you tell where the doors are?”

Kev grinned. “Look harder. Like, really hard. Give into your senses.”

Cressa did as she was told, unsure what she was supposed to see.

Daphne gasped. “Holy sea urchin. I see it.” Tenderly, as if worried the stone might crumple beneath her touch, Daphne ran her fingers down a section of the wall. “It’s so pretty,” she added.

Staring at the wall until her eyes began to water from the effort of not blinking, Cressa concentrated with all of her might. Slowly—very slowly—the stone began to glow faintly. The longer Cressa stared, the brighter the surface became, until she was finally able to see the outline of a doorway. Instead of the drab, gray wall, the stone was a deep, rich iridescent blue.

“Now that you see it, you won’t be able not to,” Kev told her with a faint smile. “I think it has something to do with the serum they injected us with. In addition to giving us talents, it heightens our natural senses and allows us to see colors outside the normal visible spectrum.” He tapped his temple. “You just have to know how to use your new eyesight correctly.”

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Daphne asked. “Did they teach you about it at movie star school?”

Kev laughed. “That’s a record. We’ve been hanging out for like thirty minutes, and that is your first mention of my former life.”

Daphne blushed, and Cressa realized she could suddenly see the other girl’s face perfectly.

Kev was right, she thought, now that I’ve tapped into my superhero eyesight, the world is in much sharper focus.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Kev said kindly. “It’s nice, you know? Even here, where they are remaking people into the Dame’s image of perfection, I still get treated like a celebrity. But yes, actually, I did learn about this stuff at ‘movie star school.’ On set, a lot of my stunt doubles were Talented. I spent a lot of time with people who could see, hear, and feel things that I can’t—well, couldn’t. I figured they must have better senses, in addition to cool powers. So, after I was injected the first time, I gave it whirl. Sure enough, the world looks very different through Talented eyes.”

Cressa wanted to hear more; she’d never met a Talent in real life, and knew nothing about their abilities beyond what the Institute told her. Madame Gillis had said that their new powers were much more complex than they seemed. At the time, Cressa hadn’t truly understood what she meant. Moving objects with her mind was not exactly simple after all. But with Kev’s explanation in her head, odd little things that Cressa had experienced over the last month made more sense—like the smell in the classroom when Sir Tate met Gracia.

Fear, Cressa realized. She’d smelled Sir Tate’s fear. Or maybe it had been anxiety? She wasn’t sure. Either way, the fact that she was able to perceive the emotions of others via scent was pretty freaking cool.

“Look, you guys really should go,” Kev said. “I need to get back, too. I’ll wait until you’re through. If guards are waiting on the other side of the door,” he grinned that heart-stopping smile at Cressa, “we’ll go with your plan b, and see how long we can live in these tunnels.”

Cressa beamed, strangely unconcerned about what awaited her in the atrium with Kev Leon’s attention focused on her. She turned to Daphne, and the momentary carefree feeling evaporated. “Ready?”

Nodding, Daphne pressed her palm to the door, which Cressa was still able to see with startling clarity. Together, the girls shoved the stone slab aside. With a muttered goodnight to Kev, Daphne and Cressa crept into the atrium, sealing the passageway behind them.

Only, this door did not lead to the massive foyer by the elevator.

“Carpet bombs, we’re in a shower stall,” Daphne mumbled. Cressa had to suppress the urge to laugh at the younger girl’s weird slangs for profanity.

The lights in the bathroom were off, but there was no mistaking the slick blue and white tile of the shower stall.

“Cadet Lupo claims Karmine was in her bed when she fell asleep.”

Cressa froze at the sound of Leslie’s voice. Daphne slipped her cool, clammy fingers between Cressa’s and squeezed.

“Take her to interrogation. Don’t push her, just find out what she knows. The Dame is furious. She wants to get to the bottom of this right now.”

Cressa recognized the second voice as well; it belonged to Madame Gillis. She looked down at Daphne, both girls holding their breaths as they waited to hear more.

“She’s barely been on this floor for a day, so how did Karmine know about the tunnels?” Leslie wanted to know.

“Hopefully Lupo can tell us that. If not, one of the others will, though they won’t be awake for a few hours,” Madame Gillis replied. “Are we missing any other 2P girls?”

“I still have one more room to check, ma’am. So far, Karmine is the only one unaccounted for.”

So they don’t know about Daphne, Cressa thought.

Bending down so her lips were directly beside Daphne’s ear, Cressa said, “I have an idea. You’re pretty good with invisibility, right?”

Daphne nodded tentatively.

“Okay, good. Use that, and try to make it back to your room before Leslie gets there. It doesn’t sound like she knows you’re gone. Can you do that?”

Again, Daphne nodded. “What about you?” she squeaked.

“Don’t worry about me. Just get back to your room.”

“I don’t want to leave you, Cressa. You saved my life down there.”

Cressa smiled sadly. “No, I tried to save your life. I think it was Kev who actually gets the heroism credit. He’s the one who stopped you from falling. I wasn’t strong enough. Now, please, go.”

She gave Daphne a little shove to get her going. Daphne looked as though she was going to put up a fight. The next words that drifted back to them from the hallway outside the bathroom broke her resistance.

“If we don’t find Karmine soon, we will have to scan the minds of all the girls, to find out what they know. Check the Beaumont sisters’ room, then report back. I will see how Cadet Ivan is making out on the boys’ floors.”

“Good luck,” Daphne mouthed over her shoulder.

Cressa heard a faint pop, and then there was only a shimmering light where the younger girl had stood just an instant before. The shower door eased open soundlessly as the invisible Daphne slid through, and Cressa caught it before it closed again.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted to ten, giving Daphne enough time to make it across the bathroom to the exit. Then, she darted over to the next shower stall and started peeling off her filthy pajamas.

Once Cressa was standing in nothing more than a pair of white granny panties, she took a deep breath and set her plan into action.

As she stuck her finger down her own throat, she recalled the images of the frog pond and source stables. The pit of revulsion in her stomach made the unpleasant task easier to perform. Eyes watering and nose running, Cressa began to heave. This time, she didn’t swallow the bile that rose in her throat.

Sickness splashed the tiles. The sight of her own vomit made Cressa’s stomach heave harder. She coughed and sputtered, spewing more grossness onto the shower floor.

“Did you hear that?” Madame Gillis asked.

Two sets of shoes clapped against the bathroom tile as Madame Gillis and Leslie rushed to investigate the noise. Cressa threw up one last time, for good measure.

“Who is in here?” Madame Gillis demanded.

“M-m-me,” Cressa stuttered, pushing open the shower door so that they could see her. She hugged herself to cover her nakedness. “I’m sorry. I think I’m having a delayed reaction to my injection. Or maybe it’s food poisoning.”

Both Madame Gillis and Leslie stepped back as the stench hit them. Cressa’s dirty clothes, a visible sign of her guilt, were at her feet, covered in the mostly-digested contents of her dinner.

Madame Gillis covered her nose with her hand, making her voice sound very nasally when she spoke. “We had best get you to med bay, so Dr. Masterson can look you over. Cadet Abbot will escort you.”

“Can I rinse off first?” Cressa asked. “I got sick all over my clothes.”

“Quickly,” Madame Gillis replied. “I’ll wait right here while you do.” She turned to Leslie. “Fetch Cadet Karmine a fresh pair of pajamas, then check on Cadet Beaumont.”

Leslie left without comment, eager to escape the smell and sight of Cressa.

“Rinse off, but hurry, child.” With those terse words, Madame Gillis closed the shower door.

At her boarding school, there had been very few acceptable reasons for missing class. Vomiting had been the only surefire way to skip. Cressa had never tried the stick-her-finger-down-her-throat trick before that night, but she’d seen other girls do it plenty of times.

As Cressa turned on the water, she smiled. Her ridiculous plan had worked. A night in med bay and a raw throat were small prices to pay.

Especially when the alternative was an electric cage.

Erik

London, England

Two Days Before the Vote

The Palace Hotel in Kensington was fit for royalty. Probably because it had once been a royal palace. It had long since been converted into a luxury hotel, with only the most elite clientele. Thanks to Victoria, my friends and I were included in that exclusive group. Of course Victoria hadn’t chosen The Palace for its premiere restaurants, five person Jacuzzi soaking tubs, 2000 thread-count sheets, or in-room amenities packages. No, she’d chosen it for its unparalleled security detail. For my last peace rally, I had already been booked in the Queen Maud suite, the nicest and most expensive room The Palace had to offer. The staff was only too happy to amend my reservation to accommodate my early arrival. And since the suite was three levels, included six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, and two kitchens—‘cause that was necessary—Miles, Frederick, Henri, Penny, and Brand each had his or her own bedroom. Or they would have, had they wanted it. At my insistence, Henri and Frederick took the master bedroom. Penny and Brand elected to share the slightly smaller Antiqua room. Miles and I chose the Charlotte and Balmoral rooms respectively.

I was lying on my bed, hands folded behind my head, attempting to contact Talia. So far, the chore was just that, a chore. I’d been so sure that she would be in London, so sure that once there I would be able to talk to her. In France, when we’d learned the girl traveling with Anya wasn’t Talia, I’d felt vindicated, messed up as that was. I hadn’t even given more than cursory thought to the identity of the imposter, when she replaced Talia—because the girl who’d escaped from Vault with Anya was Talia—or whether the doppelgänger was part of the larger plan. Worse, I didn’t really care. All that mattered was Talia.

Conjuring an image of her beautiful heart-shaped face, I pushed my telepathy as far as I could, exerting so much energy that sweat pooled in every crevice. Every inch of my body ached down to the marrow of my bones. Nothing. I couldn’t feel her. Plea after plea for her to just answer me went unanswered.

A knock sounded on my bedroom door. Penny. I ignored her. Nothing she had to tell me was important enough to stop trying to reach Talia.

“Erik! Stop! You’re going to fry your brain!” Penny screamed inside my head. When I continued to ignore her, Penny tried to compel me. We were evenly matched. The mental tug-of-war that followed was epic. Every time Penny pushed her will on me, I pushed back with all the force I possessed.

My brain felt as though it were being ripped in two. Conflicting thoughts warred with one another, fighting for dominance. The muscles in my arms and legs began to seize, followed a second later by the ones in my back and stomach. Then, my entire body was convulsing. Alternating black spots and starburst of light exploded behind my close eyes, blotting out portions of Talia’s face in my mind’s eye. It only made me angrier, and I fought harder.

Distantly, I was aware of the bedroom door bursting open.

“Shit. Henri! Get a medic!” Strong hands gripped my shoulders and started shaking me. Wait, no, not shaking me. I was already shaking. The hands, Frederick’s hands, were holding me down.

“What do we do?”

Miles, I thought, recognizing his voice.

“Break the connection!” Henri this time. “Brand, get the med kit. We can’t wait for the medics. We need to knock one or both of them out. Now.”

“Penny. Penny. Come back to me.” Brand was sobbing. I wanted to tell him that it was okay, but I lacked the motor skills. Bile rose in my throat. Frederick forced me onto my side.

“Miles! Go!” Henri again, giving orders like the seasoned leader he was.

I couldn’t hold in the sickness any longer. Vomit erupted from my mouth. In my head, Penny’s shrill scream was enough to make my ears feel as though they were bleeding.

“Where?” I heard Miles ask.

Where what? I wondered, continuing to expel the coffee and toast I’d consumed earlier.

The prick of the needle barely registered. I felt my grip on consciousness loosening. My muscles relaxed.

“I can’t believe that worked,” a girl’s voice said inside my head.

“No,” I moaned aloud.

“Give him another dose,” Frederick ordered.

Images of a pub materialized in my head. Another pinch on the side of my neck.

“No, no more,” I protested weakly. Her name was a slur on my lips. “Talia.”

The world faded to black.

I woke with a start, heading pounding, throat raw and aching.

“Not so fast, kid.”

I’d tried to sit up, but Miles forced me back down with a gentle shove. He forced a straw between my cracked lips.

“Drink,” he ordered.

Feeling as weak as a toddler with the flu, I obeyed. It wasn’t water, but something thick and foul tasting.

“Drink,” Miles repeated.

I swallowed several large gulps before batting the cup away. This time, when I tried to sit up, Miles let me. The room spun. I was determined, though, and I willed the feeling away. Mostly. Letting out a shaky breath, I leaned against the ornate headboard, closed my eyes, and counted to ten. When I opened my eyes, the room was dark but stationary.

“What is that shit? It’s nasty,” I groaned.

Miles, sitting in a chair he’d pulled beside the bed, shot me a wry look. “Vita shake. Frederick says it has nutrients that will help restore your strength.” The older agent eyed me critically. “Which you’re going to need, seeing as you blew your fuse. The girlie’s, too.”

“Blew my fuse?” I asked, the words feeling like gravel in my throat.

“Yeah. Frederick says you two were locked in some sort of battle of wills? Hell, I don’t understand it. But he says you guys were giving off so much power that it’s a miracle people aren’t knocking on the suite door. You know, the people who can feel Talents? He says that much power is like a homing beacon.”

“It is.”

I glanced towards the door and found Frederick leaning against the frame. His expression was serious, concerned, more than a tad angry.

“What were you thinking, Erik?” he demanded. “You could have killed yourself. You could have killed Penny.” Frederick shook his head, exasperated. “Seriously man. What were you thinking?”

“I was trying to reach Talia,” I said, feeling like a naughty schoolboy. Then, my anger rose to match Frederick’s. I was trying to reach Talia, my girlfriend. Because she was missing. And Frederick had the nerve to chastise me? He had no right. “What if it were Henri out there?” I flung my arms wide to indicate the world at large. “Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t be doing everything possible to find him? Don’t bother lying. I’ll know.”

Frederick sighed and rolled his eyes. He took several deliberate steps inside the darkened bedroom. “Yes, I would. To an extent. I wouldn’t go on a suicide mission, though. That’s not going to help. You and Penny are the best shot we have of locating Talia, and you’re both out of commission. So, good job.”

His tone dripped sarcasm, which I chose to ignore.

“Whatever. How is Penny?” Hurting myself to find Talia was one thing, but I did feel guilty about taking Penny along for the ride.

“Sleeping,” Frederick replied. He reconsidered. “Well, she’s unconscious anyway. I imagine she’ll be up soon, too. I’d steer clear of Brand for a while if I were you, though.”

“Is he pissed?” I guessed.

“That’s putting it mildly.” Frederick came to perch on the edge of my bed. His tone was no longer flippant or annoyed when he spoke again. “You were right. She’s here.”

The mush in my skull where my brain should have been took a minute to process Frederick’s meaning.

“Talia? You saw her?” I demanded, throwing back the covers. “Let’s go get her.”

Miles was on his feet. With two hands firmly planted on my shoulders, he pinned me in place. “Sit. Listen.”

Because I was in no shape for a physical confrontation, I complied.

Frederick cleared his throat and averted his gaze temporarily before meeting my imploring stare. “I did see Talia, very briefly. I wasn’t even trying. Her emotions were so strong she must have pulled me to her. But one glimpse was all I got before she disappeared again. I’ve been trying to view her again ever since. I can’t. It’s weird. It’s like before, like there is a force field around her, blocking me.”

Force fields, fake Talias, what was the world coming to? As if having a slew of Talented and Created running through the streets wasn’t enough.

“How do you know she’s here? For sure?” I asked, trying to tamp down my excitement.

Frederick and Miles exchanged irritating pointed glances across my sickbed.

“For one, I recognized her surroundings,” Frederick said finally. “You remember that pub, The Pink Giraffe? It’s where we met that Riley kid—Kenly’s friend.”

“Yeah, I remember,” I replied.

The Pink Giraffe was a dive that catered to an eclectic crowd of Talented and other individuals looking for a quiet place to eat, drink, and not be bothered.

“That’s where I saw her. She was with two other people. A boy and a girl. At least, I think they were together. She was holding hands with the boy.” My pulse spiked. “Not like that. The boy was holding hands with the other girl, too. I got the impression they all needed to be touching.” Frederick reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and withdrew a folded piece of paper. He handed it to me. “Do you recognize either of the other two?”

Slowly, I unfolded the paper and smoothed the creases. With the skill of a professional artist, Frederick had drawn three figures surrounded by high-top tables and chairs. A surprised older man stood behind the bar off to one side of the picture. I traced the planes of Talia’s face, the outline of her small, lithe frame, pretending my fingers were touching her skin.

“Kid? Take a good look. Do you recognize the two with Talia?” Miles prompted, tearing me away from thoughts of Talia.

The boy was tall and between sixteen and twenty. Frederick had drawn the picture in black pen, and had colored in the boy’s hair, so I assumed that meant the guy had dark, shaggy hair. The girl was shorter than the boy, but significantly taller than Talia. Her hair was most likely blonde, because Frederick hadn’t bothered to add pigmentation. Both of Talia’s companions had high, sharp cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Neither triggered a response in my memory.

I shook my head. “Pretty sure I’ve never seen either of them.”

Frederick reached for the drawing. I snatched it out of his grasp. Childish as it was, I wanted to have the picture of Talia to look at later.

“Erik, come on. I need to give that to Victoria and Crane. One of them might recognize those faces. If nothing else, they can run facial recognition. You can have it back after I scan the image and comm it over to them. Or I’ll make you another if you really want.”

With one last look at my girlfriend’s soft lips, I relinquished the drawing. Frederick carefully folded the paper and returned it to his pocket.

“I’m guessing you’ve spoken to Victoria? Did she have anything useful to say?” I asked, fidgeting with a loose gold thread on the comforter Miles had replaced over my legs.

“I have. And she did.” Frederick paused and more nonverbal signals passed between him and Miles.

I opened my mind to read their thoughts, only to have a searing pain lance through my skull. Cursing, I cradled my head in my hands and waited for the worst of it to subside.

“I told you, you blew a fuse, kid,” Miles said. “No mind reading for you right now.”

“Fine. Just tell me what Victoria said,” I said through gritted teeth.

“She sent one of the search teams to the location where Anya was supposed to drop off the hover,” Frederick began.

I looked up. White spots obscured portions of Frederick’s apprehensive expression.

“And?” I prompted.

“And Anya did leave the hover there this morning. From there, it is unclear where she went. According to satellite imaging, there isn’t much within walking distance. Some farms. A couple of vineyards. There’s a small town, like population-549-small.”

I didn’t need my mind reading capabilities to know Frederick was holding back. Something he’d said stood out: According to satellite imaging. Why was Victoria relying on imaging? Sure, it was usually pretty accurate, but nothing about Talia’s escape had been usual.

I decided to ask the current million-globe question. “What do you mean about satellite imaging? What did the agents Victoria sent report?”

“That’s the thing. There hasn’t been a report since the one stating that Anya left the rental hover at the exact location the guy in Nice gave us. That was hours ago. UNITED is currently unable to contact any of the agents they sent.”

“Excuse me?” I looked from Frederick to Miles positive I’d misheard.

“Weird, I know. They can’t get them on comms. I can’t view any of them. Satellite imaging is showing nothing.” Frederick sighed. “Victoria is deciding whether or not to send more agents right now. Between the search for Talia and the general chaos around the world, she isn’t sure whether they can spare the manpower. Especially when there is no evidence that the agents are truly missing.”

“As opposed to what?” I asked. “On vacation?”

“Dead zone,” Miles answered knowledgably. “There are pockets all over the world where electronics don’t work right. It’s like that Hans guy was saying with the energy fields. And there are several bodies of water surrounding the area, so it makes sense that the energy would be higher in that region.”

“Exactly,” Frederick agreed. “Under normal circumstances, the whole no-reporting-thing wouldn’t be a big deal, at least not yet. Victoria’s only concerned because nothing about any of this makes sense. For now, our orders are to find Talia’s location in London. Victoria doesn’t want us going to her if we do manage to pinpoint her coordinates. The city is crawling with agents, and we don’t want to run the risk of leading them straight to Talia. We’re to notify Victoria and Crane instead. Then, Crane’s people will go get Talia and take her back to the States as planned.”

“Why are there so many agents here already?”

It was Miles’s turn to give me bad news, which apparently didn’t stop coming. “Frederick over here isn’t the only one who saw your girl,” he told me.

My stomach sank. Of course. Talia had gone to a freaking pub. How many people had reported seeing her there?

“Eyewitnesses say Talia and the two others materialized out of thin air. Like poof. One second the space is empty, the next three bedraggled teenagers in artic explorer outfits are standing there. Then, ‘cause that’s not weird enough, all three of them leave snowy prints on the tile when they skedaddle out the door.” Miles held his hands up. “This crap keeps getting stranger and stranger.”

Snow? Well that did jive with what both Frederick and I had seen in our respective visions. But the whole appearing out of thing air thing was bizarre, though not unexplainable.

“One of the two Talia’s with must be a light manipulator,” I said, voicing my theory aloud. “That’s why all three were holding hands. The guy was in the middle, right? He must be the light manipulator. Also, he must be strong to be able to make the girls invisible as well.”

“Strong but not proficient,” Frederick agreed. “He must have lost control at some point—that’s when they magically appeared. But why were they at the pub in the first place? And why were they wearing such ridiculous outfits? Even if they’d traveled from somewhere cold, wouldn’t they have changed, or at least shed a few layers, the second they reached London?”

“Maybe they went to the pub to meet up with Kenly. Her friends do have ties to the Pink Giraffe,” I pointed out.

Even as I said it, I wasn’t convinced. Talia wasn’t stupid. UNITED knew about those ties, and had probably already explored them in the search for Kenly. If only my stubborn as a mule girlfriend would reach out to me, all of these mysteries might be cleared up.

“Talia’s too smart for that. But I guess desperate times call for desperate measures,” Frederick said half-heartedly. He didn’t believe Talia had gone to the Pink Giraffe looking for Kenly either. He shook his head, baffled by the entire situation. “The snow prints make no sense. All of the witnesses say they only saw the tracks after Talia and the others disappeared. How did they get inside without leaving a trail? Even invisible that isn’t possible.” Speaking more to himself than Miles or me, he added, “Unless…no, that’s impossible. Well, not impossible, I guess. Farfetched definitely.”

“Want to share with the class?” I asked dryly.

Frederick exhaled slowly. “So you know how right after the Great Contamination there was a much wider range of powers? A lot have died out over the years. Mimics, for one, are exceptionally rare. Mind Manipulators are few and far between. Well, way back when, Teleporters existed. According to UNITED’s records there were only ever a handful of people who possessed the ability. I know it sounds ridiculous, but maybe the guy is a Teleporter.”

Miles whistled. “Now that would be something. UNITED hasn’t had a documented case of teleportation in over thirty years.” He shrugged, seeming to warm up to the possibility the more he thought about it. “It would explain a lot, though—the lack of footprints leading inside the pub, the boots and coats. But where would Talia have found a Teleporter? When would Talia have found a Teleporter?”

These were all good questions. But I wasn’t interested in sitting around theorizing. Inventing reasons for any of the number of bizarre occurrences that had taken place lately was not going to help find Talia.

“Look, guys. None of that matters right now. Once we find Talia you all can ask her for the answers. I’m sure she’d be happy to introduce you to her teleporter friend.” I focused on Frederick. “How does Victoria suggest we look for Talia without physically going to find her? I assume you’ve told her my fuse is blown?”

Frederick nodded guiltily.

“Pretty boy over here is supposed to keep trying to view her,” Miles chimed in.

Frederick looked offended by the nickname.

“Just means he likes you,” I told my friend.

“And,” Miles continued, “the big boss lady believes Talia might try to contact you or the girlie tonight. In fact, she’s done everything possible to make sure that does happen. Though I don’t mind telling you, she’s taking a huge risk, kid. UNITED put out an official press release, stating that you are here already in preparation for the final rally, including where you’re staying.”

Smart. No, wait, not smart.

“That sounds like a trap,” I stated.

“Exactly. UNITED already has agents swarming these fancy digs, so now Victoria looks like she’s playing along. She doesn’t think Talia will come in person.” Miles gave me a pointed stare.

No. Of course not. Crane and Victoria were banking on Talia’s inability to resist contacting me knowing that we were in the same city. I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of peace. They were right. Talia would reach out to me. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself. All I had to do was lie back and wait.

And wait. And wait. And wait.

By two a.m., I was no longer confident that my girlfriend would take Victoria’s bait. Depending on where she was hiding, Talia might not have even seen the news. Still, I didn’t understand why she wasn’t contacting me. Whether she knew I was in London or not, it wasn’t like Talia to remain radio silent. And I knew for a fact that the energy field in this region wasn’t high enough to disrupt our powers.

Is she hurt? Did Nightshade find her? If so, what did they do with her?

The thought of Talia in the clutches of the ruthless mercenary organization both infuriated me and terrified me. I felt so useless. I was supposed to protect her. Even if she didn’t actually need that protection. Talia had moved heaven, earth, and Ian Crane’s soldiers to rescue me from Tramblewood. And I was helpless to so much as locate her, much less go to her.

At three a.m. I got the bright idea to use alcohol to dull the heartache of uncertainty. Three glasses of the most expensive bourbon in the minibar did nothing to ease the pain in my chest. Unfortunately, they did slow my reflexes and my senses. Otherwise, I would have heard the soft click of the outer suite door, even three floors up. I would have heard the pitter-patter of the feet climbing the stairs. I would have heard the girl who slipped through the narrow crack she made in my bedroom door. And I most certainly wouldn’t have screamed like a madman when she whispered my name into the blackness.

“Oh, please. You’re the one who tried to kill me, not the other way around,” Kenly Baker said.

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Two Days Before the Vote

The news that four 2Ps had been caught sneaking around in the secret passageways beneath the school was all anyone wanted to discuss at breakfast the next morning. Cressa was stunned. She’d thought the rest of their group had made it back before bed checks.

“I bet there were more than just the four who got caught,” a 4P named Darcy was saying between bites of scrambled eggs.

Normally the cadets stayed with their own phases during mealtimes, but Cressa’s table had been bombarded by higher-ranking individuals, since all the wandering students were 2Ps. Everyone was desperate for more information about the big scandal.

After being poked and prodded by a med tech—Dr. Masterson was too busy to bother with something as routine as stomach issues—it was determined that Cressa was not suffering from an adverse reaction to her injection. The med tech diagnosed her with food poisoning, flagged her file, and insisted she drink a thick tonic that tasted like grass. Cressa had spent the rest of the night in med bay, returning to her floor just in time to get dressed for the day.

“Probably,” Ritchie replied, feigning indifference. “I wonder if the people who got caught will talk.”

“Oh, they’ll talk,” another 4P girl insisted with a flip of her white-gold hair. “I hear they are using psychic interrogation on all of them.”

Cressa felt Ritchie stiffen beside her.

“Who was caught?” Daphne interjected. She was sitting on Cressa’s other side, looking pale and tired from the previous night’s ordeal.

Cressa had been wondering the same thing. Everyone kept saying four cadets had been found inside the tunnels. Excluding Daphne, Ritchie, and Cressa herself, who were all present at breakfast, that left six, not four, other wanderers. Neither of the twins was at breakfast, nor had she seen them in the bathroom after returning from med bay. Unfortunately, it was a safe assumption that Lyla and Shyla Towers were slated to become PDs.

“They haven’t released the names yet,” an unfamiliar girl spoke up. “Right now, it’s all just speculation and gossip.”

Cressa discreetly looked around the large, bustling space. A cursory search of the cafeteria didn’t produce Kev, Hartley, or the Jacobs.

“Looking for Kev Leon?” Darcy asked, smirking.

“Huh?” Cressa replied dumbly. She would’ve though the 4P was reading her mind, but cadets didn’t receive that ability until the seventh phase.

“He was spotted entering the cafeteria this morning,” Darcy said, speaking slowly as if repeating something Cressa already knew. Then, she rolled her eyes. “It’s understandable to want to see him, you don’t have to pretend otherwise.”

Cressa let out a sigh of relief. Of all her cohorts, he was the one she worried for the most. The twins, Hartley, and the Jacobs had bolted at the first sign of trouble, so those traitors deserved whatever fate befell them.

“If not for those kids getting caught in the tunnels, it would be all anyone was talking about,” another 4P chimed in.

“Shut it. Gossip is not tolerated at the Institute,” Suzu Mitsu said loudly, dropping her tray with a clatter as she joined the other end of the table.

With Gracia still recovering from her procedures, the Dame’s morning announcements had indicated that Suzu would be pulling double duty as captain of both the 4P girls and 2P girls.

Those farthest from Suzu continued to fuel the rumor mill with all sorts of theories about what would come of the cadets who’d been apprehended, mixed in with chatter about whether Kev Leon was really as good-looking up close. Once they were safely out of the conversations, Ritchie leaned closer to Cressa.

“Only Lyla was caught. Shyla got away,” she muttered, barely moving her lips.

“Then why isn’t she here?” Daphne hissed, leaning across Cressa to take part in the conversation.

“They took her to interrogation,” Ritchie whispered. She shot Suzu a glance to make sure the older girl wasn’t paying attention to them. “Shyla made it back to her room before Leslie checked in, but Madame Gillis didn’t believe she didn’t know her twin had snuck out. She might be in just as much trouble as Lyla.”

Wracked with guilt, Cressa glanced across the table at Nydia. She felt horrible about nearly getting her roommate in trouble. At least Madame Gillis and Leslie had left Nydia alone, once Cressa turned up in the bathroom.

When she finally made it back to her room from med bay, Cressa had apologized profusely for involving her. But Nydia had refused to look at her, let alone speak to her.

“Do you know who else was caught?” Cressa whispered.

Ritchie shook her head. “No. I’m guessing we’ll find out soon, though, since we have lessons with the boys today. Once we see who isn’t there, we’ll know.” Again, her eyes flitted to Suzu before she continued. “How did you guys get away?”

Daphne opened her mouth to answer, but Cressa quickly cut her off. “We left not long after you did. I started to feel sick, and Daphne went with me, to make sure I was okay. We were already back on the floor before the others were detected.”

Cressa shot the younger girl a pointed look, silently begging her to go along with the story. Ritchie didn’t know that Kev was wandering around the tunnels right along with the rest of them, and she hoped to keep it that way. Not only for his sake, but for theirs as well. At the moment, Ritchie was acting more like a coconspirator than a potential tattletale. If she got word about Kev aiding their escape, jealousy might make her change her tune.

“Yeah, guess we dodged a bullet, huh?” Daphne quickly agreed.

“Let’s make a pact,” Ritchie said seriously. “I won’t breathe a word about you guys, if you don’t say a word about me. Even if we’re found out, we won’t narc on each other. Deal?”

“Deal,” Cressa and Daphne echoed.

It wasn’t a difficult decision; Cressa had no intention of narcing on anyone.

Suzu stood and cleared her throat, effectively attracting the attention of the table.

“4Ps, you all have a combat training session this morning, followed by refresher courses on telekinesis and light manipulation. Rollings, Jersey, Zinc, and Wickersham—after lunch, you all will be taking your next advancement exams.” She paused and turned her attention to the 2Ps. “Phase Two cadets, I will be observing your classes today. You also have a telekinesis refresher this morning. This afternoon, Madame Brink will be holding one-on-one sessions with each of you, focusing on invisibility. Beaumont, you are the only 2P taking an advancement exam today, which is scheduled for late this afternoon.”

Startled by the news, Daphne dropped her fork on her plate with clang.

“I’m guessing you didn’t know?” Cressa asked. “Something tells me you’ll pass, no problem.”

She was happy for Daphne. Being so young while advancing so quickly was truly impressive. But Cressa was saddened by the thought of losing her new friend. Defying gravity to circumvent a broken neck and spiriting through secret passageways with an allegedly dead movie star had a way of bonding people.

Without Daphne, Cressa didn’t have a lot of options for friendship among the 2Ps. She was having a hard time getting a read on Ritchie, and hadn’t yet decided if she could be trusted. Nydia wasn’t speaking to her. And Shyla Towers probably hated her for escaping the guards. All in all, it would be a lonely phase sans the little canary.

“Don’t worry,” Daphne said to Cressa with a wink. “I don’t plan on passing. Being a 2P just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Though she knew she should dissuade Daphne from failing on purpose, Cressa grinned. “Yeah it did,” she replied.

The morning lesson with Madame Gillis was a disaster. The class as a whole was too distracted by the previous night’s scandal to truly focus; everyone was speculating about which four were actually part of the nighttime adventure, and who was being held for questioning. Then there was Kev, whose presence was another obstacle vying for the instructor’s attention. Hoping to catch his eye, many of the 2P girls had gone to extraordinary lengths while primping that morning.

Makeup wasn’t permitted at the Institute, so girls like Ritchie had improvised in the short time between breakfast and lessons, creating eye shadows, blush, and lip coloring from soap, markers, and charcoal pencils. Even Daphne, Cressa noticed, had taken extra care when doing her hair, using something that made her typically messy mop of blonde appear sleek and smooth.

“He totally winked at me,” Cressa overheard a 2P named Claudette say to her practice partner, a cadet called Dina.

“You’re dreaming,” Dina retorted. “It was definitely me that he was looking at.”

Stifling a grin, Cressa tried to return her attention to the task at hand. She wanted so much to be above fawning over Kev, though he never strayed far from her thoughts.

Daphne, Cressa, and Ritchie were working together in one corner of the classroom, practicing telekinesis. Madame Gillis had provided several objects of varying weights for the cadets to move with their minds, and the trio was taking turns shuffling each to the other side of the table. The most challenging was a pitcher of water; they were supposed to transfer the contents to an empty container. So far, none of the three had successfully done so.

Kev—who, to Cressa’s immense relief, was evidently not one of the four cadets feeling the Dame’s wrath at that very moment—was practicing with a short, freckled boy not far away. Unable to help herself, Cressa kept looking over, hoping to catch his eye. She knew it was silly; with so many options, he would never think twice about Cressa. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a bond with the movie star after their daring escape the night before. The big question was whether he felt it too, or if he simply saw her as another face in the crowd fawning all over the movie industry’s golden boy.

“Stupid brats,” Ritchie muttered, glaring at Dina and Claudette. The pair was still arguing over the recipient of Kev’s offhand glance. Ritchie huffed, attempting to move the water from one pitcher to the other while her attention was on the other girls. The water leapt in an arc from the first pitcher, but flew past the target, landing in a puddle on the floor. “Crap. Daphne, get me some towels, will you?”

As Daphne started towards a cabinet across the room, the classroom door banged open. Shyla Towers stood in the doorway. Dark circles marred the thin skin beneath her listless brown eyes. Her ponytail was askew, and looked as though the hair hadn’t been brushed in days. She shuffled her feet when she walked, reminding Cressa of a zombie from an apocalypse movie.

Cressa, Daphne, and Ritchie stared, mouths agape, then shot uneasy glances at one another. Whatever had happened to Shyla, her condition didn’t bode well for the four cadets who were actually apprehended in the tunnels.

Did they find out about the rest of us? Cressa wondered, a shudder wracking her body. Did they search through her mind?

She eyed Daphne and Ritchie, both white as ghosts and visibly unnerved. Thankfully, the instructor’s attention was locked solely on Shyla.

“Cadet Towers, so kind of you to join us,” Madame Gillis said, pursing her lips in annoyance. “You are already behind. We are practicing telekinesis, you can work with Karmine, Ritchie, and Beaumont.”

Shyla gave no audible response, but shuffled towards Cressa and Ritchie.

“Girls, help Cadet Towers get caught up,” Madame Gillis commanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Cressa and Ritchie replied in unison.

Silently, Shyla joined them. Cressa waited until Madame Gillis went to scold a pair of girls who were using their powers to make pencils sword fight, then she rounded on Shyla.

“What happened to your sister? What about Hartley and the Jacobs? Are they PDs now? Does the Dame know we were down there?” she hissed.

Shyla stared blankly at Cressa, almost as if looking through her. After several long, uncomfortable moments, her lips started to move, but no sound came out.

“Don’t bother. It’ll be a while before she can think on her own,” a boy’s voice murmured.

When Cressa looked over, she was shocked to find Kev kneeling beside her, a small rubber ball in his hands. He held it up, and in a much louder voice added, “Sorry, guess I don’t know my own strength. It wasn’t supposed to travel so far.”

Using her hip, Cressa bumped the table holding their practice objects, causing a paperweight and three foam peanuts to fall to the floor. Bending down to retrieve them, she muttered, “What do you mean? What did they do to her?”

“Interrogation, by the looks of it,” he said, his glittering eyes looking impossibly sad.

“Right, but isn’t interrogation just a fancy word for questioning? I get that it can be traumatic and all, but she’s like the walking dead.”

Kev shook his head, eyes darting nervously towards Madame Gillis. The instructor was still berating the sword fighters.

“It’s a little more serious than just questioning,” he replied, leaning in so she could hear his whispered explanation. “I mean, they do ask questions. But you don’t answer verbally. They pull the thoughts from your head, so you can’t lie. It’s super intense, from what I understand. And, depending on the interrogator, whether he or she wants the experience to be pleasant or not, it can be painful. Just pray they don’t call you down next.”

Standing abruptly, Kev returned to his partner.

“Sorry about that,” he called over his shoulder. “Guess I just need more practice.”

Between her own lingering fatigue from the night before, Shyla’s return, and Kev’s ominous statement, Cressa found herself struggling to move even the lightest of the objects telekinetically. Suddenly, opening the heavy stone doors in the tunnels seemed like a cakewalk compared to levitating the virtually weightless foam peanuts.

By the end of the lesson, Madame Gillis was hoarse from yelling at the cadets for their failures. Cressa didn’t really blame her for being so upset; the cadets were making her look bad. Each one of them had passed their telekinesis exam, so this should have been an easy lesson. Instead, they were acting more like 1Ps on their first day.

The 2Ps invisibility training was an even bigger catastrophe. In addition to Madame Brink, the dedicated light manipulation instructor, Suzu, Leslie, and Gregor walked around the room to give one-on-one instruction to each cadet. Even though this was a solitary exercise, Cressa, Daphne, and Ritchie made sure to position themselves near each other, so that they could talk when no one was paying attention to them. Because they were impatiently waiting for Shyla to speak, they kept her close as well.

The zombie twin’s return had quickly shifted much of the focus off of Kev. A lot of girls still tried to catch his eye, but most of the not-so-discreet glances were directed at Shyla instead. Cressa noticed that Kev had reverted back to the lethargic shell she’d met in the elevator from med bay. He spoke only when someone addressed him directly, and barely made an effort to use his invisibility. Mostly, Kev stared off into space, his expression nearly identical to Shyla’s. Cressa found it alarming, yet intriguing.

What game is he playing? She wondered.

By lunch, the day had gone from atypical to downright weird. Instead of eating in the cafeteria, Suzu announced that all of the 2Ps would be eating in the girls’ common room. This was exceptionally strange, since boys were not allowed on the girls’ floors and vice-versa, aside from admins and 8P leaders, like Gregor.

With all of the 2Ps present, the room was packed. Cressa, Ritchie, Daphne, and Shyla were wedged in one corner of the room, near the swinging chair the little canary had been sitting in on Cressa’s first night on the floor. Kev was close by, though surrounded by a gaggle of admirers, both male and female. He kept his eyes locked on the floor, not responding to any of the attempts to engage him in conversation.

Cressa was nibbling a black olive—a food she hated, but that supposedly intensified light manipulation powers—when the Dame’s serene voice boomed via the school-wide comm system in the commons.

“Good afternoon to all of my cadets,” the Dame began, her voice as sweet as the sugary apple pie Cressa’s mother baked on holidays. “I hate that I must address you today with devastating news, particularly after the triumphs I shared with you yesterday. But four of your own have shown their true colors, proving themselves traitors to our cause.”

The Dame’s pronouncement was met with audible gasps and boos from the gathered cadets. Only Cressa and her friends seemed confused by the Dame’s version of events.

“Traitors?” Daphne hissed to the others. “What does she mean? We were just having a little fun. How does that make us traitors?”

“Just be quiet and listen,” Ritchie replied quietly, twisting a lock of her magenta hair around her forefinger.

“It’s going to be okay,” Cressa reassured the younger girl in a soft tone. “Just stay calm, and try to remember that they’re going to be watching our reactions.”

“As those of you in Phases Seven and Eight already know, many of your dismissed brethren choose to remain at the Institute instead of returning to their former lives. They may not be deserving of the title of Privileged, but they are still eager to help our cause.”

“They don’t bloody choose anything. Nobody chooses to live in a cage,” Daphne muttered.

Cressa agreed, but didn’t say anything. There was no way a kid like Damon Bizon chose his current life. No one would ever choose to be a practice dummy for inexperienced cadets to use their abilities on. The custom was inhumane, at best.

Shyla started to shake. The twin hadn’t said a coherent word since her return from interrogation, though she’d mumbled a number of nonsensical phrases like “Carrots before peas” and “Must not blink.” Cressa would’ve preferred Shyla’s continued silence; her random mutterings were unnerving.

Still, it wasn’t as though Cressa was without compassion. Shyla may have bolted in the tunnels, not caring about the fates of the others, but seeing her so broken made Cressa’s heart hurt. When Shyla began to openly cry, Cressa wrapped her arms around the twin’s shoulders, holding her as her body was wracked with sobs. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Shyla, knowing that Lyla was at the heartless mercy of the Dame.

Throughout the commons, cadets were cheering the Dame’s words. It was just like in the auditorium, where the Dame handed out news of murders like candy to children deprived of sugar for most of their lives. Given their reactions to the news, it seemed the children were eager for more of the good stuff. Cressa was sickened by their excitement.

“Now, for the identities of the traitors,” the Dame proclaimed, causing a hush to settle over the room. “First, Hartley Pinkerton.”

When the Dame said Hartley’s name, a holo-image of the tall boy appeared at the front of the room where a spot had been cleared. It appeared to be a live-feed, though she couldn’t tell where he was.

To Cressa, he looked drugged rather than scared; he had the same vacant expression as Shyla. Hartley wore a red jumpsuit with a five-digit number over his heart, which Cressa found quite alarming.

PDs wore green. Sources wore white. Who wore red?

“Lyla Towers,” the Dame proclaimed, all trace of faux pleasantness gone from her voice. Lyla’s holo-image materialized beside Hartley. Cressa saw no light in the windows to the twin’s soul, just like Hartley.

Shyla shrieked shrilly when her sister appeared. Without thinking, Cressa clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she chanted, trying to calm the other girl.

But she was too late. Leslie and Gregor swooped over and plucked Shyla from Cressa’s arms.

“Where are you taking her?” Cressa demanded, too shocked to care about being disrespectful.

“Not your concern,” Leslie replied crisply.

Cressa watched as the 8Ps dragged Shyla out of the commons, wishing there was something she could do to help her.

“Don’t,” Kev warned in her ear.

If nothing else, the movie star was stealthy. She hadn’t noticed him move to sit beside her, and Cressa jumped at the sound of his voice.

“You can’t help her, Cressa,” he said softly.

For a brief, embarrassing moment, all Cressa could think was, Kev Leon knows my name. Nonetheless, the severity of the situation yanked her out of her girlish excitement.

“Where are they taking her?” Cressa whispered back.

At the front of the room, holograms of both Jacobs had appeared beside Hartley and Lyla.

“For a sedative, if I had to guess. If she calms down and stops freaking out, they’ll probably bring her back. If not….” Kev shrugged. “Who knows?”

“These four individuals were caught attempting to kidnap former cadets,” the Dame announced. Cressa’s head snapped up at the words, drawing her attention back to the announcements.

Kidnap? She thought incredulously. What the hell is she talking about?

“The cadets they were targeting are those who have chosen to remain at the Institute to aid you in honing your new abilities,” the Dame continued. “While I believe they were under the misguided assumption that these former cadets were being held against their will, this crime is of the utmost seriousness. I assure you all, every one of these former cadets is well cared for, and enjoys every luxury the Institute has to offer. They have remained here because they, like you, are committed to a Privileged world.”

“What a bag of biscuits,” Daphne muttered.

“Total crap,” Ritchie agreed quietly.

Oddly, aside from Cressa’s group of coconspirators, everyone else was eating up every last morsel of the Dame’s bullshit. She watched the 2Ps all nodding in agreement with a sinking heart, feeling confused by their reactions.

Why are we different? Cressa wondered. Why are we the only ones using common sense?

Even without seeing the electric cages, the other cadets should’ve been doubtful that the dismissed were as happy as the Dame said. Anyone who had seen Damon Bizon in that room, anyone who heard him crying and begging to go home, knew that the dismissed cadets were not there by choice. And Kev told her that the boys had seen a similar demonstration, so they should have realized this fact, too.

Is it really because we all actually saw the frog pond? Cressa wondered, thinking about the old seeing-is-believing adage. Or is there another reason for their unquestioning acceptance of everything the Dame says?

“These four will also be remaining at the Institute, but as prisoners for their crimes of treason,” the Dame continued.

The common room broke out in unadulterated delight. People were whooping and hollering, as if the news that the Institute had a prison was epic. As if the four prisoners hadn’t been their peers—even friends, in some cases—just the day before.

“You better join in,” Kev muttered, nudging Cressa with his elbow. “Something tells me green isn’t your color.”

“I don’t see you clapping like a deranged puppet whose master just told him to dance,” Cressa shot back.

“Right, because I’m an actor,” he replied, as if that explained everything.

When Cressa turned to look Kev square in the face, she watched as his eyes went from pools of intense emotion back to the dead-eyed expression again. Then, he winked at her.

I’m so stupid, she thought, stifling a grin. It’s been a performance this whole time. Even that first night in the elevator, he was acting.

The guy in the tunnels—that was the real Kev Leon.

But why is he here? Cressa wondered. If he never believed in the Privileged, why did he come to the Institute?

“The videos, these inflammatory speeches—they’re designed to weed out the nonbelievers,” Kev continued, still speaking under his breath. “Leslie, Gregor, the instructors—they are all watching for our reactions. They’re noting looks of disgust, sort of like yours right now.”

“How do you know so much about, well, everything?” Cressa asked suspiciously.

Kev shrugged. “I played a cult leader’s son in Dawn of the Idols. While preparing for the role, I got really into the psyche of a true follower. Believe me, what’s going on here is textbook cult formation and growth.”

Shooting her a pointed look, Kev brought his hands together slowly and mimed clapping. Reluctantly, Cressa started clapping too, offering a toothy grin to those around her. Daphne and Ritchie exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“Play along,” Cressa hissed.

“Many of you may be wondering why I have elected to share this news with the entire school,” the Dame said. The chatter and excited applause died a swift death, everyone anxious to hear what the almighty Dame would say next. “Since founding the Institute nearly a decade ago, I have kept many of the day-to-day dealings private, even from the faithful instructors who have shared my vision since the beginning. But now, as the time for the world to know of our existence nears, I feel there should no longer be secrets between us. After all, the ways of the Institute will soon be the ways of the world.”

Naturally this brought another round of hoots and cheers.

“That is why,” the Dame continued, “I want you all to know how I deal with the disloyal, with those who break Privileged law, with criminals like the four you see before you. Each has been offered a choice between two options: incarceration in the Institute’s prison, or participation in Dr. Masterson’s current research trial, which aims to perfect the Privileged serum so that repeated injections will no be longer necessary.

“I am pleased to announce that all four of these prisoners have decided to pay for their crimes by taking part in Dr. Masterson’s trial. They wish for you all to benefit from their lapse in judgment. And I wish for you all to learn from their sacrifice. Remember this—even if you do happen to stray down the wrong path, redemption is possible.”

Cressa felt sick inside. The woman’s ability to twist facts to suit her own agenda was enough for Cressa to lose her lunch.

“Given the transgressions of these four,” the Dame continued on. “I also feel the need to remind all of you that the Institute has a plethora of rules, all of which are in place for your protection. First and foremost, the hidden tunnels inside the school are strictly off-limits to all cadets, without exception. Any students caught in the passageways will face the same punishment as these prisoners. While their participation in Dr. Masterson’s trial is noble, they have still brought shame on themselves and their families. Their flowers will no longer bloom in our Privileged garden, but will instead wither in the graveyard of dishonor. Please, I implore you all not to succumb to temptation and curiosity. Do not condemn yourselves to this most shameful fate.

“In closing, I thank you all for your dedication to our vision for a Privileged world. I have the utmost faith that you will all stay the course, and will rise up with the rest of us when the Privileged are revealed.”

With that, the Dame’s voice was gone, replaced instead by a rustling static that sounded through the speakers until the comm system was switched off. The commons was quiet for several long moments, and then excited conversation spread through the room like wildfire.

Though the announcement was over, the holo-images of Lyla and the others remained at the front of the room, serving as a visual reminder of what happened to disobedient students.

Cressa didn’t want to look at them, but guilt made it impossible to avert her gaze. It could have just as easily been her up there, branded as a traitor. Truly, it should have been her. If not for Kev’s intervention, Cressa and Daphne would have wearing red instead of navy.

When Cressa tore her eyes from the holos of the cadets she’d been with only hours before, she shot a grateful look towards Kev. Unfortunately, he’d been surrounded again by adoring fans, and had reverted back to the dead-eyed stare.

For the rest of their lunch break, the mood in the back corner of the commons was decidedly somber. Ritchie, Cressa, and Daphne talked very little, all three caught up in their own thoughts. If Cressa had to guess, they were all feeling a similar combination of guilt and relief. She couldn’t shake the terror she felt when considering how close she’d been to being a holo along with the other four, serving as a lesson to the cadets who might be considering going against the Dame’s ranks. Several times Cressa tried to catch Kev’s eye again—she still had so many questions for him—but his groupies remained human barricades.

“Listen up,” Suzu called, dragging Cressa from her miserable thoughts. The older girl blinked the lights several times to get everyone’s attention. “This afternoon’s schedule has shifted. From this point forward, the entire Institute is on lockdown. All advancement exams have been cancelled until further notice, and you will all remain here for the rest of the day. Madame Brink will join us shortly, and we will continue light manipulation and telekinesis practice here.

“If you need to leave this room, even to use the bathroom, you must ask permission from either myself or Madame Brink. Cadets Abbot and Ivan will be here intermittently, and they can also grant permission. If you have questions, please feel free to ask any one of us.”

“Lockdown? Do you think something happened?” Daphne asked. She gestured miserably to the holo-images still on display. “Well, something more than that.”

“Whatever it is, it must be big,” Ritchie replied, eager to take her mind off of their close call. “I’ve been here for six months, and the Dame has never instituted a lockdown.”

“I hear Natalia Lyons has arrived.”

Cressa, Daphne, and Ritchie all looked up at the newcomer. Dina, Ritchie’s short, squat roommate, was standing behind their little circle.

“Hey, Dina,” Ritchie greeted the girl, sounding none too pleased about the intrusion. She tipped her head toward Cressa and Daphne. “You know Daphne Beaumont, and that’s Cressa Karmine. What makes you say Natalia Lyons is here?”

Crossing her plump legs, Dina dropped to the floor, wedging herself between Cressa and Ritchie. When she leaned forward, the other three girls instinctually did the same. After glancing around for eavesdroppers, Dina spoke in a faux whisper.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I was down in med bay just before breakfast, getting my allergy shots.” Her eyes darted to Daphne. “I saw Gracia. It was so freaky. She could be Natalia’s doppelgänger, for real.”

“That’s sort of the point,” Ritchie said dryly, quickly losing interest.

Dina looked confused.

“Gracia is Natalia’s clone,” Ritchie added pointedly. “So, yeah, she should look exactly like her.”

Laughing, Dina waved off Ritchie’s comment. “Right, I know that. I’m just saying, she could totally trade places with Natalia. I bet no one, not even Erikson, would know the difference.”

Beside Cressa, Daphne went rigid. Cressa felt confident the younger girl was remembering the third level of the observation cavern. They’d both seen the transformation as it occurred, had watched as Gracia’s features were seamlessly molded into those of Natalia Lyons. It wasn’t something either would forget anytime soon.

“Anyway,” Dina was saying, “a group of guards was leading Gracia out of the recovery wing. The cute med tech with the glasses who gives me my shots told me to stay inside the cubicle, but of course I didn’t.”

She grinned conspiratorially, as if waiting for praise from her audience.

“Get to the point,” Daphne snapped.

“I am,” Dina said with a frown, though the expression quickly reverted back to one of excitement. “I’m just saying, I knew something big was going down, and I wanted to see it firsthand. Anyway, I snuck out into the hallway. That’s when I saw Gracia and the guards. Then the med bay doors opened, and I saw the Dame waiting by the elevators with Dr. Masterson.”

“Wait.” Ritchie held up her hand to halt Dina’s rambling. “You’re saying that you saw the Dame? In the flesh?”

“Well, not exactly,” Dina replied, backpedaling. “Not exactly ‘in the flesh’. She was there, like moving and talking, except she was a hologram—the same one we saw in the auditorium last night. It was definitely her, though.” Dina tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, which had come loose as she bounced up and down. “Regardless, I heard Dr. Masterson and the Dame talking….” Dina paused, ensuring she had the full attention of the other three girls. “They said Gracia is taking Natalia’s place today. Like, right now, as we speak, they’re swapping. The Dame said, and I quote: ‘Natalia will be with us shortly, of that I have no doubt.’”

Talia

London, England

Two Days Until the Vote

“Oy, there you are!” a voice I recognized called out.

I surveyed the crowd in the department store cafeteria from beneath the short brim of a ridiculous black felt and rhinestone hat, searching for a familiar face. A boy about my own age waved excitedly in my direction. His medium brown hair and medium brown eyes were unmemorable, boring even. His facial features were plain, too ordinary to be handsome, too symmetrical and normal to be unattractive. Even the jeans and gray tee he wore made him blend in a way that ensured no one would look twice. Only the power emanating from his medium frame belied his true nature. And his true identity. Riley Wyld.

In addition to the stupid, albeit trendy, hat, I was decked out in shiny silver leggings, an oversized lace sweater, and matching lace wedges to give me height. I’d also acquired a pair of colored lenses that turned my purple irises a vibrant green. Like Riley’s banal appearance, my more elaborate get-up was meant as a disguise, since many of those sitting at nearby tables were similarly outfitted. Emma and Kip also both wore the latest fashions all three of us had “borrowed” from Harrods department store.

Like me, Riley was sensitive to other Talents, which was likely how he’d recognized me beneath the haute couture.

“Is that him? He looks so normal,” Emma hissed as Riley strode towards our table in the corner.

Emma and Kip had been wary of my decision to wait for Kenly’s emissary in such a populated location. I figured a meeting between two fugitives was better done in a crowd, where we were more likely to blend in. As opposed to a deserted park or shady back ally, where our presence alone would mean we were up to no good.

Neither of my companions was comfortable in the presence of so many city dwellers, though. They both felt like outsiders, which they were. Even in their new clothes, Kip and Emma screamed rural. Between the way their eyes popped and mouths gaped every time someone in a particularly London-y outfit walked by, and the way they pointed at billboards and advo signs, it was a wonder no one had stopped to ask where they were from.

“That’s Riley,” I replied in answer to Emma’s question.

Riley reached our table and swung the lone free chair around so that he could sit with his arms folded over the back. He scrutinized my two tagalongs, and then met my gaze. Twisted blue flames swirled briefly in his irises, causing Emma to gasp. At first I thought it was his strange eyes that gave her pause, then I remembered that she was like Riley and me. She could feel Riley’s power, and it was exponentially more intense than she’d been anticipating.

“This them?” Riley asked me, cocking a thumb towards Emma and Kip.

I nodded in confirmation.

For reasons I had yet to wrap my head around, the reception during the brief mental conversation between Kenly and me had been spotty at best. It had been clearer than on Pelia, yet still patchy and disjointed—almost as though the island’s energy had screwed up my gifts indefinitely. This was a thought I kept pushing aside. I didn’t want to consider a future without my talents. Life was too uncertain these days without the added worry of whether my mental abilities were losing their efficacy.

I’d given Kenly the barebones version of my escape and detour through Pelia, receiving short bursts of static interlaced with her stuttered responses in return. Enough of her words had gotten through for me to understand that she was sending Riley to meet us. I didn’t need her to explain the reasoning behind the decision. Riley was a proficient Morpher, capable of distorting his human features without the aid of makeup or hair dye. He also wasn’t a ranking member of UNITED’s most wanted list.

“This is Emma,” I said, pointing to my new friend. Riley’s gaze racked her from head to toe. He drew in a deep breath, as if inhaling Emma’s scent. Keen interest flashed across his expression.

“Are you an Interceptor?” Riley asked Emma.

“A what?” I interjected.

Interceptor was not a familiar term. But Riley was from an area that referred to Talents as Chromes, so his gifted vocabulary did vary from mine.

“An Interceptor. Someone who blocks a Chrome’s essence. Things are starting to make a whole lot more sense, if that’s the case.” Riley turned to me. “I felt you when I entered the cafeteria, but only just barely. I thought maybe it was a side effect of the drugs they gave you in prison to suppress your powers. But now that I’m sitting here, I’d say it’s her.” Riley nodded in Emma’s direction. He turned expectant eyes on Kip. “What do you do, mate?”

“The name’s Kip,” Kip said stiffly. “I teleport.”

Whistling appreciatively, Riley plucked a fry from the pile on my plate. Kip had needed to replenish his strength after our trip, so after stealing new outfits, I’d suggested waiting in the cafeteria so that he could consume calories. Using my own special brand of persuasion, I’d gotten all three of us turkey wraps and fries. Kip was the only one who’d as much as sampled the fare, though.

“Spot on,” Riley said around a mouthful of mushy potato. “That’ll come in handy to get us back to the bunker.”

Kip squirmed in his chair.

“We traveled a long distance. Kip’s powers are burnt out right now,” I said to save the poor embarrassed boy the trouble.

Riley waved a hand dismissively. “No worries. I have our route mapped out. Do you want anymore of these?” He pointed to the fries.

“All yours,” I replied, pushing the plate closer to him.

“I thought you’d be more interested in eating after a month on Vault. Food must have been bloody awful,” Riley continued conversationally.

It was the second reference he’d made to my incarceration. This was odd because UNITED had purposely kept it under wraps. Given the frequent disruptions in our conversation, I hadn’t told Kenly about my stint on Vault, only that I needed a place to hide.

“How do you know I was in prison?” I asked.

A wide grin split Riley’s middle-of-the-road features. “Our girl is quite the hacker. She’s been inside UNITED’s system for weeks, feeding them false leads on her whereabouts, siphoning info about the people in containment, and leaking inside bits about the vote.”

One mystery solved. Kenly was the hacker wreaking all sorts of havoc inside UNITED. Maybe my mentee wasn’t the harmless kitten I’d thought.

“She also found the transcript from your disciplinary hearing. That’s how we know you were incarcerated,” Riley continued, speaking fast and low. “She also installed a program designed to flag mentions of your name, and then send those files our way. That’s how we learned about your escape. I have to say, nice work with the pods. That program you wrote was brilliant. Even Kenly was impressed. And the telekinetic bit you did—jumping down that shaft without a chute.” Riley hugged himself and shuttered dramatically. “It gave me chills.”

I smiled in spite of myself.

“You should have seen the shenanigans she pulled to get us off Pelia,” Kip interjected.

He didn’t sound nearly as awestruck as Riley had when talking about my abilities. Then again, the earthquake I’d conjured might have destroyed a large portion of Kip’s home.

So, yeah, there was that.

“So I guess Kenly is doing well,” I said, ignoring Kip’s commentary.

Riley shrugged. “So-so. Our bunker doesn’t have windows, and she hasn’t seen sunlight in a month. Going outside is too chancy. But we do have the satellite images from around the world, so Kenly can virtually visit anywhere she likes.” He rolled his eyes. “And she has James. The two of them have settled quite nicely into domesticity.”

“What about you and Willa? Do you guys get out of the, um, bunker much?”

Willa was Riley’s longtime girlfriend. She’d been with us when we freed Kenly from the Poachers.

“Look, this catch up hour is nice and all, but I don’t think sitting here, you know, in public, is a great idea,” Emma interrupted. Her eyes panned the crowded cafeteria nervously. A quick swipe of her emotions told me that it was the sheer volume of people that made her uncomfortable, more so than the chance that someone would recognize me. Emma was definitely having second thoughts about her decision to come along on what she’d anticipated would be an adventure. She hadn’t appreciated the magnitude of the risk she was taking by coming to the mainland.

“You’re right,” Riley told Emma. “We should get going.” He turned to me. “If you truly believe that you can trust these two, that is. Without their last names, Kenly wasn’t able to work her magic and learn any information about them. She did find Pelia. Pretty secluded, isn’t it?”

“I can trust them. I do trust them,” I told him honestly.

“Can’t be too careful, luv,” Riley said. “I don’t suppose you watched the tele much in prison, but the list of people who want the lot of us dead or in captivity is longer than my leg.”

“You know I wouldn’t bring wolves into your henhouse,” I replied. “You can trust them, Riley. And they won’t be here long, just long enough for Kip to regain strength to teleport them back home to Pelia.”

“Good that,” Riley said. “What about you, Talia? How long are you thinking of staying?”

“I don’t know. If it’s too big an imposition, I can be gone by nightfall,” I answered.

I wasn’t sure where I would go, but I’d figure it out.

Riley took my hand and squeezed. “You’re welcome with us as long as you need.” Those blue flames lit up his irises again. “I have a feeling you’re going to want to stay in London anyhow.” He rose and motioned for Kip, Emma, and I to do the same. “I’ll explain more about that once we’re at the bunker. Or Kenly can, either way. Now we should make tracks. That kid over there keeps eyeing you.”

I followed Riley’s gaze to where a boy of ten or so sat with two adults, presumably his parents. Sure enough, the child’s eyes were glued to me. Pulling the hat lower on my forehead, I swallowed thickly.

“Lead the way,” I declared.

Riley spoke very little on the two-hour trip to the mysterious bunker. Several times he insisted we switch tube cars or depart a bus because he thought I was attracting too much attention. I felt the eyes on me, watching me with too much fervor to be chalked up to a passing interest. My sudden appearance in the Pink Giraffe, followed just as suddenly by my swift exit, was memorable, and I had little doubt UNITED was aware of my presence in London. I was uncertain what, if any, information they had leaked to the public. Regardless, they had spies everywhere, and Riley’s paranoia was not unfounded.

Three buses, four tube lines, and a taxi ride later, we ended our journey only four blocks from where we’d started.

“Didn’t we just pass Harrods?” Kip asked, confused.

“Needed to make sure we didn’t have a tail, mate,” Riley replied.

The hover taxi deposited us in a back alley, behind a main street with a variety of nightclubs, restaurants, and theaters. Riley paid the driver, adding a handsome tip to the already pricey fair. I took the liberty of altering the driver’s memories, just in case. Now, if anyone asked, he would remember only Kip and Emma, and even their images were now fuzzy in his mind.

“This is us,” Riley declared, gesturing towards glass double doors. Between thick panes, bubbles swam from the bottom to the top of the doors. He inserted an old-fashioned brass key into the lock and twisted. Shooting furtive glances up and down the deserted alleyway, Riley motioned Emma, Kip, and I through the back entrance.

“A nightclub, really?” I asked as Riley led our group down a dark hallway with numerous doors all marked Private. Ick, I didn’t want to know what went on inside those dens of sin.

“James’s family owns it,” Riley called over his shoulder.

I stopped short, causing Emma to stumble into the wall. She wiped furiously at her shoulder as though afraid she’d caught cooties from the paint. So caught up in my own thoughts, I’d tuned hers and Kip’s out. It was in that moment I understood just how surreal this all was for them both. I thought a nightclub a strange place for a bunker, but they found they idea of a nightclub in general strange and a little disturbing. That probably had to do with the advo signs we’d seen on the convoluted journey to Pure Bliss, which had all promised that euphoria waited within the glittering walls.

“I’m sorry, you mean James’s family, as in the Poachers?” I asked.

Riley turned and smiled. “That’s them. Not to worry, luv. Thanks to Bryn, James’s sister, those wanker parents of theirs are on the run. Last we heard, dear old mum and dad were in Budapest. Bryn’s been managing this place, as well as several of the other family businesses. She’s upped the wages for the Chromes, found them decent lodging, and even given them a stipend from the family coiffeurs to get the lot started. It was her who thought of us kipping in the bunker. It was built ages ago as a hideout, you know, just in case Chrome slavery ever became illegal and the Wellingtons became outlaws. Come on, Kenly will have my nads if we don’t hurry.”

I knew that Bryn had been feeding information on the Poachers to Victoria and her people, but I hadn’t been aware that UNITED was being proactive about hunting down the organization’s ringleaders. If the poaching families really were on the run, that meant I was wrong.

At the end of the hallway, Riley rounded the corner and led us through a set of frosted glass doors. Inside was Pure Bliss’s VIP suite. And it was bliss. Modeled after balconies at opera houses, the lounge area was a mix of Victorian era elegance and Ann Lisian modernity. Long, leather couches ran across three of the four tiers. Chrome tables engraved in an old world design sat in front of the bench-style seats. Frosted purple glass buckets were strategically placed on the tables, just waiting for bottles of champagne to be placed inside. The flutes surrounding each bucket were the same frosted purple glass.

The top tier was smaller than the other three and raised high above them. One wraparound sofa curved the perimeter of the dais like a giant python. The ice bucket on the accompanying platinum table was solid gold.

“Best seat in the house,” Riley informed us needlessly, pointing to the top tier. “Only place you can see the show down below.” This time he gestured to the empty space below the railing at the front of the balcony. I peered down. Ten stories below me was a giant stage, surrounded by a bar and dance floor on each side. It seemed the main part of the club was actually underground, since we’d entered this floor from street-level.

“What’s above the nightclub?” I asked.

“Bryn keeps a flat for herself up there. It’s huge. If we weren’t so worried about Kenly being spotted by UNITED, we’d stay there, too. Right now, the bunker’s a much better hiding spot.” Pushing aside a heavy curtain of black and gold velvet between the third and fourth tiers, Riley opened a black door that blended almost seamlessly with the wall. If not for the gold handle, I wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

“The lift only stops three places,” Riley informed us as he motioned for Kip, Emma, and I to board the elevator. He pointed towards the ceiling. “Bryn’s place.” He nodded towards the open door. “VIP lounge.” He tapped his foot three times on the floor of the elevator. “And the storeroom. Very few people have access to it, so no worries on the unexpected visitor front.”

The elevator was the kind with buttons and levers as opposed to bio scanners and voice commands. In order to make the car move, Riley first needed to insert another of his brass keys into a slot beneath the single row of buttons. Then, he pulled the lever to one side and hit the button marked SR.

Emma and Kip might have had more experience with supposedly extinct powers, such as teleportation, but elevators were a revelation for them. Emma clung tightly to her boyfriend, eyes round as pool balls, when the car started its descent. Kip tried to play it cool, patting Emma’s back and promising her that it would be okay, but he was just as uneasy about the mode of transportation.

“It’s just a lift,” Riley grumbled.

“A lift?” Emma squeaked. “But it feels like we’re going down, not up.”

“Let it go,” I told Riley as the car came to stop.

“Bunker level, where you’ll find techno equipment, bedding, and fugitives,” Riley said, speaking in a falsetto.

“Show me the fugitives first,” I deadpanned.

“Right this way, Miss Escaped Convict.” Riley bowed deeply.

Emma and Kip did not find our banter funny. This being their first foray into the murky pool of morality and even murkier pool of legality, I couldn’t blame them. Being a wanted criminal and skirting ethical lines was something I was used to, as was Riley.

The lift opened into a large storage closet with boxes of pricey alcohol. Riley dragged a large box with DeHallow Whiskey emblazoned on the side from one corner. Then, he bent and pulled a silver handle I hadn’t noticed right away. The trapdoor popped open. Voices speaking all different languages drifted up through the opening.

“Last stop, guys. Welcome to the bunker.” With that, Riley dropped through the trapdoor.

I looped one arm through Kip’s and one through Emma’s and half-dragged the pair to the opening. Riley was halfway down a metal ladder. When he saw me peering down at him, he jumped the last several feet to the ground. His boots made a dull thud when the soles connected with the carpet.

“Riley! Where is she?” I heard Kenly call, and then her big brown eyes were gazing up at me.

A tremendous weight lifted from my chest at the sight of my former mentee. She looked good. Paler than normal, which was saying something, but lack of sunlight did that to people. Kenly had always been tall and thin, but the last time I’d seen her she was emaciated. Not anymore. She’d put on a good fifteen pounds and looked much healthier for it.

Tears shimmered on her lashes, and she waved excitedly. I didn’t bother with the ladder, since the drop was only about ten feet. As soon as I landed, Kenly’s arms encircled my shoulders in a crushing hug.

“Oh my gosh, you have to tell me everything.” She pushed me away gently and examined me. “Prison life must have been awful.” She squeezed my biceps. “Did you spend all your time working out? I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I can’t believe they put you in jail for helping me! That Victoria lady is such a wench! Are you hungry? I’ll have something special sent down and you can tell me everything. Nice clothes by the way. Oh, is this them?” Kenly spoke so fast that my head spun with the effort of keeping up with her. Only the sight of Emma and Kip, who had joined us in the bunker, was enough to staunch the flow of verbal vomit Kenly was expelling.

“Wow. One question at time, okay? First, yes, this is Emma and Kip.” I pointed to the two islanders. They waved hello. “Life on Vault wasn’t so bad. Quiet. Very quiet. Which was nice. And, no, Kenly, it wasn’t your fault.”

Guilt wafted off of her, the aroma reminiscent of overripe fruit.

“I made a decision, and I had to live with the consequences. Besides, my list of infractions had a lot more on it than letting you guys go.” I glanced around the bunker, impressed by the size and amenities. “Nice digs.”

“It’s not much, but I like it,” Kenly replied, grinning.

Not much was an understatement. The fallout shelter consisted of one enormous oval room—seriously, it spanned two city blocks—with screen dividers spread throughout. It reminded me of office cubicles, but way nicer.

“Is this where you live?” Emma asked, speaking for the first time. “I was expecting something a lot more primitive.”

“Pays to have connections, particularly when those connections have money,” a deep voice interjected. From behind one of the dividers, James stepped into the open. His handsome face offered me a tentative smile, his silver eyes apprehensive.

“How are you James?” I asked Kenly’s boyfriend. To my surprise, James opened his arms for a hug. I obliged him.

“Doing well, thanks to you.” James stepped back and looked me over. “How are you? We’ve been worried.”

I waved off the comment. “I’m good. Swear. Though it is nice to be off Vault.”

“I’ll bet. That was some escape you pulled. How’d you manage to make it to London?” James asked.

“It’s a long story. These two,” I gestured to Emma and Kip, “had a lot to do with the second leg of my trip.”

During our brief exchange, James had visibly relaxed. But when his silver gaze found the two imports, his expression turned anxious again. Taking several steps towards the newcomers, he extended his hand to Emma first. “James Wellington.”

Smiling shyly, Emma returned the handshake. “Emma Montague. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” Releasing Emma’s hand, James turned his attention to Kip and repeated the introduction.

“Vester Ozolos, but you can call me Kip,” the islander replied.

Beside me, Kenly froze, the vibes emanating off of her a mix of fear and concern. I got the distinct impression that neither that fear nor that concern was over her own safety, or that of her bunker-mates. James and Riley exchanged pointed glances, and both boys’ expressions turned grim. Jaw set in a hard line, James rose his brows in question at Kenly.

“What?” I demanded as the trio of Kenly, James, and Riley continued to send a myriad of silent signals back and forth.

“Maybe I should tell you everything first,” Kenly said. “Or better yet, I’ll show you.”

Kenly walked through the maze of dividers to a large open space at one end of the expansive room. The entire area was covered in monitors, each showing a different image from around the world. The volumes were all on low, but the voices I’d been hearing were coming from the screens.

One long holo desk sat in the middle of the area, with several chairs situated behind it.

“This is quite the setup you’ve got here,” I commented.

“Yeah, well, the Chrome trade is lucrative,” James replied bitterly. “I’d love to see the looks on my parents’ faces when they learn their bunker, with all of its expensive techno gear and 1000-threadcout sheets, has been turned into a hideout for the very people they’ve been selling into slavery.” His laugh was derisive. “My grandparents are probably rolling over in their graves. Soulless gits.”

Kenly rested a comforting hand on her boyfriend’s arm. The tension in James’s muscles lessened instantly under her touch. Ever the gentleman, James pulled out the center chair at the holo table for Kenly. With an appreciative smile that reminded me a lot of the way I’d seen Emma gazing at Kip, Kenly sat. But as soon as she turned to face the wall of monitors, her expression was all business.

With three quick taps to the tabletop, a holo keyboard appeared. Kenly’s fingers flew across the keys at lightning speed, muting the volume on all of the monitors simultaneously. Then, on the center screen, which was larger than the rest, a computer desktop with hundreds of file folders appeared.

“You might want to sit,” James suggested, indicating the other chairs at the desk.

Emma, Kip, and I sat.

“Probably you should start at the beginning, Kenly,” Riley said, perching on the far left side of the table.

James stood behind Kenly, gently rubbing her shoulders as she worked.

“Right. The beginning.” Absently, Kenly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and cracked her knuckles. “So, I infiltrated UNITED’s digital system,” she announced without preamble.

“I heard, and I am impressed,” I said with a proud grin.

Kenly blushed. “It wasn’t that hard. Anyway, I’ve installed a bunch of programs for a bunch of different reasons. One is an alert for mentions of you.” She gestured towards me.

“Riley told us,” I replied.

“Oh, he did? Did he tell you what I found?”

“Only the basics,” Riley chimed in helpfully. “I thought it best you tell her about Nightshade.”

My insides began to squirm. I’d never heard of Nightshade, but just the way Riley said the name gave me goosebumps.

“Okay, so there is the mercenary organization called Nightshade,” Kenly began. “Have you heard of them?”

I shook my head.

“I have,” Emma piped up, surprising everyone including Kip. She shrugged and explained, “My dad’s had dealings with them.”

Cue more pointed glances between Kenly, Riley, and James.

The mushy feeling in my stomach intensified. NS—that had been the signature on the fax Jeb received my last night on Pelia. I’d assumed that NS was a person. But what if the initials stood for Nightshade?

“What sort of dealings?” Kenly asked Emma cautiously.

“I don’t really know. I’ve just heard him mention them before, like when he’s talking to some of the other elders in our tribe,” Emma replied nervously, obviously having picked up on the atmosphere change.

“Emma,” I began slowly, “is it possible the NS from that fax was Nightshade?”

Emma’s eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry, Talia. I didn’t even—I should have, but I didn’t. It just never—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I told Emma.

“What are you two talking about?” Kenly asked. “What fax?”

I blew out a breath and repeated the short communication verbatim.

“So they knew you were on Pelia?” Kenly asked, furrowing her brow. “How? Who tipped them off? Because it doesn’t sound like it was Emma’s father, not if they wanted confirmation from him that you were there.”

“Freedom Beach is in the free lands,” Kip interjected. “News of a mainlander washing up in no-man’s territory spreads quickly on Pelia. Even though Emma found Talia, it’s likely that someone from another tribe saw Talia first. And while the various tribes don’t get along as a whole, individuals from different tribes do socialize in the free lands. My best friend has even dated a girl from a rival tribe. So once Talia’s presence in our village was known, I’m sure people started gossiping to their friends in other parts of the island.”

“Why is Nightshade looking for me?” I asked, directing my question to Kenly. “Do you know?”

“Not exactly,” Kenly hedged. “Given the way their organization works, I can tell you that they were hired to find you. I can also tell you that their orders are to capture you and deliver you to the client alive. No exceptions.” Her eyes flitted briefly to Kip. “And you, too, Kip.”

Now I understood the collective reactions from Kenly, Riley, and James upon hearing Kip’s real name. The fact a mercenary organization was after me was not surprising in the least. And the client who’d hired Nightshade could be any number of unsavory people or groups. But Kip was from a remote island in the middle of nowhere. Why did they want him? How did they even know about him?

The fear I felt was not my own; it was Emma’s, and it was crippling. Using the table to steady myself, I erected reinforced mental shields to block her emotions. I did send calming vibes Emma’s way, though. Judging by her level of anxiety, she needed all the help she could get.

“Now would be a good time to go back to the beginning,” I told Kenly. “Tell me everything you know about Nightshade.”

Between Kenly, James, and Riley they wove a tale of corruption, kidnapping, and murder that spanned centuries. Thanks to Kenly’s hacking abilities, there were pictures to accompany the acts my friends described.

“This is the youngest son of Holo Fantasy Games CEO Bret Canter,” Kenly explained as she brought up an image of a young, terrified boy holding up a sign for the camera. The message “Withdraw your bid on Universal Fortune by midnight, or I die” was written in block letters on the piece of cardboard clutched in the child’s hands. “Nightshade kidnapped the child to force his father to recant his offer on Universal Fortune, and it worked. Mr. Canter did withdraw his bid, and another gaming company, Surreal Entertainment, swooped in and purchased Universal Fortune for a steal.”

My mentee’s tone was dispassionate, but I wasn’t fooled. Kenly was more bothered by the images than I was. She was just trying to put on a brave face in the hopes she wouldn’t break down in tears. James continued to rub her back soothingly, a gesture that did relax Kenly some.

A new image replaced the one of Bret Canter’s son. This one was of a candid shot of woman with an immaculate blonde bun and shrewd brown eyes shaking hands with well-wishers at some sort of campaign rally.

“This is Henrietta Karmine. She was favored to win the U.S. presidential election,” Kenly told the group. She tapped the tabletop. The same woman was now engaged in naked twister with another woman nearly half Henrietta’s age. Both women were clearly enjoying their time together. “This is just one of over a hundred photos Nightshade released after Henrietta refused to pullout of the race. All of her financial backers withdrew their support after the pictures went viral, and Henrietta lost the election anyhow.”

“I get that the pictures are sort of scandalous,” Kip said. “But, I guess I don’t see why people wouldn’t vote for her because of them.”

“The other woman isn’t her wife,” James said darkly. “She was Henrietta’s children’s nanny. And she was only nineteen at the time.”

“Oh, wow.” Kip’s expression was stunned as he angled his head to really study the photograph.

Kenly tapped the tabletop again to switch images. The man on screen was much older, and smiling dazzlingly for the camera. His arm was around a beautiful woman with startlingly green eyes that were focused solely on the man. Kenly cleared her throat and pointed at the man. “This is Jose Rodriguez.” She pointed at the woman. “This is Juana Rodriguez. She was the youngest ever female gymnast to win all-around gold in the Global Games, as well as individual gold in each event. She repeated the feat three more times in three consecutive Games. She married Jose shortly before what would have been her four Games, where Juana should have set a world record for the most gold medals ever by a female gymnast.”

“That didn’t happen,” I guessed.

“No.” It was Riley who took up the story now. He reached over and tapped the tabletop to switch to the next image. I recoiled. Jose’s gorgeous face was slashed with razor-thin lines of red, with blood trickling from the cuts. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the message carved into Jose’s bare torso: Hope the medals keep you warm at night. “Nightshade contacted Juana prior to her fourth Games, demanding she throw the competition or harm would come to her husband. Since Nightshade didn’t abduct Jose before making the threat, Juana called their bluff. She was leading the field after her first day of competition—that’s when the mercenaries took Jose. They didn’t send a second warning. They just killed him. Juana did pull out of the Games after that, but it was too late.”

Before anyone could show another graphic image, I held up my hand. “I think we get the point. I don’t want any more images burned into my mind.” This was true. But my concern was more for Emma than my own not-so-delicate sensibilities. I’d seen death. I’d caused death. So the images, while troubling, weren’t all that much worse than some stuff I’d seen in person. Emma, on the other hand, was verging on a nervous breakdown, even with my calming vibes wafting her way. “How do you know for sure Nightshade is looking for Kip and me?” I asked Kenly.

“UNITED’s files,” she replied guiltily. “I found a report the cryptos sent Victoria Walburton, alerting her to the fact that Nightshade was targeting you. That’s what got me started on their trail. Using the acts UNITED knows for sure were perpetrated by Nightshade, I wrote an algorithm that identifies other incidents throughout history that fit the group’s M.O. From there, I hacked my way into the victims’ personal records and communicator logs to see whether Nightshade ever contacted them with demands. When I did find communications, I attempted to back trace them to the source.” Kenly paused to catch her breath. “No luck so far. I’m so sorry, Talia. Without that information, I can’t figure out who hired Nightshade to capture you, Kip, and the others.”

“You have no reason to be sorry,” I told her, still digesting this information. “Wait—others? How many other people are they currently after?”

“Ten in total,” James said softly.

“Who else is on that list?” I asked, my voice flat and emotionless. The answer was going to upset me further, and I needed to steel my emotions preemptively. Otherwise, I’d be as close to a panic attack as Emma currently was.

James took Kenly’s hand and squeezed. “Tell her.”

Erik. Of course. They were going to tell me that Erik was a target.

“Erik, for one,” Kenly confirmed.

I exhaled slowly. No surprise. He was probably a high priority target for any number of groups, same as me. But Erik was under UNITED’s protection. It would be damned near impossible for Nightshade to reach him. Or, it would have been before my escape. Now that I was out on my own, the chance I’d be captured was exponentially higher than when I’d been imprisoned on Vault. If Nightshade caught me, Erik would gladly go with them out of some misguided notion of chivalry.

What have you done? I wondered for the umpteenth time.

“Penny for another,” Kenly continued when I didn’t freak out over the news about Erik.

Again, I wasn’t surprised Penny was a target. Her natural ability to mimic other’s talents made her valuable. The fact she was Created and knew how to use all twelve of her gifts made her worth unquantifiable. And, of course, she was Ian Crane’s niece. Penny’s safety was Crane’s number one concern. If someone held Penny hostage in order to persuade Crane to take, or not take, a certain action, he would capitulate.

Kenly continued reading off names, some of which I recognized and some I did not.

“Winter Rossi, Beth Larson, Kumiko Tao, Miguel Sanchez, and Ida Sawakski.” My mentee paused and looked over at me with sympathetic eyes. “And Alexander McDonough,” she finished quietly.

My heart stopped. No. No. No. No. Not Alex. He was a child, little more a baby. They couldn’t have him. I wouldn’t let it happen. I’d give myself over first.

Calm. I needed to be calm. Losing my head wouldn’t help Alex. Besides, he was on Eden. Victoria wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Even with the councilwoman’s betrayal fresh in my mind, I truly did believe that she would protect Alex. The way she’d spoken about Alex and her personal interest in his education were genuine. That knowledge did lessen the constrictive feeling in my chest some.

As if sensing I needed something to focus on besides Alex, Kenly hurried forward with the scant information she had on the other targets. “Beth Larson was at the McDonough School briefly.”

“I know. I was the one who handed her over to Mac,” I replied.

“I know.” Kenly smiled sadly and clicked on another file folder. This time, the incident report on Beth’s collection came on screen. I didn’t read it. I’d been there; I knew what had happened.

“Winter Rossi is any interesting one,” Kenly continued.

I quirked an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“For what we can tell, she’s a Separator,” James said.

“A what?” I asked, confused.

“She can separate her essence from her physical body, like numerous times. The bizarre thing is that her physical form can’t do much, while her copies can do all sorts of stuff,” Kenly replied.

“Like what?” I asked, dread filling me.

“Morph, become invisible, use telekinesis. I’m pretty sure they can’t do telepathy, though. Or control minds. Or teleport. Or remote view. Or future gaze,” Kenly said pointedly.

Right, which were all the talents that Beth, Alex, Kip, and I possessed individually. Great. “Can her copies mimic other Talents’ abilities?” I asked.

“Not that we’re aware of,” James answered.

“Which obviously makes her different from both Penny and Erik,” Kenly added. “She’s strong, too.”

I’d figured as much. “And the others—Kumiko Tao, Miguel Sanchez, and Ida Sawakski—what can you tell me about them?

Kenly and James both shook their heads. “Nothing. We can’t find so much as a mention of them. It was the same with Kip, until he showed up with you.” Kenly smiled sadly over at Kip, who was only half-listening to the conversation. His focus was mainly on Emma. “I can only guess that Kumiko, Miguel and Ida must be from really remote regions, just like you two. It’s possible one or more of the three lives on Pelia. Didn’t you guys say something about rival tribes?”

“Yeah,” Kip agreed. “I don’t recognized their names, but that doesn’t mean anything. I know so few people from the other factions personally.” He squeezed Emma’s hand. “What about you? Are any of those names familiar?”

Emma shook her head, keeping her gaze downcast.

“Is it possible Nightshade has already acquired Kumiko, Ida, and Miguel?” I asked.

“Possible,” Kenly confirmed. “They might have Beth, as well. I can’t be sure. But no one else.”

“You’re positive? Alex is safe?” I demanded. Even though I knew getting him off of Eden would be a epic endeavor, I was still worried. That child had been through so much. He deserved to be left alone to grow up like a normal child. Well, as normally as a Talented child with a rare ability could grow up.

Once again, Kenly’s fingers flew across the keyboard. Alex’s adorable little face came into focus on the center wallscreen. Beside him sat a blonde woman, and they were playing with a set of blocks. Kenly unmuted the volume, and I heard Alex’s soft voice calling out numbers as he traced them on the blocks with his chubby finger. My heart melted at the sight. I missed that little boy so much it hurt.

“Is this live? How are we watching this?” I asked around the lump in my throat.

“I hacked Eden’s security feeds,” Kenly replied sheepishly. “And yes, this is a live stream.”

I laughed and tears fell down my cheeks.

“Winter isn’t so easy to find usually,” Kenly said. “But I’ll give it a try.”

She left the feed with Alex and his tutor on the big screen, using the one to the right of it to scan faces for Winter. It took several minutes, but finally Kenly found the Separator on a bus in Istanbul.

“That’s her, right there,” Riley said, using a laser pointer to indicate a girl around twenty on the monitor. She sat alone on a bench at the rear of the bus, bobbing her head in time to music streaming through tiny buds tucked inside her ears. Ordinary was the only way to describe her. Dishwater blonde hair framed an oval face with narrow hazel eyes and a small mouth. Simple silver hoops were threaded through her lobes and a delicate star hung on a chain around her neck.

“She’s so normal,” I said.

“Not always,” Kenly replied. “This is just her everyday look. One of them at least. Much like Riley, she’s a chameleon. That’s what makes her so hard to find with facial recognition.” She enhanced the image on screen until only the side of Winter’s neck was visible. There was a smattering of freckles down the side of the girl’s throat. At first, I didn’t see the significance, after all freckles weren’t unique; I had freckles. But when Kenly literally connected the dots, I saw it: Not 2 B Duped.

“I can only guess that it stands for: Not to be duplicated. Anyway, that’s how I keep finding her. No matter what appearance Winter takes on, as long as she’s human, she has that tattoo.”

“Are you sure it’s a tattoo?” I asked.

James, Kenly, and Riley stared at me blankly. Kip had once again tuned out of the conversation, and it had been a long time since Emma cared too much about what we were discussing.

“Right. Of course it is,” I answered my own question, feeling stupid.

“I’ve been thinking of contacting her, but I don’t really know what to say. I mean, ‘You’re in danger’ sounds a might dramatic and ominous,” Kenly said.

“The girl’s paranoid as it is,” James interjected. “Warning her probably won’t hurt, but she already watches her back pretty closely.”

“Yeah, we only found her originally through luck,” Kenly added.

James scoffed. “No, you found her through a lot of hard work,” he told his girlfriend.

“It was brilliant,” Riley agreed. “The only picture on file anywhere for Winter is from when she was very small—six, if I remember correctly. So Kenly used age progression to alter the image so we could figure out what Winter might look like now. Bloody brilliant.”

Kenly blushed scarlet. “I mean, anyone could have thought of it,” she mumbled.

“Nightshade clearly hasn’t,” I said. “Otherwise, Winter wouldn’t be riding a bus right now.”

“That’s sort of where the luck comes in,” James admitted. “Kenly’s age progression was spot on. Unfortunately, Winter rarely takes that form. Her birth form, for lack of a better term, is not one of her go-to ones. Which is smart if you ask me. It just so happened she was in that birth form briefly while traveling around Budapest. We weren’t even looking for her at the time. We were tracking my parents. Winter and my mum and dad literally crossed paths while Kenly and I were watching them. Kenly recognized Winter. A close-up scan of her showed the tattoo, and the rest is history.”

Impressed was an understatement. Kenly was a one woman Crypto Bank.

I rubbed my temples, not realizing how badly my head was throbbing until that moment. Glancing over at Kip and Emma, I saw they were both as exhausted as I was. We’d already had an extremely long day, and Emma and I hadn’t even slept the night before. All three of us needed rest. Particularly Kip, since he needed to teleport himself and Emma back to Pelia. Though I wasn’t certain that was the smartest idea anymore. I didn’t believe Jeb would turn Kip over to Nightshade. But if the mercenaries did brave the storms and travel to Pelia looking for me, they would find Kip.

“Oh, crap,” Kenly interrupted my musings.

Both she and James were staring at the center screen, which no longer showed Alex playing with his blocks. Riley was trying to help Kip soothe Emma, suggesting a sedative to help her rest. But for the first time since meeting Emma, I was barely aware of her presence.

Erik, beautiful turquoise eyes sparkling in the sunlight, was staring out of the wallscreen at me. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. The ache in my chest born of longing intensified exponentially. How was it possible to miss another human being so much? To love another person so completely?

Without realizing it, I’d gotten to my feet and crossed the room to stand directly beneath the monitor. I stood on tiptoes and reached up to stroke Erik’s cheek on screen.

“Is this in real time? Where is he?” I asked without turning around.

Kenly took a long time to answer, and my gaze never wavered from the image of Erik.

“Here, in London,” my mentee said finally.

It was a long moment before her words registered. Erik was in London? We were in the same city? So close. He was so close. I had to see him.

“Don’t do it, Talia,” Kenly said softly, pleadingly.

“It’s not safe,” James added for good measure.

On screen, the scene changed. A twenty-something male reporter was sitting behind a news desk in a studio, reading from a teleprompter. Inset in the corner of the screen was footage from one of Erik’s previous peace rallies. It showed him speaking from behind a podium while numerous bodyguards, including Miles, looked on from the wings.

“UNITED’s goodwill ambassador, Erikson Kelley, arrived today in London in preparation for his last appearance, which is scheduled to take place just hours before the Joint Nations convenes to vote on the controversial Coexistence Treaty. The Created will give one last speech, urging the public for tolerance in these trying times. After the incident at his last rally, many pundits believed UNITED would cancel this final outing. However, according to UNITED councilwoman Victoria Walburton, the organization feels it would be a disservice. ‘We will not be silenced by intolerants,’ she is quoted as saying. ‘Agent Kelley is not afraid, and neither is UNITED. We have every confidence that the Joint Nations will come to the proper conclusion.’

“Kelley isn’t the only Created to arrive in London thus far. Numerous reports suggest an influx of gifted, natural and created, individuals have already descended upon us. We have even had sightings of famed assassin Natalia Lyons, whose whereabouts have been a mystery since she led a group of UNITED agents in a raid at the country estate of Lord Nigel Monroe, Duke of Shrewsbury and London Isle.”

My face flashed across the screen. I had no idea when the picture was taken, but I looked fierce, determined, and worst of all, lethal.

“Bias much?” I muttered.

James laughed. “WOF isn’t known for fair and just reporting. They are no friends to Chromes.” He hesitated. “But this isn’t good news, Talia. We knew you’d been seen. We thought UNITED would quash the rumors, though. They don’t want your abilities falling into the wrong hands.”

I felt a wall of dread slam into my back, knocking the wind out of me. Would the twists ever stop coming? I wondered. Kenly and James had yet another secret to tell me, but neither wanted to be the bearer of bad news.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” I said through clenched teeth.

Behind me, Kenly let out a long, shaky breath. “Have you heard of proposition 2690?” she asked, almost hopeful. That was when I realized that she was hopeful—hopeful that I already knew whatever she wanted to tell me so that she wouldn’t be forced to say the words aloud.

“No, why?” This time, I did turn around. On screen, the reporter was still jabbering away, but I tuned him out. “Kenly,” I warned when she wasn’t forthcoming.

“So, you know how there isn’t enough room on the islands for all of the refugees?”

I nodded.

“UNITED is doing a lottery. Sort of. They’ve already selected the names, but the process wasn’t entirely random. Nearly half of the individuals were chosen based on certain factors that UNITED finds important. Scientists, teachers, exceptionally strong Talents, sports stars, celebrities—you get the picture. The rest were, to a degree, random.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. This was not a surprise. In a closed society, people with certain skills were imperative. It was unfortunate but true. I didn’t understand why Kenly and James were so bothered by it. Maybe I was just too cynical.

“Yesterday morning, twenty-eight hundred names were added to the lottery list,” Kenly continued.

“Hmmm, that is odd,” I hedged, still unclear as to the significance.

“I found it odd, too. So, I cross-referenced that number with the populations of the individual islands, the number of Created in containment, and so on. Well, I got a hit. There are exactly twenty-eight hundred Level Four and Five inmates on Vault.”

I didn’t need her to connect the dots this time. Realization dawned with the subtlety of a frying pan to the back of my skull. UNITED was planning to execute prisoners to make room for refugees. In a weird, twisted way, it made sense.

And in an even weirder and more twisted way, the news made me feel better. It wasn’t personal. Victoria hadn’t voted to kill me specifically. She’d made a tough call that made logical sense. I mean, I was still pissed at the councilwoman, but I no longer felt the deep stab of betrayal. I would have preferred to hear the truth from Victoria herself, instead of Konterra’s warped version of the truth. But I wasn’t blind to my own faults. Victoria had kept the possibly of my execution a secret to prevent me doing exactly what I’d done—escaping Vault. And she probably wouldn’t have cared about me escaping if Nightshade weren’t in the picture.

You really screwed up this time, I thought.

Of course, had Victoria been frank and honest about all of the issues—well, I liked to think that I would have been rational instead of rash. Then again, I may have attacked her. It was really a tossup.

“You don’t seem nearly as shocked as I thought you might,” Kenly said, pulling me from my musings.

“I knew about the executions; it’s why I ran. But I thought it was just me. I didn’t know the council is planning to kill all Level Four and Five prisoners. Sort of changes my perspective.”

“Are you saying you would’ve stayed and prayed the treaty passes?” Riley asked.

I looked over and found Emma and Kip had disappeared while I was caught up in my own head. I really was crappy at this whole protection thing. Emma and Kip were my responsibility. I’d persuaded Emma to persuade Kip to teleport me to London, and then, after Emma fell apart upon learning that a ruthless mercenary group was hunting her boyfriend, I got so enmeshed in my own issues that I forgot to watch out for the foreigners. It was Alex all over again.

“I gave Emma a sedative. She and Kip are resting,” Riley explained, correctly guessing where my thoughts had wandered. “They’re fine, Talia. Kip is tough. Emma is, too. She just needs time to digest it all.”

I sighed. “I hope you’re right, Riley. They need to be tough or they won’t survive. And no, smartass, I probably wouldn’t have stayed and prayed the treaty was going to pass.” I grinned impishly. “Wouldn’t have wanted to show the council that a little quality time in a cell to think about what I’d done worked. I would have still fled, if only to show them I couldn’t be beaten.”

“Scary part is, I don’t think you’re joking,” Riley replied.

Yeah, I wasn’t joking. And that was sort of scary. I was every bit as stubborn and impetuous as the council accused me of being.

“This is why you can’t contact Erik,” Kenly interjected. “I don’t believe he’d betray you.” Her fingers flew to her throat subconsciously. She forced a weak smile. “We both know he’d kill anyone trying to hurt you without a second thought, and he’d sleep just fine that night. But Talia, he might not know what UNITED is planning. If he believes that bringing you back to the islands is best for you, he will. Particularly if he knows about Nightshade. And I’m pretty sure that he does. Earlier I intercepted a communication Victoria sent to the rest of the council. In it, she says that several targets have been notified of the existence of Nightshade and that they will need extra security at Erik’s final rally. I think it’s safe to assume those targets are Penny and Erik.”

“I understand. And you have a point, but—”

“Hear her out,” James cut me off.

“I do think he deserves to know you’re safe,” Kenly continued. I felt how much the concession cost her. She was not Erik’s biggest fan. I couldn’t blame her much; my boyfriend had tried to strangle her. “Which,” Kenly began again, “is why I will go see him. He’s staying at The Palace. I can get in and out invisibly. Please, don’t argue.”

“I really appreciate your offer,” I said, offering my mentee a genuine smile of affection. “But I can just talk to him mentally. That is safe. I can explain the situation.”

It wasn’t ideal. I wanted to see Erik. We were so close—closer than we’d been in a month. The need to hold him in my arms was stronger than my desire to breathe. Still, I wasn’t stupid. And I had no desire to add yet another screw up to my ever growing list.

Victoria may have been able to get me an exemption from the blanket execution order prior to my escape, which was exactly what she’d been hoping for with the research project she gave me. I now understand what she’d meant about proving my worth as a team player and asset. But after this latest transgression, yeah, even Victoria Walburton didn’t have enough to pull to save my criminal butt.

Going to Erik would be walking into a trap. For someone who was so impulsive, I was extremely predictable when it came to him. The council was counting on me throwing caution out the window and running straight for my boyfriend. Agents were definitely waiting in the shadows for me to do just that.

“No, luv, you can’t,” Riley said sadly. “Emma is an exceptional Interceptor. And I do believe she has a pretty good handle on her abilities normally. But right now?” He shook his head. “That is one egg on the verge of cracking. You know stress makes a Chrome’s gifts hard to control. Until she’s had time to process all this nonsense with Nightshade, and her father’s involvement with them, I’d be shocked if you’ll even manage the bursts of conversation you were before with Kenly. If you want him to know you are safe and in London, one of us has to go to The Palace.”

I half-expected Riley to offer to go in Kenly’s place, but he didn’t. So I turned to James, hoping to find an ally. “You don’t really think Kenly is the best choice, do you?”

James glanced lovingly down at Kenly. “She wants to do this for you. No,” James corrected himself. “She needs to do this for you.”

A number of reassurances were on the tip of my tongue. Kenly didn’t owe me anything for saving her from the Poachers. Neither did she owe me for letting her go at Walburton Manor. But I felt Kenly’s guilt as acutely as if it were my own. She understood the risks of walking into UNITED’s trap, even invisibly. And she was prepared to suffer the consequences, because I’d done the same for her and spent a month in prison for it. So against my better judgment, I relented.

“Okay. Tell him I love him.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat and attempted a joke to lighten the mood. “And give him a kiss from me.”

Kenly laughed. “I don’t feel that guilty, Talia.”

The Privileged

Besançon, France

Two Days Before the Vote

“So Gracia’s gone?” Daphne asked in a small voice.

“I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” Cressa assured her.

“Actually, no, she wont,” Dina retorted, rolling her eyes at Cressa’s ignorance. “She became Natalia so that UNITED won’t realize that their most powerful player has come over to our side. For all intents and purposes, she is Natalia. So, Gracia won’t come back until the Privileged take control. Anyone with a brain knows that.”

“Madame Brink has arrived,” Suzu announced, just in time to save Cressa from saying something to Dina that she might later regret. “Space is tight in the commons, so I need the boys to relocate to the atrium.”

The segregation of the sexes was greeted with moans and groans, with a lot of the disappointment stemming from the group still surrounding Kev Leon. Even Cressa had to admit she was disappointed that he was leaving, though for reasons entirely different from the fangirls. Kev seemed to know an awful lot about the inner workings of the Institute, and Cressa wanted time to pump him for information.

I never would’ve guessed that it would come to this, she thought with a wry smile, marveling at how things had changed in less than twenty-four hours. That I’d want to talk to Kev Leon solely for his knowledge.

The boys obediently collected their lunch trash and filed out of the commons, Kev bringing up the rear. The vid star had upped his acting game, adding random twitches and moist eyes to his already stellar zombie performance.

Why? Cressa wanted to know. Why is he pretending to be so scared?

It didn’t make sense, unless…no, she didn’t even want to think it. But once the seed of doubt was planted, it began to grow. What if the playacting wasn’t for the eyes of the Institute, but was for the cadets, instead? To see how they’d react to another student exhibiting obvious signs of an adjustment disorder? Was Cressa supposed to report him?

But that didn’t make sense either, not really. In the tunnels, Kev had dropped the act. He’d saved Daphne’s life and helped both girls escape the guards. And whenever he thought no one was listening, Kev spoke normally to Cressa. He even fed her information about the Institute.

Maybe that’s part of the ruse, she thought, feeling extremely paranoid.

Cressa didn’t know whom to confide in, who was trustworthy. Quite possibly no one. She’d assumed the alarms were activated when Daphne touched the glass viewing window, but what if that was just happenstance? What if Ritchie was the mole? Maybe she ran back and reported the others to Leslie.

Cressa glanced at the magenta-haired girl, then let her gaze wander over the rest of the 2Ps. Who could she trust?

Nydia, Cressa thought, she’s safe.

Her roommate had lied for her. And even though Nydia wasn’t currently speaking to Cressa, she still hadn’t ratted her out. That, at least, counted for something.

Daphne, too, seemed to be on the level. She’d been with Cressa the entire time in the tunnels, never once leaving her sight until they parted ways in the bathroom. She’d been just as close to wearing a red jumpsuit as Cressa. There was no chance Daphne had double-crossed them.

“I think the three of us should stick together,” Ritchie suggested.

Cressa looked around the commons and realized all the girls were partnering up. Dina had migrated over to another group, and was exuberantly recounting her tale about Gracia, Dr. Masterson, and the Dame to them. That left Cressa with Ritchie and Daphne.

“Yeah, of course,” Cressa replied, plastering on a fake smile. “Is it cool if Nydia joins us, though? She looks like she needs a partner.”

“We won’t be able to talk about, you know, stuff with Nydia around,” Ritchie said, wrinkling her brow.

That’s the point, Cressa thought, then called out Nydia’s name.

Her roommate wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of working with Cressa, but clearly didn’t want to cause a scene. So Nydia agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Her roommate’s presence had the desired effect. The girls chatted very little, and even then only about the lesson. Until Cressa knew for sure she could trust the pink-haired girl, she wasn’t going to take any chances. If Ritchie was a spy for the Dame, Cressa wasn’t going to dig her own grave any deeper.

“Dinner tonight will be served in your individual rooms,” Suzu announced at the end of the afternoon session. She was standing in the archway, voice pitched so that both those in the commons and in the atrium were able to hear her. “Then, you may read, play strategy games, or do something similarly quiet until lights out. No one leaves his or her room, except to use the facilities. Since Cadet Beaumont is not available, Cadet Abbot and I will continue to cover her duties. Girls, please return to your rooms now. Boys, line up by the elevators. Cadet Ivan will escort you to your floor in groups.”

The girls began to clean up their area, replacing the practice objects in bins and carrying them to the front of the room.

“Nydia, will you take ours up?” Ritchie asked, handing the bin to her without waiting for a response. Once Nydia was out of earshot, Ritchie turned to Cressa and Daphne. “Let’s meet tonight, during shower time.”

“Why?” Cressa asked. “I mean, what’s left to discuss? We haven’t been hauled to interrogation yet, so it’s a pretty safe to assume the others haven’t ratted us out. Clandestine bathroom meetings will look suspicious.”

Ritchie sighed impatiently. “We don’t know that for sure, Cressa. We need to get Shyla to talk. We need to know what she told the Dame.”

“So, you want to meet and make a plan to pry the information out of Shyla?” Cressa huffed. “Last time we saw her, she wasn’t really in a talkative mood. Besides, she’s still in med bay, or wherever Leslie and Gregor took her. We should just play it cool, stay under the radar.”

“Actually,” Daphne spoke up. “She’s right there.”

Cressa spun on her heel toward the archway, where Daphne was pointing indiscreetly. Sure enough, Shyla Towers was shuffling into the commons. The twin did look calmer than she had earlier, though just as dazed as when she’d returned from interrogation. The sight filled Cressa with dread.

“Okay,” she relented. “But if we do this, we meet in my bathroom. Shyla and I share one, so it will be the easiest way to get her alone.”

“What about Nydia?” Daphne asked.

“She won’t be a problem,” Cressa declared. “In a way, Nydia has as much to lose as we do. She knew we were going down into the tunnels, and covered for me with Leslie.”

“It’s a plan, then,” Ritchie agreed. “Daphne and I will sneak over to your bathroom at shower time, and we can question Shyla.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “We should probably do something to our bathroom so that we have an excuse to use a different one.”

Daphne smiled mischievously. “Leave it to me. Pranks are my specialty.

Erik

London, England

One Day Before the Vote

Hungover and exhausted, I wasn’t sure whether I’d dreamed, or hallucinated, Kenly in my hotel room when I woke later that day. Only the presence of a second glass on my nightstand made me think she’d been real. Or maybe I just wanted her to have been real, because she’d told me that Talia was safe. She’d explained a lot about a lot of things, all of which seemed fuzzy and hard to remember in the light of day. She’d mentioned Nightshade in her diatribe and something about a Teleporter named Kip or Vip or something. I really regretted not remembering that part of the conversation; at least if Talia knew about Nightshade and the fact that they were after her, then she’d be more careful.

Who was I kidding? If my girlfriend knew about the mercenaries, she was probably out hunting them at that very moment.

“Ready for your adoring public?” Miles was standing in my doorway, clean-shaven and fully dressed for the day.

“Please don’t yell at me,” I groaned, and covered my throbbing head with a pillow.

“Shit. Kid are you drunk?” Miles’s footsteps sounded like a stampede inside my head.

“Drunk was last night,” I mumbled into the pillow. “Today, I’m hungover. Just let me sleep for another hour or two.”

“No time.” Miles ripped the covers off of me, stealing the warm air along with the comforter. “You are scheduled for several interviews before the rally. The reporters are coming here. The first has already arrived. You need to shower and do something about this.”

By “this,” I assumed he meant my lackluster state. Or maybe the alcohol seeping from my pores. That couldn’t have smelled nice.

“Can I have a minute alone with him?” It was Penny’s voice. She sounded as awful as I felt.

I poked my head out from beneath the pillow and saw her wringing her hands in my doorway. Brand stood directly behind her, scowling.

“Not alone. I’m staying,” Brand said firmly.

“Okay,” Penny agreed with a shrug.

Miles looked from the duo at the door to me and sighed. “Sure, if you think you can get his ass into gear, go for it, girlie. I’ll be in the living room, distracting the reporter.”

The door had just clicked shut behind Miles when Penny rounded on me.

“Do you think it’s all true?” she demanded.

“True?” I sat up and reached for the bottle of clear liquid beside my bed. Sniffing to make sure it was water, I downed the contents in one swallow. Better. Much better. Who had put the water there? Oh, right, Kenly. She’d been pretty pissed to find me inebriated.

“I know Kenly paid you a visit,” Penny said, speaking just above a whisper. “I was awake and listening. At the door,” Penny added when I stared at her doubtfully. “My mental powers were shot until like two hours ago. Just in time for me to feel your nasty headache.”

Not a hallucination. That was good.

“What do you mean by ‘true’? Talia is really with her, whatever that proves,” I said.

“About that,” Penny said. “I’m not positive that she is, with Kenly I mean. Talia has been spotted all over London. UNITED has been chasing down leads all morning.”

“So?” I needed more water. Spotting the mini-fridge, I summoned two bottles of cold, glorious H_2O. They sailed into my outstretched hands, and I drank them both with only a breath in between.

“So, if Talia was running around the city, why would she have sent Kenly instead of coming herself? It doesn’t make sense.”

Penny had a point. That did sound fishy.

The water cleared the fog from my brain enough that I was able to think straight.

“Not Talia,” I said after several moments of contemplation. “She’s too smart. She sent Kenly to me because Kenly is a light manipulator. She came here invisibly.”

Penny stared at me blankly. I wasn’t making sense. I knew that. Taking a deep breath, I started again. “The girl people keep seeing must not be Talia. It’s probably the same girl that was with Anya in Nice. Have you actually seen any footage of this supposed Talia?”

“Nothing clear. Bus cams and café surveillance footage show only half of her face or the image is blurry,” Penny admitted. “But Erik, do you trust Kenly? She does hate UNITED.”

“But she cares about Talia,” Brand interjected softly.

“She’s also the one leaking sensitive UNITED information to the public,” Penny shot back angrily. “She’s compromised agents. She’s responsible for a number of lost lives. She’s also responsible for several of the Created incidents, since she intercepted the communications before UNITED received them. Kenly isn’t innocent guys.”

My head was spinning again. Information overload.

“How do you know this?” I asked.

“Kenly isn’t the only expert hacker in the world. In case you’ve forgotten, I did fake my way through being a Brain for several years. I actually do know how to do quite a bit of crypto stuff. Good thing, too. Victoria asked me to take a look at the hacks on UNITED’s classified files. Since none of her trusted Brains were able to trace Kenly’s intrusions, she asked me to give it a go when I had time. After overhearing what Kenly had to say to you, I decided to make time.”

“She’s been at it all day,” Brand added dryly.

“Kenly’s good, I’ll give her that. I wouldn’t have been able to trace her if I hadn’t known exactly what I was looking for. Knowing the intruder up front makes a world of difference.” Penny sounded reluctantly impressed.

Even though she was dumbing it down for me, I didn’t really understand what Penny was saying. I had created Higher Reasoning abilities, same as Penny. But I didn’t know how to use all that brainpower. Computers were like magic in my mind. I typed messages into my comm unit, and I got one back in return. I pressed buttons on the keyboard, and all sorts of crap appeared on the screen. Magic.

“Have you told Victoria all of this?” I asked Penny.

“No.” She glared at Brand. “Somebody seems to think we should give Kenly the benefit of the doubt.”

“She isn’t being malicious,” Brand argued. “Besides, she didn’t tell you guys where she and Talia are hiding. We can’t take the chance that UNITED finds Talia before Ian’s people, which they might if they suddenly make finding Kenly a priority. With the crypto work you’ve already done, they have a good shot of pinpointing Kenly’s location.”

“You don’t even like Talia,” Penny wailed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

The vice closing my head between its pinchers returned. I wanted to tell Penny to lower her volume, but Brand started yelling, too.

“No, I don’t, Penelope.” He called her by her real name—bad sign. “In fact, I sort of hate her. She’s a manipulative, entitled—”

“Careful, Brand, that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about,” I interrupted calmly. I didn’t like him insulting Talia in front of me, but he’d said worst to her face. Also, despite his words to the contrary, Brand didn’t hate Talia. He didn’t like her exactly, but he definitely didn’t hate her.

Brand huffed. “That girl is more trouble than she’s worth. But she means a lot to you.” He reached out and stroked Penny’s cheek with the back of his, his expression softening with the caress. “She’s also important to Ian. And drunky over here.” Brand nodded in my direction. I ignored the dig. “I promised you all that I would help keep her safe, and I intend to do just that. I’ve already told Ian about Kenly. He will tell Victoria when he deems the time is right. He also agrees that Kenly is disgruntled, not vindictive. She believes what she is doing is right. Kenly isn’t part of some underground cult or mercenary group. She isn’t working for anyone who wants Talia dead.”

Penny remained unconvinced. I was on the fence. Kenly wasn’t my favorite person, but she genuinely cared about Talia. The moments they’d spent together outside of Walburton Manor, before Talia let Kenly fly off into the sunset, had shown me that fact. Still, Kenly had tried to kill Talia while under some sort of mind control. How deep did those tentacles of manipulation run? Was it possible that Kenly was still under TOXIC’s control? If so, who was pulling the strings?

You’re paranoid, delusional—a paranoid delusional.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stretched.

“Alrighty, guess there is only one way to learn the truth: Tonight, I’m going to find Talia,” I declared.

“How?” Brand demanded. “Your track record isn’t exactly stellar, man.”

I glared at him. “The old-fashioned way, Brand. Legwork. It’s time I had a sit down with Bryn Wellington.”

“Bryn Wellington?” Brand and Penny echoed in unison, both so stunned their annoyance with each other was temporarily forgotten.

“Bryn is James’s sister,” I said calmly, searching the bedroom for my discarded clothes. At some point in the night, I must have gotten hot and stripped down to my boxers, because that was all I was wearing.

“Right,” Brand agreed, still not understanding.

“And James is Kenly’s boyfriend. James and Kenly are hiding out together. I vaguely remember her mentioning that fact.”

“Yes, she did, several times,” Penny confirmed.

“Well, doesn’t it make sense that Bryn knows where her brother is? And if she knows where James is, then she knows where Kenly is. And if she knows where Kenly is—”

“She knows where Talia is,” Penny finished for me.

I grinned and tapped my temple, then immediately wished I hadn’t. Even that small amount of pressure was painful.

“I’m going with you,” Penny insisted.

“So am I,” Brand added.

“I hoped you guys would say that. Now we just need Miles onboard, since he won’t let me out of his sight for very long.” Hands on my hips, I blew out a long alcohol-laced breath. “Let’s get the bullshit over with, and then go find my girlfriend.”

The interviews were tedious, with each reporter asking me the same questions over and over and over again until I wanted to rip my hair out. Variety, however, was even more aggravating. When a reporter from Teen Rampage asked me what I thought of Caro Cato’s new fall line, since I’d apparently been wearing the designer’s suits at my rallies, I flipped.

“Clothes? You want my opinion on clothes? Are you fu—”

“Interview’s over,” Miles interjected before I reduced the reporter to tears.

Thankfully, that was the last one. From there, a limo whisked Miles, Penny, Brand, my security detail, and me to Hyde Park for the rally. Henri and Frederick followed in a different hover. They were helping with crowd control, since UNITED expected the rally to be heated.

I’d already set up the meeting with Bryn Wellington for that evening. Getting in touch with her hadn’t been easy, but after a lot of virtual digging, Penny had learned that Bryn frequently spent her nights at one of her family’s clubs, Pure Bliss. I’d called the club to see whether Bryn was expected that evening, and found out that she was. So when I said that I set up the meeting, what I really meant was that I planned to ambush her.

Bryn had been feeding UNITED information on the Poachers, including her own family, but was steadfast in her assertion that she didn’t know her brother’s whereabouts. I didn’t believe that for a second. Bryn had risked too much over the years for her brother, more than even he knew, to not know where he, and by extension Kenly, were currently.

Surrounded by my security team, I exited the hover limo to a waiting crowd of supporters and haters alike. Giddy with the knowledge that one way or another I would see Talia soon, I waved placidly to the crowd but didn’t break stride once. No more photo-ops for innocent looking children. That hadn’t turned out well the last time.

This rally was not like the others, a fact I learned as soon as I stepped onto the makeshift stage. The entire Joint Nations’ delegation was seated on the platform, every one of them anxious to hear my final plea for coexistence.

“You’ve got this,” Penny told me encouragingly as we waited in the wings for me to be announced.

“It doesn’t matter what I say anymore,” I muttered.

“You never know,” Penny replied. “Some of the delegates are still undecided. You may be able to sway a vote or two.”

“True,” I admitted.

It felt like this was the final quarter of the game, and I was sending up one last Hail Mary shot for the win. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the current score. So I had no way of knowing whether sinking the three-pointer would even make a difference.

On stage, Victoria Walburton was just finishing her speech. The councilwoman had flown in for this to show UNITED’s support. Which, in the grand scheme of things, meant very little to most gathered, including the delegates.

“You have all seen him. He is Created, and he is powerful. He, like so many of you, believes that if we work together, the gifted and the norms can live together in harmony. He plans to use his abilities to make a safer world for us all. Now, without further fanfare, I give you Erikson Kelley.”

Her words were met with overwhelming applause with only a few audible boos.

I walked confidently out to the podium as Victoria took her assigned chair among the Joint Nations’ delegates. Placing my hands on either side of the lectern, I grinned down at the thousands of people who’d come to hear what I had to say. Many returned the smile. Others flipped me the middle finger. One guy screamed obscenities. I wanted to tell him that I’d been called a lot worse than “Satan’s effing pawn” but held my tongue.

The speech Victoria’s minions had prepared especially for this rally was in my jacket pocket. I started to reach for it. Screw it, I decided. There was no point in pandering to the crowd. They didn’t matter, not really. It was the delegates I needed to sway. I had to convince more than half of them that coexistence was proper.

My wife will never forgive me. Can’t let her die. One life not worth millions. But she’s my wife.

I didn’t know where the stream of consciousness was coming from, but I felt the delegate’s fear and confliction. Whoever it was, his or her thoughts were so powerful that they’d broken through my mental barriers. I took a deep breath and blocked them out, even as I caught Penny’s alarmed expression out of the corner of my eye. She’d heard the thoughts, too.

“Let me deal with this. I’ll figure out what is going on,” Penny sent.

I nodded subtly, and then refocused my attention on the crowd.

“Hey, guys.” I waved. “I see a lot of familiar faces in the crowd tonight. A lot of you have been to numerous of these rallies. You have heard me preach about how the Created are harmless, and how we deserve the same rights as the norms.”

“Erik,” Victoria hissed behind me. When I ignored her, the councilwoman screamed inside my head. “What are you doing? That is not the speech I had prepared.”

“I’m being honest. Like you should have been with Talia from the start,” I sent back, and then blocked Victoria from my mind.

Talia was never going to be safe as long as Nightshade was after her. Alex, Beth, and the others would never be safe as long as Nightshade’s client was out there hunting down strong Talents in order to make more of us. Talia had gone toe-to-toe with Mac and destroyed TOXIC to stop this type of experimentation and exploitation. UNITED had given me a soapbox to stand on, and I was going to take advantage of it.

“Well, I’m here to tell you that we aren’t harmless,” I continued. The murmuring started as slow hum, growing to a full-on buzz by the time it reached the edges of the crowd. I spoke louder to make sure I was heard. “I possess so many abilities that I lost count. I have killed in war and because TOXIC told me to. Sometimes, I wonder if I truly know right from wrong anymore, because my entire life has been lived in very dark shades of gray.” I paused and surveyed the crowd. People were nodding in agreement, as though I’d said something profound. Odd. “But the thing is, no matter how far south my moral compass dips, there are worse people out there. People with an agenda. Yeah, you could argue that every politician has an agenda, and they do. But I’m talking about an organization willing to kidnap and torture children to influence the way the world spins. They lurk in the shadows. They are puppeteers, and we are simply their marionettes. Currently, they are working with an unknown group to make more people like me. But as where the thoughts in my head are my own, the next generation of Created isn’t likely to be able to say the same. Danbury McDonough used mind control on his operatives prior to the Battle of D.C. Whoever has taken up his mantle is likely to do the same.

“Whether or not the treaty is renewed, I do not plan on hiding on the islands. I will fight for freedom for all of us. I believe that those of us with abilities and without can coexist peacefully, as we’ve done for decades. My kind is not the enemy. We never were. We are all allies in the war against subjugation. I feel your doubt, and that is okay. Doubt me. Hate me. Curse me to the ninth circle of hell. Just remember that even in exile, my friends and I will continue to fight for a free world. We will take down that elusive enemy. No matter the costs.”

Miles and my other guards surrounded me as I spoke the last words. The crowd was silent, captivated by my speech. Even Victoria and the delegates were transfixed. Guilt wafted off of many of them. They understood that I was really speaking to them. I hoped they also understood that if any of them were working with Nightshade or the mystery client, I would stop at nothing to destroy them.

“Jeez, kid. You’ve really made a mess of it,” Miles grumbled, tugging on my sleeve. “Move. We need to get you out of here before things get ugly. And I ain’t talking about the protesters. Once Victoria comes to her senses, she’s gonna beat yours out of you.”

It was that last glance into the crowd—that was when I saw her: Talia. Standing in the center of a group of people wearing t-shirts with my image on the front. A baseball cap was pulled low over her curls, but those piercing violet eyes found mine.

I yanked my arm free of Miles’s grip and opened my mind.

“Erik. I’ve missed you so much. I love you.” The voice that filled my mind wasn’t Talia’s. It sounded like Talia’s, but the presence sharing my headspace was not Talia’s. I squinted into the crowd, desperate for a better look at the girl with the purple eyes and freckles that was a carbon copy of my girlfriend.

“What are you doing here?” I sent back.

“I had to see you. I just love you so much.”

Wow. If I’d had any lingering doubts, they were definitely quashed. Talia did frequently tell me that she loved me. In more intimate moments, she even shouted her love openly. But this outpouring of love was mushy and sickeningly sweet, and very definitely not coming from my Talia.

“Kid, come on,” Miles urged.

Penny and Brand started to rush forward. I shook my head. I wanted the girl inside my head to keep talking. Seeing Penny might scare her off. Casting my mental net wider, I attempted to rope Penny into the conversation. I’d been part of a three-way communication with Talia as the connector, but doing it myself was a lot harder than she’d made it seem. Which was saying something, because my girlfriend had been pretty drained after our practice sessions. Also, I wasn’t a radio with different channels. Having both Penny and the imposter inside my head at the same time meant that they could both hear everything. There was no way to warn Penny to keep her trap, or rather mind, on mute.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” the fake Talia asked.

Penny’s eyes bugged out of her face. Okay, well, at least she understood she needed to be quiet. Hopefully.

“Of course I am. But I thought we agreed to meet tonight, at the fountain,” I sent back, improvising.

“And we will. I just had to see you.”

The closer I looked, the more differences I saw between Talia and the doppelgänger. Physically they were identical. But this girl lacked my girlfriend’s stubborn confidence and steadfast conviction. The way she moved was more inline with a run-of-the-mill athlete than a trained stealthy assassin. She was aware of her surroundings, but only because she cared how people viewed her, not because she was accustom to looking over her shoulder at all times. This girl was a cheap imitation, a cubic zirconia made in Talia’s unbreakable, sparkling diamond image. Whoever made the doppelgänger had clearly not understood that Talia was one-of-a-kind.

“Midnight. The Queen Jane fountain. I’ll see you there,” I sent back, and then broke the connection before my urge to kill the imposter grew any stronger.

The Privileged

Besançon, France

One Day Before the Vote

As it turned out, Daphne was indeed a master at clogging toilets. She somehow caused all four in the bathroom she shared with Ritchie and Dina to overflow simultaneously. Unfortunately, her efforts were for naught. Shyla Towers did not show up for shower time that evening, nor was she at breakfast the next morning in the commons. It wasn’t until Madame Brink appeared with the 2P boys to start the day’s lessons that Shyla finally materialized.

Overnight, the comfy couches and chairs had all been moved to storage and replaced with desks. The shelves of board games and approved reading material were gone, too.

“We will continue having lessons in the commons until further notice,” Madame Brink announced, taking her spot at the front of the room.

Cressa, Daphne, Ritchie, and Nydia were already seated in the back row of desks, where they’d eaten breakfast. Nydia was still giving Cressa the cold shoulder, though her icy resolve was beginning to show cracks.

Shyla shuffled to an empty desk in the back row, on the opposite side of the room from where Cressa sat with her friends. Gaze downcast, she refused to meet her classmates’ curious stares, and pointedly ignored the other girls’ taunts about Lyla.

“No talking,” Madame Brink scolded the class. “Boys, hurry and take your seats. The Dame is scheduled to address the school shortly, and you do not want to miss the treat she has in store for you all.”

Cressa’s heart sank. At the Institute, the word ‘treat’ was always followed by something that made Cressa sick to her stomach.

“Ugh, what now?” Daphne whined. The events of the last few days were clearly taking a toll on the little canary. Her once bubbly, albeit somewhat annoying, nature was a thing of the past. Instead, Daphne was fidgety and pale. Like Cressa, she just seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Over here, Kev. I saved you a seat,” Dina called. The boys were filing in to take their seats, and Ritchie’s roommate gestured to the vacant desk beside her in the front of the room.

Kev didn’t acknowledge Dina. Instead, he continued towards the only empty desk in the back row—the one on Cressa’s right. Offering her a small smile, he slid into the chair. Despite her new concerns about Kev, Cressa blushed and ducked her head, ignoring Dina’s scowling face.

Would a mole for the Dame really reveal so much? Cressa wondered. Her gaze darted to where he sat. For some reason—and she prayed it wasn’t just because of the inner fangirl Cressa was keeping under wraps—she felt like she could trust him.

“Hey, Kev,” Ritchie called from Cressa’s other side.

Kev’s gaze flitted towards Ritchie, but showed no signs of recognition.

“Hi,” he mumbled, then went back to staring at his desk.

Madame Brink cleared her throat to get the attention of everyone in the room, effectively ending Ritchie’s efforts.

“As you all know, the treaty vote is nearly upon us,” she told the class. “The Dame is pleased with the progress you have all made, but she does worry that our ranks are too small to ensure an easy victory.”

This announcement was met with boos from the crowd.

“Not to worry, not to worry,” Madame Brink continued. “It seems the heavens have smiled upon us.” The instructor clapped her hands together jubilantly, her ear-to-ear grin more scary than reassuring. “A team of highly skilled individuals has come to aid our cause. They are naturally gifted Talented, trained in combat.”

Quiet murmuring broke out, spreading through the common room like wildfire. The cadets’ reactions were mixed, with some regarding this as excellent news and others seeming upset.

Talented were both potential enemies and possible allies. They were the only ones capable of hindering the Dame’s rise to power. And yet, if the Talented joined with the Privileged, their combined forces would be unstoppable.

The only question was—which side would the Talented choose?

“I’ve never met a natural-born Talent,” Cressa heard one 2P boy whisper to another, his voice full of awe and admiration. “I wonder if they are UNITED defectors. Oh, or maybe they are ex-TOXIC? Yeah, they’re probably ex-TOXIC if they have come to help us.”

“We don’t need their help,” his friend snapped. “They are Talented, not Privileged. They only have one ability, two at the most. And they haven’t been found worthy, like us. The Dame didn’t choose them, so they will never truly be Privileged. At most, they will be one step above the norms, and ten steps below us.”

Tuning out the boys’ conversation, Cressa focused on Madame Brink instead. The instructor was once again calling for quiet.

“Each of these individuals has already been tested and deemed worthy of source status. Their track records with Talented organizations prove that they are all capable of fieldwork. All that remains is for them to declare their allegiance to the Dame, then they can be activated immediately.”

Beside her, Kev Leon squirmed in his seat. Cressa glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The celebrity’s complexion had gone stark white. His bottom lip trembled, and his clasped hands shook in his lap.

Is this more playacting? Cressa wondered. If so, Kev was outdoing even his most critically acclaimed performances.

Cressa knew Kev was a whole lot more lucid than he was letting on, but couldn’t decide whether the vid star was truly scared. Once again, she had the feeling that Kev Leon knew more about the inner workings of the Institute than any 2P cadet should have.

“How exciting, an allegiance ceremony!” Daphne exclaimed, surprising Cressa. It was the first time since the observation catacombs that Daphne had expressed interest in anything relating to becoming Privileged. “Gracia told me about them,” the little canary continued. “It’s what happens after an 8P passes her or his final exam. You swear to faithfully serve and protect the Dame and her cause, blah, blah, blah. Then, you officially become Privileged.”

By the looks on her classmates’ faces, Cressa realized that most of them had also heard about these ceremonies. They all seemed exceedingly eager to witness one firsthand. Even Ritchie and Nydia were excited for this ‘treat.’

At the front of the room, Madame Brink moved to stand against the wall.

Countless holographic images—over a dozen, by Cressa’s estimation—suddenly appeared in the open space, lined up in two straight rows. They wore black military-style uniforms, but there was no insignia to show who they served. Upon closer inspection, Cressa saw that two patches of fabric had been torn away from each uniform, one on the chest and one on the arm. Each figure wore a bag over his or her face, and their hands were tied behind their backs.

“Welcome!” the Dame’s voice boomed throughout the room.

Several of the holographic figures flinched, making it obvious that they could also hear the Dame speaking.

“Today, you all have the honor of witnessing an allegiance ceremony. It is the final step before officially becoming Privileged, and a rite of passage that each of you cadets will take part in, in the not too distant future,” the Dame continued.

Cressa relaxed, though was unable to muster the same level of enthusiasm as her classmates. When she’d imagined this moment, the one where she ascended to the highest honor the Institute had to offer, there hadn’t been restraints or bags involved; that stuff seemed like overkill on the cloak-and-dagger front.

Either that, or these highly trained Talented soldiers weren’t exactly there of their own volition.

Sir Tate and Suzu Mitsu appeared as holograms behind the first figure in line, farthest to Cressa’s left. Kev Leon began to gulp audibly. Though Madame Brink hadn’t yet noticed his odd behavior, other 2Ps were starting to look at him nervously. Like Cressa, they were probably wondering if he were going to have a seizure.

Even though she knew better, Cressa scooted her desk slightly closer to Kev’s, and then took his shaking hands between hers.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently. When he didn’t immediately answer, Cressa took a decisive breath, then plunged in. “What do you know? Is something terrible about to happen?”

Jerking his head back and forth violently, Kev moaned. From the front of the room, Madame Brink shushed him with a single harsh glance. Cressa remained by Kev’s side, determined to not let this opportunity pass. With everyone’s attention directed towards the holograms, Kev might answer some of her questions.

Once Madame Brink looked away from them again, Kev met Cressa’s gaze.

“Just watch and listen,” he muttered. “We’ll talk afterwards.”

It wasn’t exactly an answer, but she’d take it for the time being. Cressa shifted her gaze to the front of the room.

“Wilhelm Studdard, do you pledge fidelity and allegiance to our cause?” the Dame was saying. “Do you promise to serve me, the Dame, until your final breath? With undying loyalty and absolute conviction?”

Sir Tate had removed the first man’s hood to reveal a pale, swollen face that was barely recognizable as human. Wilhelm didn’t answer right away. The Dame repeated her list of demands. When Wilhelm still didn’t respond, Suzu closed her eyes and scrunched her face in a look of concentration.

Wilhelm began to scream.

Kev Leon began to cry, effectively drawing Cressa’s attention back to him.

Without thinking, she moved her chair over again, and then folded Kev into a hug. As he rested his head on her shoulder, Cressa stroked his silky hair. The boy clung to her as though his life depended on it.

“It’s too awful,” Kev sobbed loudly. She tried to quiet him, but Kev was drawing the attention of those around them.

Which, Cressa realized belatedly, had been his goal. Whatever game Kev was playing, he definitely wanted people to think he was losing his marbles.

To what end? Cressa wondered.

People with adjustment issues were sent to therapy and put on medication. Was that Kev’s goal? Why would he want that?

Yeah, we are definitely going to chat later, Cressa thought, still soothing Kev.

Enthralled with the virtual ceremony, Madame Brink didn’t avert her eyes to shush Kev. Unfortunate, since Cressa was fairly certain that his performance was mostly for her benefit.

At the front of the room, Wilhelm sank to his knees and doubled over in pain. The Dame’s steadfastly pleasant voice repeated her questions for a third time, to no avail. Six times in total, the Dame asked Wilhelm to pledge allegiance to her. Finally, blood trickling from one ear, Wilhelm relented.

“Yes. Okay. Yes. I’ll do it. Just make it stop,” he whimpered.

Mouth agape, Cressa watched as Wilhelm was hauled to his feet. He repeated the Dame’s words, misery seeping from him like the blood. Then, two men appeared and led Wilhelm away.

Kev continued to cry. Absently, Cressa muttered soothing words that she didn’t believe. They were more for her benefit than Kev’s, since the celebrity had clearly known from the beginning what she was just realizing: the Dame wasn’t honoring the cadets by showing them this barbaric allegiance ceremony. She was reminding them that their fates were already sealed. There was no turning back, no option to return to being a norm.

It was the stunt with Lyla and the others all over again.

Once a person entered the Institute, as a cadet or otherwise, he or she became a cog in the Dame’s wheel of domination. Everyone had a part to play. They could either do so willingly, or by force.

What had she gotten herself into? The Dame’s allegiance ceremony—really only a demonstration of Suzu’s ability to create duress—was crazy. Crazier than the frog pond, the source stables, and watching Gracia become a clone put together.

Unable to look away, despite a deep desire to do so, Cressa watched as Sir Tate and Suzu moved on to the second person in the front line. When the bag over his head was removed, Cressa saw it was another male. He was much older than Wilhelm, closer to middle-aged. His name was Burt Ryan, and he didn’t need convincing. The words were barely out of the Dame’s mouth before Burt repeated them back verbatim.

And on it went. When they’d finished with the first row of soldiers, the second was shoved forward. Some of the hooded figures needed more persuasion than others, though none lasted as long as Wilhelm under Suzu’s mental torture.

And I thought she was one of the nice ones, Cressa thought, disgusted.

Suzu had been so patient with Damon, so kind. But that soft-spoken girl was gone. Suzu was cold and unrelenting as she invaded one mind after the next. Somehow, knowing that Suzu wasn’t a natural sadist made it that much worse for Cressa. Would she herself eventually commit unspeakable acts, perform torture, or kill another person, simply because the Dame commanded it?

No, of course not, Cressa told herself. Blind obedience only went so far.

Suzu probably thought the same thing, until she was given a choice between herself and another, a voice whispered inside Cressa’s head.

She shook it off. Even in that situation, Cressa knew she’d never agree to harm another human being—norm, Talented, Created, or otherwise.

The third to last person to undergo the allegiance pledge also happened to be the first woman. She was younger than most of her male counterparts. Instantly, as soon as the hood was removed, Cressa somehow knew that the woman’s will was much, much stronger than the others’.

“Unbreakable,” Kev whispered in Cressa’s ear.

Several others in the room started whispering about the woman on stage. Everyone seemed to understand that there was something different about her, something both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Even Sir Tate was not immune to the vibes radiating from the woman. When he looked into her beady black eyes, so full of hatred that Cressa recoiled, Sir Tate flinched and dropped the hood he’d just removed.

The woman’s short, inky black hair stuck out in every direction. Her face wasn’t too badly damaged, minus the split lip. She showed no trace of fear or pain. If anything, she looked pissed, like being kidnapped, tied up, and forced to swear fealty to a voice was majorly inconveniencing her busy schedule.

Cressa liked the woman immediately. She reminded Cressa of Natalia Lyons, or at least the way she perceived the young assassin. The expression of complete and utter disdain on the woman’s face was exactly how Cressa pictured Natalia looking in the same situation.

Licking away a drop of blood with her tongue, the woman grinned over her shoulder at Sir Tate.

“Wouldn’t want any to go to waste, would we?” she asked coldly.

The temperature in the common room dropped several degrees.

“Too strong,” Kev muttered, his head still on Cressa’s shoulder. “It’ll get her killed.”

Cressa shivered. Strength was usually a positive attribute, one the Dame praised in her cadets. But she understood what Kev meant. This woman wasn’t just strong talent-wise. She had more backbone than a stegosaurus, and less sense than a coin-to-globe converter on emptying day. It was obvious she valued her ideals above her own life.

And for that, Cressa admired her more than she could ever express. The defiant woman had just become one of Cressa’s greatest idols, possibly tying for the top spot with Natalia Lyons.

“Cadence Choi,” the Dame began. For the first time, her tone was no longer pleasant.

“Save it, you psychotic bitch,” Cadence spat back. “I will never serve you.”

Suzu made her determined face again. Cressa sucked in a breath, anticipating the howling cries that were inevitable.

But Cadence Choi didn’t even grimace. In fact, she laughed. Not just a wry chuckle, but loud, cackling laughter that rang in Cressa’s ears. There was no mirth in that laughter, only shards of ice that cut Cressa to the bone.

“I know who you are!” Cadence shouted.

Suzu tried again. Still, nothing.

“You forget—” Cadence started to say. The reception went fuzzy in that moment, and part of her sentence was cut off. “—she is the best there is, you should know that. If I can keep her out, you’d better believe I can keep this poor imitation out.”

The same two guards who’d taken Wilhelm and the others appeared. Cressa held her breath, knowing she should look away but unable to do so. They were going to kill Cadence Choi. Cressa knew that with absolute certainty.

Kev knew it, too, it seemed. He covered his ears and sobbed harder.

Eyes glued to the front of the room, Cressa watched as one of the guards raised a gun and pointed it directly between Cadence’s eyes. Cadence’s grin stretched from ear to ear. The guard pulled the trigger.

He was too slow. Or maybe Cadence was just that fast.

Either way, by the time the bullet left the gun barrel, Cadence Choi had vanished from sight. The loud, cackling laughter echoed in her wake.

Talia

London, England

One Day Before the Vote

The wait was agonizing. Watching Erik give his speech did little to abate my overwhelming desire to see him—the real flesh and bone him.

“You’re making me anxious,” Bryn Wellington grumbled. “Sit. Have a drink. Calm the bloody hell down.”

I stopped my frantic pacing and glared at James’s sister.

Like James, Bryn had intense silver eyes that looked like twin pools of bottomless soul. She was tall with an athletic build and though her posture was ramrod straight, she always gave the impression that she carried the weight of the universe on her shoulders. In a way, she did. Guilt ate at Bryn. Guilt for not doing more to help James through the years. Guilt over helping UNITED track down her parents, even though she hated everything they stood for.

“Fine. Coffee. Do you guys make that here?” I flopped down on the sofa in the VIP lounge of Pure Bliss and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Careful,” Bryn hissed. “Those threads cost a fortune.”

“So does my bounty. If I ruin the clothes, you can hand me over to whomever you like as payment.”

Normal club dwellers couldn’t see into the VIP lounges, but Bryn had insisted that I dress to impress. Since my stolen clothes weren’t up to her standards, Bryn had leant me an extremely uncomfortable silver and cerulean dress that barely covered my butt. When I’d complained about the length, she’d thrown a pair of black rose-patterned tights infused with swirls of the same blue as the dress. The boots, well those I actually wanted to steal. Knee-high and silver, they had Tahitian pearl buttons up the front and were way more comfortable than they looked.

“You’re a right smartass, Natalia,” Bryn informed me, as though this was news. “I’ll ring for coffee, though caffeine is the last thing you need. Untwist your knickers and calm down. Erik will be here soon.”

Positioned on one arm of the sofa, Bryn tapped the table in front of us to display the club’s menu. With several quick swipes, she ordered me a coffee and a cocktail called Blissfully Ignorant for herself. The beverages appeared almost instantly, on a hover tray that dropped down from the ceiling.

I sipped the rich elixir of life and tried to take Bryn’s advice. Calm wasn’t easy, though. I was about to see Erik. After thirty-four days apart, I would lay eyes on him for the first time. Oddly, I was a little nervous—couldn’t say why.

Kenly and Riley entered the lounge through the back hallway. My mentee was wearing a lacy gold and black veil that covered the bottom half of her face, leaving only her eyes visible. She’d applied liberal amounts of gold liner and sparkly shadow to her lids, and tiny black crystals clung to her lashes. If I hadn’t helped her get ready, even I wouldn’t have recognized her.

Riley had opted for a terrifying motif for the night. His head was bald and inked with too many skull tattoos to count. Both his eyebrow and lip were pierced, small silver hoops in each. Then there was the head to toe red leather. Shiny pants clung to his legs and hips, leaving nothing to the imagination. The matching vest was open, revealing a sculpted torso with a leafless tree with flaming branches. Interestingly, he was one of at least ten people I’d seen so far in Pure Bliss wearing a similar getup.

“Willa’s tending to the tagalongs,” Riley told me brightly. “The girl’s still a right mess, but the boy is okay.”

Emma and Kip were down in the bunker. Kip was intent on staying in London until we learned more about Nightshade and the client who’d hired them to find us. Much as I would have preferred them safely tucked away, I thought Kip deserved the truth. And, honestly, I wasn’t sure if there was a safe location for Kip right now.

“He should walk through the door in,” Kenly consulted her watch, “ten minutes exactly. Penny’s with him. And an agent named Miles. That’s it. The others are running interference.”

Ever since we’d been tipped off that Erik intended to ambush Bryn, Kenly had been sitting in a sort of trance trying to future gaze. Worried the meeting was a setup—paranoia ran deep with this crowd—she’d wanted to be sure of the situation. Her hours of mediation had paid off. She’d seen Erik and the others entering the club, though she hadn’t been able to see the actual meeting. This, Kenly informed me, was due to the number of factors involved. Not being a Visionary myself, I didn’t really understand how the gift worked. But I did know the future was fluid, and that even the smallest decision by even the most seemingly inane person could produce a ripple effect and change the outcome of a vision.

“I will go down to meet him, shall I?” Bryn asked, popping to her feet.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Bryn,” I replied absently.

She disappeared through the same doors Kenly and Riley had entered through. Kenly wandered to the balcony railing and looked over the edge at the party below. It was barely eight p.m., yet Pure Bliss was packed. I’d been worried about someone spotting me, but Bryn had assured me that her clientele were too self-absorbed to care. Besides, in the VIP lounge, I was practically a ghost. No one could see us up there, and James and several of Bryn’s trusted friends were patrolling the hallways leading to lounge so that no undesirables could get in.

“Do you want us to stay?” Kenly asked. She retreated from the railing and climbed the stairs to the uppermost level where I was seated. She sank down next to me on the sofa, looking agitated and ill at ease.

“Not if you’re uncomfortable,” I told her, sipping more coffee.

For a long moment, Kenly stared off into space.

“Kenly? You okay?” I asked, snapping my fingers in front of her face.

An array of emotions burst out of her all at once. Fear. Panic. Regret. Guilt. Terror.

“Run,” she whispered.

Taking the steps two at a time, Riley was at her side. He shook Kenly as tears gathered in her eyes.

“Run,” she repeated, louder this time.

The door to the lounge exploded open. I was already on my feet. Kenly, frozen with terror, remained motionless. Riley pushed me towards the stairs, simultaneously grabbing Kenly’s arm and hauling her to her feet.

“What? Aren’t you glad to see me, Tals?” The voice was cold and hard and so close to Erik’s that my steps faltered.

Still two steps from the landing, I whipped my head towards the speaker. The guy had Erik’s build, and the same unruly black hair. Even the turquoise eyes were eerily familiar. It was his essence that was wrong. He didn’t feel like Erik. He wasn’t my Erik.

“Who are you?” I demanded, matching his tone icicle for icicle.

The boy sauntered in as if he owned the place. Two figures followed closely on his heels, holding a pissed off Bryn between them.

“Who knew fugitive paid so well,” the boy who wasn’t Erik commented, running his fingers along the back of the sofas on the third tier. “Swanky.”

I stood taller, as though to block Kenly and Riley from the newcomer.

“It pays to have friends in high places,” I said dryly. “Who the hell are you?”

The boy wiggled a finger in my direction and clucked his tongue. “No need for the attitude. I’m here for a friendly chat, that’s all. Just you and me, Tals. What do you say?”

The telltale cock of a gun drew my attention to Bryn. One of the people holding her prisoner, a woman with flaming red hair and piercing lime eyes, pointed the barrel at Bryn’s temple.

I am finally going crazy. It’s finally happened.

The woman’s resemblance to Penny was uncanny. But just like with the fake Erik, the giveaway was her essence. I held on to the fact to keep myself sane.

“Tell me who you are, then we can talk,” I said calmly, forcing just enough manipulation into my command that a normal person would have complied.

“Your mind games don’t work on me, sweetheart. But I’ll tell you my name.” The boy shrugged, unconcerned. “I’m Erik Kelley. Your boyfriend.” He frowned. “It hurts my feelings that you don’t recognize me, Tals. After all, I was your first. The way I hear it, girls don’t forget their first time.”

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. No. No. He wasn’t Erik. I knew that. I did. With every fiber of my being. Still, I couldn’t get over how much they looked alike. And how did this guy know personal details about my life?

Lot’s of people know about you and Erik, I reminded myself.

“That hotel room was pretty nice, not as nice as the one I’m staying in at The Palace, but decent. Just ask your girl, Kenly. We had a nice talk, didn’t we, Kenly?”

Behind me, Kenly moaned. “Trap. Trap. Trap.”

“Let Kenly, Riley, and Bryn go, and then we can chat,” I said.

“No,” Riley said firmly. “Not a chance.”

“This is between Erik and me,” I said.

Out of nowhere, the oddest sensation started in the back of my mind. It was as though someone or something was scratching at my mental barriers, testing their strength. The sensation was more annoying than anything. Had I not been in a heightened state of awareness, with my senses on overdrive, I likely wouldn’t have even noticed.

“She’s right, Ri,” Kenly said quietly, her tone devoid of the panic from earlier. In fact, Kenly’s emotions had evened out as well. She was still scared, but a peace had settled over her. “He’s here,” she said inside my head.

I was about to ask who “he” was, but Kenly’s barriers were as effective as a closed border. I could have pressed my way in had I not worried about wasting my energy. The fake Erik was powerful, and I had to be on top of my game if I were going to spend some quality time with him.

Imposter Erik nodded to his two cronies. Penny’s doppelgänger grabbed a fistful of Bryn’s hair and began dragging her backward, the gun pressed to Bryn’s spine.

“One wrong move, and she dies,” the fake Penny hissed, sounding nothing like my best friend at all.

Whoever these copies were, the resemblance was meant to be physical, that was all. I wasn’t sure whether that was good news or bad news.

“We have numbers on our side,” Riley was saying in my ear.

“And they have Bryn, James’s sister. They have trumped us,” Kenly replied.

“Go,” I commanded both of them.

Obeying my order, Riley reluctantly placed one arm around Kenly’s waist and led her past me. “He’s here,” my mentee whispered as she passed.

The fingernail digging its way through my shields increased its efforts.

“Good little girl,” the fake Erik said, patting Kenly on the head like a dog.

Anger flashed through her. For one terrible second, I thought Kenly was going to hit him. Her head whipped around so fast that the veil came loose. Power crackled around her, the sparks of electricity visible in the still air. The imposter didn’t register Kenly’s shift in mood, though. Whatever he was, he wasn’t sensitive to other Talents, at least not to the degree that Riley and I were.

Unable to control herself, Kenly’s hand darted out and slapped the imposter’s smirking face. His fingers locked around Kenly’s throat. She let out a gurgling noise as he squeezed her windpipe. Riley drew his fist back and punched the fake Erik right in the nose. It had no effect. The boy refused to release Kenly, who looked shell-shocked and too terrified to fight for herself.

I sprang into action, catapulting myself through the air to reach Kenly. Using telekinesis, I pried loose the hand strangling Kenly, as Riley continued to land one ineffective blow after another to the boy’s midsection. Once free of his grip, my mentee scrambled backwards, clutching her throat. She stumbled and fell, landing on her butt and scuttling further from her attacker like a frightened crab.

The boy turned his ire on Riley. Furious over his treatment of Kenly, I interceded. Wrenching the fake Erik’s offending hand backward, I twisted his wrist with my mind.

“Bryn!” I screamed at Riley, hoping her name alone was enough for him to understand that I wanted him to go to her.

A sickening crack filled the air. At first, I thought I’d broken the boy’s wrist in my rage. But then I heard Bryn grunt, and I realized the noise had been the sound of a gun firing.

“No!” I screamed.

Riley launched his body through the air, going completely vertical. Seams burst and leather split as he morphed mid-leap. He landed on four giant paws. Black and blue stripes ran from his flattened ears to the tip of his swishing tail. The tiger—at least I thought that was the form he’d taken—was so large that he blocked Bryn, who was lying in a heap on the floor of her own club. With a growl that shook the rafters, Riley pounced.

The sight of Bryn crumpled like a paper doll was too much. My anger exploded out of me. This time, I did wrench the boy’s arm hard enough to break bone. It was enough to bring him to his knees, but the imposter didn’t seem to feel pain. Cold, turquoise eyes stared up at me defiantly.

“You don’t have the stomach for killing,” he spat. “I know you, Tals. You’re heart is too soft.”

“Obviously you don’t me that well. I’ve taken more lives than you can count,” I told him.

“Yes, but can you take my life? The life of the person you claim to love?”

It was the eyes. Those swirling pools of turquoise that reminded me of the island where I’d lived with my parents. Even though I knew the boy kneeling before me wasn’t my Erik, I couldn’t kill him. Later, I’d tell myself that my inability to do the deed had more to do with the fact that I needed the guy alive for information. That he was more useful to me alive than dead. But that wasn’t the truth.

That moment of indecision cost me. The imposter sucker punched me in the gut. I doubled over, but managed to stay on my feet. Until the boy’s leg swept them out from beneath me, anyhow. Air whooshed from my lungs when I landed flat on my back. Fake Erik was on top of me, a knee planted firmly on my diaphragm. I couldn’t breathe. And then, I couldn’t think straight. Images flooded my mind: the first time I’d sparred with Erik during Hunters’ tryouts; the first time we’d kissed; finding Erik inside that cell in Tramblewood after Mac had tortured him.

How did this imposter know so much about me? How had he seen such private moments?

Distantly, I heard Kenly sobbing and Riley whimpering.

Fight.

I had to fight, for all three of us. But as soon as the thought came, it was replaced by more memories of my life with Erik. A sexual highlight reel began to play inside my mind.

At least I’ll die happy, I thought.

My mental barriers had been reduced to rubble. Worse, I didn’t want to stop the influx of happy memories flowing into me. I wanted to relive those moments over and over again.

Fight.

The thought wasn’t mine own. Without my shields, the person chiseling away at my mental security suddenly had complete access to my brain.

“Tals. You’ve got to fight.”

“Erik?”

“It’s me, Tals. I’m almost there.”

“No, I’m right here, Tals,” a second voice, very much like the first but not quite, screamed.

“We’re coming, Talia.” Penny. Her voice was like an anchor to reality. I just needed for her to keep talking. My best friend didn’t disappoint. “Like thirty seconds. Just fight until we get there.” It wasn’t a plea. It was a command. Instead of fighting Penny’s hold, I embraced it.

The weight pinning me to the ground lifted. I flew to my feet just as the door to the VIP lounge exploded open on a gust of air. Five figures swooped through the opening. I only had eyes for the one in the lead. Erik, in all of his badass glory, spared me only a brief glance, but that one look held so much emotion that I nearly collapsed. He went straight for the imposter, who was struggling to his feet near the balcony railing, where he’d landed when I threw him off of me.

James hurried directly to Kenly, while Penny, Miles, and Brand entered the fray with Riley and his two opponents. Erik and his doppelgänger began to fight. My boyfriend was too enraged to use his talents, relying on brute strength instead. And brute strength was something Erik had in spades. He pummeled the imposter like a speed bag. The boy’s punches and kicks were feeble by comparison, and yet he grinned like a fool through it all.

Erik backed the imposter against the railing.

“Who are you?” he shouted.

“I’m you.” The imposter grinned, exposing reddened teeth. “I’ve been inside your head, Erik. I feel what you feel. I think what you think. I am you.” Erik began to shake with fury. I wanted to do something to help, but I didn’t know what. Calming vibes didn’t seem appropriate for the situation. “That jolt of pure elation you feel when you touch her.” He nodded in my direction. “I feel it too. I understand why you love her. She’s quite special in—”

The words hung in the air, the sentenced forever destined to remain unfinished. Blood trickled from both of the imposter’s ears, dripping from his lobes like a pair of long ruby earrings. That stupid smirk froze on his face, even as he sank boneless to the ground.

I watched, horrorstruck. Erik had killed him. Because of me. It wasn’t the first life he’d taken. Judging by the emotions wafting off of him, it was the most devastating. Erik backed away from his doppelgänger, stumbling over the table and knocking the glass champagne buckets to the ground. A rage and shock stew boiled inside his stomach.

The lounge had fallen silent. Techno music pounded through speakers in the club below, but I barely heard it. The frivolity and imbibing taking place didn’t seem real in that moment. How could it be? How could people be drinking and laughing and kissing in the midst of this?

“Erik?” I called tentatively.

Slowly, he turned to face me. Red dots peppered his cheeks like freckles. Dying embers of rage were still visible in his eyes. But it was the shocked expression that scared me most.

“Tals?” he asked, as though unsure.

“It’s me,” I said, smiling sadly.

Vaulting the three sofas between us like a champion hurdler, Erik was standing in front of me an instant later. He placed both hands on my cheeks and titled my head back to look at me head on. Figuring he’d kiss me, I closed my eyes and waited for his lips to find mine. Instead, Erik traced the contours of my face with his fingertips, murmuring my name over and over again. Then, finally the moment I’d been dreaming about for a month came true. His lips were soft yet demanding, the kiss sweet by intense. I lost myself in Erik, the real Erik. My Erik.

“Hey, guys? Hate to break up this reunion and all, but we need to get these two to a doctor.” It was Penny’s voice.

Reluctantly, I broke the kiss. Erik wrapped me in his arms, not wanting to break physical contact. I turned towards Penny and nearly fainted. Bryn was lying on the ground, James cradling her head in his lap. Kenly held one of Bryn’s hands in hers, openly weeping. Beside them, Riley was once again human. He was naked and bloody, his chest rising and falling too quickly. The two attackers were bound, gagged, and leaned against the wall by the door. Neither was moving, but I didn’t much care whether they were alive.

“We can’t, Penny,” Erik growled, his chest rumbling from the deep vibrations.

At first, I didn’t understand. Bryn and Riley needed medical attention. What did Erik mean that we couldn’t? Couldn’t what? Help them? Then, I read the thought from Penny’s mind.

“Do it, Penny. Make the call,” I said calmly.

“No,” Erik snapped. “You don’t understand.”

But I did. I knew that once UNITED arrived I would be taken into custody. Sure, I could run. I could be long gone before the medics reached the doors to the club, but my disappearance would have serious repercussions for Penny, Erik, and the others. That wasn’t an option. Too many people had already suffered because of decisions that I’d made.

“Now, Penny,” I reiterated. My best friend hesitated. “Penny,” I snapped harshly, hoping to spur her into action.

Bryn was hurt badly, and Penny was wasting precious moments trying to decide how best to handle the situation. The bullet had lodged near Bryn’s spinal cord, and she was bleeding out quickly. She didn’t have much time.

Literally taking the choice out of her hands, I summoned Penny’s communicator and called Victoria myself.

The Privileged

Besançon, France

The Night Before the Vote

Alarm bells shrieked inside Cressa and Nydia’s bedroom, pulling them both from sleep. Tousle-haired and blurry eyed, the two girls trudged to the common room. There, they were met by the other 2P girls and boys.

Cressa had no idea what was going on.

Spotting Ritchie and Daphne huddled together in one corner, Cressa grabbed Nydia’s arm and hurried over to join them. The roommates had spent that afternoon working on their abilities together, and were thankfully back on friendly terms. Seeing Cressa so distraught after the allegiance ceremony had effected Nydia, and she no longer seemed to harbor resentment over having to lie to their superiors.

“What’s up?” Cressa yelled to be heard over the alarms.

She was jostled from behind, and then heard a boy’s voice in her ear.

“The beginning of the end,” it muttered.

Cressa glanced over her shoulder and found herself nose-to-nose with Kev Leon. The vacant expression was gone from his eyes, replaced by keen awareness and acute determination.

Madame Brink had again separated the boys and girls for their lessons after the allegiance ceremony, so Cressa was still waiting to have her promised talk with Kev.

“Not a clue,” Ritchie said, shooting Cressa an annoyed look. She beamed at Kev. “How are you? Things have been so crazy since you arrived, we’ve barely had a chance to catch up.”

Offering Ritchie a weak smile, Kev mumbled something unintelligible, his bottom lip trembling.

“I don’t know either,” Daphne added. “Leslie Abbot came around to say we’re all supposed to wait here for further instruction. She’s off making sure everyone gets out of his or her rooms. You know, just in case they didn’t hear the racket.”

“It’s starting,” Kev whispered in Cressa’s ear. “Time to make a choice.”

What is starting? What choice? Naturally, she didn’t have a chance to ask him.

Just then, Leslie Abbot and Sir Tate appeared in the common room with a group of cadets that Cressa thought were 3Ps and 4Ps. The alarms ceased abruptly.

“Everyone, sit,” Leslie called from beneath the archway.

Cressa, Daphne, and Ritchie moved to the back of the room, leaning against the wall. Kev trailed behind them, then propped himself beside Cressa. As the other cadets found places to sit on the floor, Leslie and Sir Tate took up positions in the front of the room.

“I am sure you are all wondering what is so important that we dragged you out of bed,” Leslie began in her monotone. “It was not for nothing, I assure you.” She paused for dramatic effect. “The Dame will address the entire Institute in just a few minutes. Until then, you are all to remain quiet. Take these moments to reflect on what you have learned in your studies. Very soon, you will be called on to implement those skills in real life.”

The moment Leslie finished speaking, the room erupted in chatter. Excited cadets posited theories about what the Dame was about to tell them. Were they being activated early? Why? Was this good news?

“I hear we’re going to deployed by morning,” Daphne said. “Supposedly the Dame has decided to move up the timetable.”

“The timetable for what?” Cressa asked, perplexed.

Daphne gave her a look that made Cressa feel about two inches tall. Ritchie snickered, as though Cressa was the only one who didn’t understand the punch line of a joke. Or maybe she was the punch line?

“The takeover,” Kev whispered ominously.

“The takeover,” Daphne echoed quietly. “Gracia told me that the Dame originally planned to wait until after the grace period before activating us. But with the influx of new sources, it seems she’s changed her mind.”

“Where is Gracia, anyway?” Nydia asked, looking around the room as if the haughty 7P might be hiding beneath a desk.

“The rumor is that she was activated right after her clone procedure. Dina says Gracia has been sent to trade places with Natalia Lyons. Who knows if that’s true, though? She’s a worse gossip than the twins.” Ritchie glanced over to where Shyla Towers was sitting with her knees pressing against her chest, her chin tucked between them. “Though, I guess not anymore. Should I ask her to join us? I feel sort of bad for Shyla.”

“Yeah, we should,” Cressa replied. “I definitely feel bad for her.”

“Good evening, my children.” The Dame’s voice was syrupy sweet when it boomed throughout the common room.

“Too late,” Ritchie mouthed, looking guiltily towards Shyla again.

The Dame’s holographic image popped into being at the front of the room. As she began pacing back and forth, her incorporeal form glided through Leslie and Sir Tate, who scurried to move out of the way.

Wearing a wrap dress the color of ripe cranberries and four-inch heels in the exact same shade, the Dame radiated both power and friendliness. Her blond hair was down, the ends of her sleek bob bouncing with each step she took. When she stopped pacing, the Dame clasped her hands behind her back and grinned at her pupils.

“Tonight, my children, we will witness history in the making. As I speak to you, the Joint Nations delegates are casting their votes on whether to renew the Coexistence Treaty. At midnight, their decision will be released to the public. I possess a great many abilities, one of which allows me the incredible gift of foresight. I alone know the outcome of this momentous vote.”

This cued more murmuring from the crowd. It was the first time the Dame had ever even alluded to her abilities, let alone enumerated one. The gift of foresight, Cressa knew, meant that the Dame could see into the future. The ability was extremely rare, and wasn’t one given to cadets during the phases. In fact, very few of the Privileged would ever have it.

A thought occurred to Cressa in that moment: it was technically impossible for the Dame to know the outcome with absolute certainty. The future was always changing, which was what made foresight more of a parlor trick than a science. Yes, the gifted individual could see what was going to happen if every person in the world continued on his or her current course. But even the smallest deviation could, and would, change the outcome of a situation halfway around the globe. It was too imprecise a gift to rely upon.

“The heavens have once again smiled upon us,” the Dame continued, grinning even more broadly. She tapped her temple with one scarlet painted nail. “Once the treaty is abolished, the Talented will be cast into exile. But I am not an unforgiving ruler, not at all. I am gracious and generous, and I will give each of the imposters the same opportunity that I have given each of you—the chance to become Privileged. Most will join us. This, too, I have seen.”

There were collective “oohs” and “ahhs” from the cadets. They were enraptured with the Dame’s speech. She was a captivating speaker, and the type of her person that others wanted to follow. It was also why, despite the many atrocities she’d proudly committed, so many cadets still believed the Dame deserved their loyalty.

When Cressa glanced over at her friends, even Daphne and Ritchie, who’d seen more of the Dame’s ugliness than most, were fixated on the woman. Only Kev seemed to share Cressa’s reservations.

He leaned over until his lips brushed her ear.

“She’s full of shit,” he said, sounding angry. Super angry.

“Yes, yes, I am sure that you all find this news as uplifting as I did,” the Dame said indulgently. Her expression grew serious, effectively putting a halt to the mutterings around Cressa. “Unfortunately, not all of those with abilities will choose to join our esteemed ranks. A small contingent of the unworthy will even oppose our plan.”

This provoked boos and hisses from Cressa’s classmates.

“I find this sad, as well. Even sadder still, those unworthy individuals will have to be dealt with before we can stage our uprising. That is why I have decided to activate all of you tonight. By sunrise, each and every one of you will be Privileged.”

“Told you!” declared a girl sitting in front of Cressa, giving the boy beside her a little punch on the arm.

She wasn’t the only cadet excited by the prospect of activation. It seemed she was among the majority, in fact. Of those around Cressa, only Kev Leon wasn’t gushing about how great the Dame was or how lucky he felt to be among the Privileged. Daphne, Ritchie, and even Nydia all wore smiles. Her friends may not have agreed with the Dame’s methods and practices, but they weren’t shying away from the chance to be part of her master plan.

“Now, please look to your elders, the 8Ps and instructors among you, for directions on how to proceed,” the Dame concluded. “I look forward to meeting each of you, my worthy children, during your individual allegiance ceremonies. Until then, I wish you all well.”

The Dame’s visage winked out of existence, and bedlam erupted in the common room. People began firing questions at Leslie and Sir Tate, all wanting to know what happened next.

Cressa found herself oddly uncurious. Honestly, she didn’t want to find out how to proceed. She wanted to know how to use her abilities—hell, she wanted to get all of her abilities—before embarking on some mission. The Institute was supposed to train cadets on how to use their gifts before sending them out into the world.

Thus far, Cressa had yet to turn more than her finger invisible during lessons. She wasn’t ready to—to what? Cressa didn’t even know what it meant to be activated. She felt so foolish.

Yes, she’d always known that the Dame planned to unite the world’s governments under her rule. And yes, Cressa knew that not all of those governments would capitulate easily. But how the Dame intended to conquer the globe was still a mystery, let alone what role Cressa was supposed to play in that crusade.

“If you want to leave, it’s now or never,” Kev muttered in her ear.

Cressa whipped her head around to face him.

He was so close, their lips nearly brushed. Had she not been so scared of what lie ahead, Cressa would have blushed and likely turned into a pile of slobbering fangirl; she’d basically kissed Kev Leon—freaking Kev Leon. But even after Kev took her hands in his, she couldn’t get excited about his closeness. There were too many thoughts running through her mind.

“What makes you think I want to leave?” Cressa asked shakily. “I want to become Privileged. That is what we all want, isn’t it?”

Kev studied Cressa from beneath long lashes.

“Not all of us. Not you, for instance,” Kev replied seriously. “And not me either. I didn’t sign up for this. I never wanted to be a member of some stupid cult.”

“Becoming Privileged is the only way out,” Cressa whispered. “You must realize that. You’ve seen the frog pond, where they keep all of the dismissed cadets, and you saw what happened to Shyla and Hartley and the Jacobs. No one leaves the Institute. Not until they become Privileged.”

She knew it was a gamble, telling Kev all of this when she still wasn’t sure if she could trust him. But Cressa was terrified. And if Kev wasn’t a spy planted by the Dame, then he needed to understand the option to leave wasn’t on the table.

“There is another way,” Kev said. “If you’re willing to try.”

Cautiously, Cressa began to hope. Did Kev truly know another way out of the Institute? Had he come across a secret exit in all of his wanderings?

“Why haven’t you tried before now?” Cressa asked suspiciously. “If you hate it here so much, why haven’t you escaped?”

“I’ve been trying to get myself thrown out of this place, but we’re out of time for that.”

“Why are you even here?” Cressa finally asked the question she’d been wanting to. “Why did you come here, if you never believed in any of this?”

Kev gave her a heartbreakingly sad smile. “I didn’t choose this. I went to read lines for a new director in town, but the audition was really just a sham—a setup so these nutters could kidnap me.”

Cressa stared wide-eyed for a long moment. Was this a trick? Could Kev possibly be telling the truth?

“I’m not the only one, either,” Kev quickly continued when he saw her doubt. “They have been targeting celebrities and public figures for a while. The Dame needs influential people on her side. Which is probably why, despite all of my shenanigans, I’m still here. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’m about to up my game.”

No one was paying attention to Cressa and Kev, not even Ritchie or Daphne. They were all too busy discussing becoming Privileged.

“What other celebrities? You’re the only one I’ve seen,” Cressa challenged. It wasn’t the most pressing issue, but Cressa was still unsure if Kev’s was lying. She figured the longer she kept him talking, the more likely it was that he’d screw up and expose himself as a spy.

“Seriously?” The stunned expression on Kev’s face was genuine. “Come on, don’t you recognize Lessie?”

Kev’s eyes darted to the front of room, to where Leslie Abbot was deep in conversation with Sir Tate. Cressa followed his gaze.

“Lessie Abbot?” he pressed. “Leslie, she calls herself now. She was the little girl, Little Racine, in Dark as Night, Bad as Sin. She won a Golden Achievement for best actress. Any of this ringing a bell?” Kev was becoming more insistent with each word that left his mouth.

The vid, Dark as Night, Bad as Sin, had come out when Cressa was very small. She’d seen it once; her father had it in their home collection. Cressa tried to recall the plot and the character called Little Racine. She couldn’t. All Cressa remembered was Kev—he’d played the lead character as a child, in flashbacks.

“You’re lying,” Cressa said uncertainly.

“Lessie starred in several other flicks before disappearing from the vid scene. Her parents cited exhaustion, claiming she needed time away from the limelight. Clearly, that was a bunch of cow pies. I’d bet my last paycheck that she was brought here when she left the business. Same with your girl Nydia.”

“Wait, what?” Cressa asked, forgetting all about Leslie. “I know for a fact my roommate isn’t some kidnapped celebrity.”

“Maybe you know her better as Dani Daring?”

Cold clammy fingers crawled up Cressa’s spine. She’d loved Dani Daring as a child. It was an hour-long show that came on every Saturday morning. Dani Daring was just a regular little girl, until her aunt gave her ring that made her brave. As soon as she’d slip the rose gold band around her finger, Dani would go on adventures and save the world by the end of each episode. The show had ended years ago, but Cressa remembered all of Dani’s escapades as though she’d watched them recently.

Cressa’s gaze found Nydia. Her roommate wore a blank expression that contrasted sharply with those seated around her. Looking closely, Cressa saw a slight physical resemblance between the high-spirited little girl she remembered and the quiet teenager before her.

“You’re not just messing with me?” she asked Kev quietly.

“No, of course not,” he insisted. “I promise, this is all true.”

“How many others?” Cressa wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“I don’t know the total numbers, but I’ve seen at least ten so far. Not all of them are vid stars, though. I’ve spotted a couple singers, and that swimmer that was all the rage at the last Global Games. Oh, and a princess.”

A princess? Cressa wondered. She eyed Kev, feeling certain he was lying. There weren’t even that many royal families left in the world. And surely a princess’s absence would have been noticed.

“Her name is like Kya or Kalie or something,” Kev rushed on, seeing her disbelief. “She’s from an island nation, I think. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. My point is, the Dame is building an army of influential people with abilities, all of whom she plans to control through mind manipulation. Not just us, from the public eye. You’re part of it, too. Becoming Privileged is no gift. It just means you’re connected, either by birth or business. And once we ‘ascend to greatness,’” Kev rolled his eyes as he used air quotes, “we’ll just be a group of brainless drones with a crazy lady at the controls.”

“I’m no one special,” Cressa responded.

Kev’s eyebrows winged upwards. “Really? No one special? Cressa Karmine, the only child of billionaire businessman Nyles Karmine, isn’t special? You’re the heir to one of the greatest political dynasties since the Kennedys. And you’re clearly a latent, same as me—with a little training, you’d be more powerful than any of these jokers.”

He stared intently into her eyes, then shook his head and laughed. “You really don’t know how valuable you truly are.” It wasn’t a question.

More confused than ever, Cressa couldn’t decide which question to ask first. What the hell was a latent? How did Kev know so much about her and her lineage? Was the Dame really planning on taking over their bodies?

“I need everyone’s attention,” Leslie Abbot announced, before Cressa could pose a single question to Kev.

The room quieted again, every ear eager to hear whatever Leslie had to say.

“The 1Ps are being brought up to speed now. As soon as they are finished, I will take the 2Ps to the ascension floor. The 3Ps will follow shortly thereafter, and so on. Due to time constraints, only a select few will receive additional abilities. The rest of you will be activated with only the abilities you currently possess. In time, that will be rectified, and you will all receive the powers you are owed as Privileged. Is this all very clear?”

Every voice in the room replied in unison, including Cressa and Kev. Cressa was too scared not to respond, and Kev was back to playacting.

“Very good. Now, 2Ps, line up in alphabetical order. Then, as soon as the Dame sends word, we will depart for the ascension floor.”

Kev and Cressa didn’t speak again until they were in line. Because their last names were only one letter apart, she stood directly in front of him.

“It’s now or never, Cressa,” Kev repeated, this time with more urgency.

Becoming Privileged had been her dream for so long. Even before she knew it was an option, really. Many of her friends at boarding school counted themselves lucky to be born without talents. Not Cressa. She’d always wanted powers, to be special, unique.

The hopes and desires of a stupid child, Cressa thought bitterly.

There were a lot of things Cressa still didn’t understand, but she knew what the Dame was doing at the Institute was wrong. If the Dame ran the world the same way she ran her school, Cressa wanted no part of Privileged society. She wanted to be like Cadence Choi, like Natalia Lyons; willing to fight for what was right, no matter the cost. That would only be possible if Cressa were on the outside, if she were free.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

“I just need you to trust me,” Kev whispered. “Eyes front.”

Leslie Abbot was walking up the line of 2Ps, inspecting each one as she passed. She paused for only a moment by Cressa, looking her up and down before nodding in approval. When she got to Kev, she stopped. Cressa angled herself so she could just see him out of the corner of her eye. He immediately began shaking again. For good measure, he sniffled several times and even produced real tears.

His theatrics had no effect on Leslie. If anything, the older girl looked appalled by Kev’s behavior.

“I don’t want to do it. Don’t make me do it.” Kev grabbed Leslie’s arm and stared down at her through wide, frightened eyes. “The voices—the voices are so loud. Why me? Why do they want me, Lessie?”

Disgusted, Leslie tried to shake free from Kev’s vice-like grip. But he was like a starving python that’d finally located his first meal in months.

“Sir Tate?” Leslie called. The older guy strolled over to join Leslie. “I believe we have one for Dr. Wythe.” She indicated Kev with a nod.

“Of course. I will escort him myself.” Sir Tate tugged on Kev’s arm, both to pull him out of line and free Leslie’s purpling hand. This time, Kev didn’t resist. He released Leslie and transferred his focus to Sir Tate.

Sir Tate started to walk, attempting to drag the vid star along with him. Feet firmly planted, Kev refused to move. Sir Tate gave one hard yank on his arm, and Kev pulled free from him.

Hands covering his ears, Kev sank to his knees and began rocking back and forth.

“No, no, no!” he wailed piteously. “I’m special! I was chosen! It’s time to ascend. The voices don’t want me to, but I can’t let them win.”

His performance was flawless, garnering the attention of every eye in the room.

“Yes, he is definitely a candidate for Dr. Wythe,” Leslie said dryly.

Kev suddenly grabbed Cressa’s leg, locking his arms around her thigh in a steel embrace. Surprised, Cressa yelped. Then, she started to convulse. Every part of her body, from her eyelids to her pinky toes, was instantly wracked with spasms. The pain was horrific, and Cressa let loose a bloodcurdling scream. Still twitching violently, she collapsed on top of Kev.

“Make that two candidates for the doctor,” Leslie said. Those were the last words Cressa heard before silent darkness claimed her.

Talia

London, England

The Night Before the Vote

“No, Erik, you can’t,” I pleaded.

“This isn’t up for discussion. You are running, and I am going with you,” Erik insisted.

Victoria hadn’t sounded all that surprised to hear from me when I called for medical help for Bryn and Riley. The councilwoman also didn’t ask any questions beyond the basics. All she’d wanted to know was where to send her team. As soon as I’d disconnected, Erik had started fighting with me.

“I can’t let you do that,” I protested, albeit it weakly. I did want Erik to come with me. Being separated from him was agony. It was also necessary. UNITED would protect him. They would keep him safe on the islands, far out of reach of Nightshade and whoever else was hunting me. And he was Victoria’s golden boy; she wouldn’t let the council punish him too harshly for letting me go. Love was blind after all.

“Besides, I won’t be alone. Kenly will come with me, won’t you?” I glanced at my mentee beseechingly. She’d recovered from her encounter with the fake Erik and was focusing all of her attention on Bryn.

“I—yeah, of course. But Bryn…” Kenly trailed off, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

“I’ll stay with her,” James said.

“What? No. UNITED will arrest you,” Kenly replied.

“Not likely. I’m not Created, Kenly. They have no reason to arrest me,” James said.

“He’s right,” Penny interjected. “And, if he stays with his sister, they will both be taken to the islands, where they will be safe. Staying with Bryn guarantees them both spots. It’s the best plan.”

“No!” Erik shouted. “There has to be another option, a better option. I’m not leaving Talia. Brand? Help me out. How fast can Crane’s people get here?”

Brand ran his hands through his dark hair. “I don’t know. Not before UNITED. Is there somewhere safe you guys can hide until the medics get these two out of here?”

“The bunker,” James suggested.

“They’ll search this entire place looking for Talia,” Kenly said.

“I can help with that,” Brand responded gravely.

As a Perception Manipulator, Brand was able to disguise people and places. The trouble was, he didn’t actually alter appearances. His gift made it so that a specific person thought they were seeing something they weren’t. He was strong enough to manipulate large groups at once, but an entire platoon of trained UNITED agents was stretching it.

“He just needs to cloak the trapdoor to the bunker,” Kenly put in, growing excited by the prospect. “If he makes it look as though nothing is there, that it’s just a floor, it might work.”

“They’ll feel Talia,” Erik interrupted. “She’s too powerful. Her essence will be a dead giveaway. No door will prevent that.”

I smiled, finally seeing a ray of hope through the gloom. “No, but Emma will.”

Three minutes later, Kenly, Brand, Erik, and I were climbing through the trapdoor to the bunker. Penny and Miles stayed behind to wait for the medics, and the strike team that Victoria had likely sent to retrieve me. I hated Penny risking her freedom for me, but she’d insisted that this was the only option she’d go along with. She’d also pointed out that her uncle was a member of the UNITED council. Even if she was arrested, there was no way she’d serve much time.

Erik, however, wouldn’t let me out of his sight. Only after Brand explained that Crane intended to give me sanctuary in the States, for whatever that was worth, did I agree to let Erik hide with me. If our plan backfired, or Brand or Emma wasn’t strong enough to block us, at least we’d be SOL together.

“Okay, I’ve seen all I need to,” Brand said, surveying the bunker with mild interest. “I’ll make it so that no one will see the trapdoor. If they feel the floor though, they will still feel the handle. Other than that, I can make this space appear solid if they do an imaging scan.” He started back up the ladder.

I put my hand on Brand’s shoulder. He glanced down, grass green eyes full of alarm.

“Thank you. Honestly, Brand. I really appreciate this,” I told him sincerely.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he said gruffly.

“I know. That’s fine. I still appreciate it.”

Brand didn’t like me any better than the last time we’d seen each other. He was helping me for Penny. That was okay. The only reason I ever pretended to be play nice with Brand was for Penny’s sake. For some unfathomable reason, she loved the surly asshat. So, for her I tolerated his existence.

“Talia? What’s going on?” Lids still heavy with sleep, Emma emerged from one of the cubicles. Blonde hair stuck to one of her cheeks, and the other had creases from the pillow she’d slept on. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she laid eyes on Erik. “You’re him!”

Kip popped his head out from behind the divider. Dark circles and bloodshot eyes suggested that he hadn’t slept, but more likely watched Emma catch some Z’s instead.

I made quick introductions, giving Emma an overview of what I needed her to do.

“There is another option,” I told her after I finished explaining the plan.

“Talia,” Erik groaned inside my head, having read my intentions from my mind.

I ignored him and soldiered forward. “You and Kip can go upstairs. A woman named Victoria Walburton will be with the medics. If you tell her who you are, who Kip is, she will take you to the Isle of Exile.”

I understood that by sending Emma and Kip away, I was as good as caught. Erik was right when he’d said that UNITED’s agents would feel my essence. There was no way that Victoria would take Penny’s word that I’d left the club. Agents would tear this place apart looking for me. Emma was my only chance at escape. But her safety was more important. Kip’s safety was more important. The best place for him was in UNITED’s care.

“No.” It was Kip who answered. “We’re staying with you.” He held up a hand before I could make my first protest. “Em and I already talked about it. It sounds like our home has been compromised. I can’t go back. Not right now, anyhow. And I don’t want to hide behind UNITED. I want to know why those crazies want me. Maybe, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Maybe they’re the ones who took my dad. If so, I might be able to learn the truth about his disappearance. If not, I still want answers. I deserve answers.”

Erik remained silent through Kip’s speech. I felt him sifting through my thoughts for the answers to the many questions running through his own mind. The more he uncovered, the angrier he became. It was hard to tell whom exactly that anger was directed towards, but he needed to calm down before those emotions manifested in an outpouring of power.

“Okay. That’s settled then,” I said to the surprise of both Emma and Kip. They expected me to argue. I might have, had Erik not been so close to losing control and UNITED agents not been about to bust through the club’s front door.

“They’re here,” Kenly said softly.

I glanced over at her. She pointed towards the wall of monitors with fingers covered in Bryn’s blood. Sure enough, one of the screens showed a raiding party strong-arming their way past the line of would be partiers, past the bouncers, and through the front doors of Pure Bliss.

“Emma? Can you do this? Can you mask my essence?” I asked.

“I already am. I can’t control my powers that well. I’m like the island, I just mess with that sort of thing.”

“Good. Thank you.” I turned back to Kenly. “Why don’t you get washed up? Where’s Willa? She can help you.”

Kenly nodded mutely.

“Willa’s resting. I’ll get her,” Emma offered. She started down the maze of dividers calling Willa’s name, Kip trailing on her heels.

I guided Kenly to one of the chairs behind the desk by the monitors. Shaking slightly, she clasped her blood-smeared hands in her lap and stared straight ahead at the screens. I didn’t know how to work the controls, but figured it couldn’t be that hard. I wanted to track the UNITED agents’ movements. Unfortunately, Kenly’s system was more complex than I’d anticipated, and Erik scooted me out of the way with a gentle nudge of his hip.

“Hey, sorry. I wanted a bit of lie down. Things have been…” Willa trailed off when she saw Kenly. “What’s happened? Is it Riley? Is he okay?” Her hazel eyes darted to the monitors, her hand flying to cover the gasp she let out when she saw him curled on the lounge floor.

“Medics are on the way,” I promised Willa.

As if on cue, six medics entered the lounge and headed directly for Bryn and Riley.

“I should go to him,” Willa said, but she didn’t move.

The four of us watched as the medics quickly assessed the damage and began administering first aid.

“Can you bring up the footage from the other cameras in the club?” I asked Erik.

He nodded and began typing away on the desktop. Seconds later, eight of the screens showed the club from varying angles. Downstairs, in the main bar area, the lights were on, and UNITED agents were moving through the crowd of stunned partygoers. More agents were filing into the kitchen, shouting words I couldn’t hear since the sound was off. Then, I saw her, Victoria Walburton, striding down the back hallway towards the VIP lounge. Frederick and Henri were with her, and all three wore grim expressions.

By the time Victoria and her entourage reached the lounge, the medics had Bryn and Riley on hover gurneys and were ready to transport them.

“Turn it up,” Willa insisted. “I want to know where they’re taking him.”

Erik obeyed. “It’ll be a UNITED base, Willa. You won’t be able to get on without credentials.”

“Buggar that.” This time Willa did move. She headed straight for the trapdoor, intent on following Riley.

“Wait! Willa you can’t. They might—” Kenly started to call after her.

“Don’t Kenly. You can’t stop me going after him. You’d do the same if it were James.” With that Willa disappeared through the trapdoor.

From the security footage inside the storage room, I knew the agents hadn’t reached the sub-levels yet. As long as Willa was quick, she’d be upstairs before anyone realized where she’d come from. Getting out of the club was a whole other issue, since UNITED was detaining everyone inside.

“There are several discrete exits,” Kenly told me hollowly, as though she’d read my mind.

This was exactly what I’d hoped for, and it came as no surprise. The bunker had been built long before Kenly needed a place to hide, and a lot of planning had gone into the production and concealment.

“Including one out of here?” I asked.

Kenly nodded.

“Good. We might need it,” Erik said gravely.

For the next two hours, Erik, Kenly, and I kept our eyes glued to the monitors. Emma and Kip joined us for parts of the show, leaving only to pack bags of food and clothing in case we needed to make a quick exit. While the news of a second way out of the bunker was uplifting, Kip’s announcement that he’d regained enough strength to teleport was even better. We had one syringe of the booster left. I’d intended for Kip to use it to get him and Emma home, but if things turned south, he would need it to get all five of us out of the bunker.

Though we both wanted to say so many things to one another, Erik and I barely spoke. Our reunion would have to wait until we no longer had an audience.

Thanks to a very pointed conversation between Penny and Victoria, we were able to confirm that Riley and Bryn would be taken directly to the islands, via a fully equipped medi-hover. James refused to go along. Personally, I didn’t believe this was the smartest decision, but I understood. Even without reading his thoughts, I knew that while James cared about Riley and his sister, Kenly’s safety was most important. And, truthfully, there was nothing he could do for Bryn or his friend. They were in proficient hands, with the best medical team available treating their injuries.

Victoria stayed to oversee the entire operation, and though she said all the right words, I could tell that her heart wasn’t in the search. She took Penny’s word that I’d fled with Erik and Kenly. To my immense relief, there was no mention of sanctions, and Victoria also seemed glad that I’d dodged her bullet. Almost. Worry lines were etched into her expression. I was positive they had more to do with the treaty vote than me, but I couldn’t help thinking that deep down the austere councilwoman was concerned with my wellbeing. Or, at the very least, she was worried about my talents falling into the wrong hands. Either way.

Two of the mysterious assassins—the woman who looked like Penny, and the second man I’d barely taken notice of—were alive. On one level, I knew this was best. UNITED would interrogate them, find out who they worked for and why they were surgically altered to look like the people closest to me, and maybe even learn the identity of the mastermind who had hired Nightshade. The problem was I wanted to interrogate them. I wanted firsthand knowledge of the secrets lurking inside their heads. Yes, Kenly and her nimble fingers could unearth UNITED’s reports on the interrogation sessions. That would take time, though, and I was impatient.

Finally, at nearly eleven p.m., Victoria declared that she was satisfied with the search of Pure Bliss, and that I obviously was truly gone. Her agents did find the storage room, but they never did locate the trapdoor. Between Emma and Brand, we’d remained invisible to both the naked eye and infrared image scanners.

“I can’t believe they’re leaving,” Kenly proclaimed, letting out a huge sigh.

Me neither, I thought. Victoria was nothing if not tenacious. I was shocked she hadn’t ordered the entire structure bulldozed or something as equally destructive.

Erik and I were sitting side by side at the desk. He pulled my chair closer to his, so that our arms and legs touched. The kiss he placed on my temple was sweet, his demeanor almost relaxed.

James appeared at the top of the ladder, jumping through the opening as I’d done earlier. Haggard and emotionally wiped, his platinum eyes lit up when he saw Kenly. She ran to him, and the two embraced. James stroked her hair and whispered in her ear, promising that Bryn was going to be okay.

“The medics say the bullet didn’t hit any major organ. It nicked her spinal cord, but they believe the damage is fixable,” James told us over the top of Kenly’s head. He sounded relieved.

“I’m sorry about all of this, James,” I replied.

“Don’t be. We knew the risks.” James paused and furrowed his brow. “Well, obviously not all of the risks. How did they know about the meeting?”

No one had an answer for this, at least not one they were willing to share. I was too tired to contemplate the possibilities, particularly since every one that popped into my head was ridiculous and farfetched.

“It’s late,” Erik said quietly. He squeezed my hand knowingly. Apparently my mental barriers were still leaky, and Erik felt my exhaustion. “We should all get some sleep. We can talk about all of this in the morning, decide where to go.”

“Why can’t we stay here?” Emma asked, confused. “It’s doubtful UNITED will come back now that they’ve searched the place top to bottom.”

Erik and I exchanged a pointed look, but it was Kenly who spoke. “They have Riley and Bryn, and they’ll have Willa soon, too. It won’t take them long to learn about the bunker.”

Emma still looked confused. “I thought they were your friends?”

“UNITED has ways of prying information from even the most reluctant of informants,” I said gently, not wanting to upset her. Emma was from a primitive society, it was doubtful they used physic interrogation. This was particularly unlikely given that the mental powers required for such a method were shunned on Pelia.

“Like torture?” Emma squeaked.

“Nothing quite so bloody,” I replied. “But their methods are unpleasant and effective. Everyone succumbs in the end.”

This seemed to disturb Emma more than the prospect of physical torture. Kip wrapped an arm around her waist. “You’re going to have nightmares, Em. Let’s save the unpleasantness for morning,” he said, and then steered Emma back towards the alcove where they’d been resting earlier.

“There are loads of extra beds, take whichever you like. I’m sure you’ll be able to tell which belong to Riley and Willa, but they won’t mind if you use them. Help yourselves to food, drinks, whatever.” James gestured towards the bunker at large. “But if you don’t mind much, I’m going to get Kenly settled.”

“Of course,” I said.

I leaned over and hugged Kenly tightly to me. “I really am sorry about all of this,” I whispered in her ear.

James helped Kenly to her feet and led her off in the same direction that Emma and Kip had gone. And then, finally, I was alone with Erik.

He turned my chair so we were facing each other. He didn’t touch me, though I felt the physical ache inside of him to do just that.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” I echoed, fighting a grin. It felt inappropriate and just plain wrong to be so happy after being ambushed, nearly caught, and having two of our numbers severely injured. But I was happy, so freaking happy.

Erik sighed. “We have a lot to talk about.”

I nodded. “I know. So much to talk about.”

Erik leaned forward, sliding one of his knees between mine. He placed both hands on the arms of my chair, our lips so close we were breathing the same air. “I don’t feeling much like talking.”

His mouth covered mine in the most amazing kiss we’d ever shared; absence really did make the heart grow fonder. The kiss upstairs was nothing compared to this one, a flick of match compared to a bonfire. I crawled onto Erik’s lap, straddling his hips. His fingers searched the back of Bryn’s ridiculous dress for a zipper or buttons. Finding none, he tore the fabric down the seam along my spine.

Laughing, I broke the kiss just long enough to chastise him. “Bryn is going to kill you. This is her dress.”

“She can bill UNITED,” Erik mumbled, his lips finding my throat.

I arched my back and worked my arms out of the sleeves with Erik’s help. He flung the silver material across the room. The boots were another matter, one that required a lot more finesse owing to all of the pearl buttons.

“Leave them on,” Erik said huskily when he noticed me fumbling with the footwear.

“Then how would I get the tights off?” I asked.

“Right. Here, I’ll do it.”

Erik lifted me off of his lap and onto the desk. My butt hit controls, and the screens behind me started to go berserk.

“We’re going to wake the others,” I muttered.

Erik slammed keys until the sound muted. “They’re all adults, Tals. They’ll survive. Besides, they’re distracted with their own issues. You and these boot things are my only concern.”

“Actually, Emma and Kip…” I began, but lost my train of thought when Erik made circles with his tongue down one side of my neck.

“What was that you were saying?” he teased, easing back into his chair so that he could figure out the boots.

Unlike with the dress, Erik seemed to want to take his time undoing the pearl buttons. Then again, I was half naked and he was racking his gaze up and down my body. So, yeah, there was that.

“I don’t remember,” I breathed. “Not important.”

Somehow, by the time Erik had my shoes off, he’d managed to get me out of the rest of my clothes, too. Then, he hooked one arm under my knees and one across my shoulder blades. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in Erik’s neck, inhaling the mix of love, desire, and mango soap.

“It was in the hotel bathroom,” he said, reading the thought about the soap from my head.

Just as I always did when we were together like this, I kept my mind open to Erik. I let him feel everything I felt, my love and affection for him, the way he made me feel both desired and protected, how complete I was with him by my side.

Erik found the closest alcove with a bed and tossed me onto it. I laughed as the springy mattress sent me bouncing back into the air. Erik didn’t take nearly as long with his own clothes as he had with mine. Then, he was laying next me, our bodies pressed together. He tucked a curl behind my ear.

“I can’t even tell you how many nights I’ve laid awake thinking about this moment,” he sent.

“Me too,” I sent back. The difference of course being that I’d been in a cell on the lumpy piece of cardboard the prison administrator called a bed.

“Tals, I am so sorry. It should have been me.”

I hadn’t meant to let the thought about my time on Vault slip out.

“Can we not do this now?” I pleaded. “I won’t lie and say that the last month didn’t suck. But I just want to forget about it for the next hour. Please.”

It was the please that caused Erik to grin wickedly.

“You’re adorable when you beg.”

I rolled my eyes. “I thought you liked strong women.”

“Oh, I do. I also like to know that you aren’t made of marble. With me, you can be vulnerable. It only makes me love you more.”

Without warning, Erik rolled me onto my back, his face hovering inches above mine.

“You know what else is adorable?” He didn’t wait for answer, before adding, “That you think I’m going to help you forget your troubles for just one hour.”

The Privileged

Besançon, France

The Night Before the Vote

Cressa’s eyelids felt like they were made of lead, and glued together with cement. Given the last thing she remembered, Cressa was surprised to find she wasn’t in excruciating pain. Her body was weightless, as though she were suspended in water. And yet, she didn’t feel like she was floating either.

In fact, Cressa didn’t feel anything at all below her chin.

Alarmed, she tried wiggling her fingers and toes. Nothing happened. She tried again, still to no avail. It was like something was blocking the messages her brain was sending out.

Cressa panicked.

She tried to scream. Though she felt her lips move no sound came out. Full-blown terror set in. Except, she had no visceral reaction. Her heart wasn’t pounding. Sweat didn’t form on her face, which was the only part of her body Cressa could feel. Even her breathing was even. It was her mind, not her lungs, screeching for air.

“Cressa? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Soft fingers caressed her cheek. At the same time a hand tipped her chin upwards. Warm breath fanned her face as the person leaning over her let out a relieved sigh.

“Cressa, can you hear me?” the person repeated. “Please open your eyes. We need to go.”

She recognized the voice. It belonged to Kev. His touch was so gentle; all Cressa wanted was to snuggle closer to him.

“Cressa,” Kev snapped. “Open your eyes.”

The next instant, her cheek was on fire.

Shock alone brought her mind into sharper focus.

“Did you just slap me?” she asked incredulously. At least, that was what Cressa tried to say, but the words came out jumbled and unintelligible.

Fingers pried her lids apart. Kev’s deep, soulful eyes filled her vision. When he spoke, his voice was firm, authoritative, just like the one her father used when scolding one of his underlings.

“You need to sit up. We need to leave. Now. Do you understand?”

Her body obeyed the command with no conscious thought on Cressa’s part. The sting in her cheek was fading, but the rest of her body still felt numb. She looked down. Thick blue gel swirled around her body from the waist down. The same substance coated her arms and chest, which were bare.

Cressa let loose an ear-piercing scream.

Kev clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the noise.

“You’re in a deprivation chamber, this goo is just a numbing gel,” he assured her, his tone once again soft and soothing. “You aren’t paralyzed. Once I get you out of here and wash it off, you’ll be able to feel your arms and legs again.” He offered her a weak smile. “I know it’s scary. The first time I woke up in one…well, let’s just say my reaction was embarrassing. I’ve heard people joke about being so frightened they mess themselves, but I didn’t really believe it could happen.”

Despite her predicament, Cressa started to relax. She had a feeling Kev’s tale was an exaggeration meant to calm her anxiety, possibly even make her laugh so that she wouldn’t scream again.

Just to be safe, she glanced down at the pool of gel surrounding her in the clear, glass tub. It was a pure, crystalline blue, with no hint of discoloration to suggest that she’d lost control of her bodily functions.

“I’m going to remove my hand. Promise not to yell again? If they hear you, we’re as good as dead—or worse.”

Cressa nodded, her head wobbling on her neck like a newborn.

Kev slowly drew his hand back, visibly relaxing when Cressa didn’t immediately start screaming.

She had to open and close her lips several times before her mouth was able to form a single word. “Where?” Cressa finally asked.

“Med bay, back wing. It’s where they perform the shady stuff.”

“Why?”

Kev looked confused. “Why? Because the Dame is nuts, I guess. It doesn’t matter right now, okay? Right now, we need to go, before someone comes to check on us.”

Cressa shook her head, the movement so spastic it probably looked like she was having an epileptic episode. She tried to speak, but the words in her head were still having trouble making it to her mouth.

Frustrated, she licked her lips, a nervous habit, and tried again.

“No.” She gulped audibly. “No. Wh-why are w-we here? Y-y-you and m-me.”

“Oh, right.” Kev sighed. “If I had to guess, it’s because they realized you’re a latent. They already know I am.” Tapping the side of the tub, he added bitterly, “I’ve spent a lot of time in these chambers.”

Latent. There was that word again. What did it mean?

Her head was so foggy, like her brain was covered in that gross fuzzy mold that grew on old fruit.

“L-latent?” she managed to ask.

“I’ll explain later, I promise.” Kev’s gaze flitted towards the doorway. “Seriously, Cressa, we need to move. I had no idea they’d bring us back here to the tanks; I thought they’d just sedate us until they were done with the allegiance ceremonies. I don’t know how much time has passed, or how long we have. We need to go, okay?”

“N-now,” Cressa demanded.

Closing his eyes and pursing his lips, Kev seemed to be praying for patience, or maybe for time to standstill. Either way, when his gaze met hers, Kev launched into a hurried, somewhat frantic explanation.

“A latent is someone born with the genetic mutation that causes talents. Unlike other Talented, who possess an active mutation that gives them abilities from birth, latents don’t exhibit signs until they experience a trauma that forces their powers to come out. For most, it’s a life-threatening event. But it doesn’t have to be. Any serious shock to the system can make a dormant gene become active. You have the latent mutation. I don’t know how they figured it out, but they put you in the deprivation chamber to force it to become active.” Kev cupped Cressa’s cheeks in his palms and leaned in so that his face was all she could see. “I know this is a lot to take in. I know you have a ton more questions. I know you are scared. I promise, I will tell you everything else I know once we are free. But please, just trust me when I say we have to go.”

Trust him? Kev had left her no other option but to trust that he was on her side. Whatever he’d done to her to cause such intense pain that she’d blacked out, Kev had done it without her permission. And now he was rambling about dormant mutations and all sorts of other nonsense that Cressa’s muddled brain couldn’t begin to digest.

It was too much. Part of her wanted to sink beneath the gel and let the detached feeling from earlier take over again.

The only way through is forward.

The mantra popped into her head, only this time Cressa wasn’t thinking about becoming Privileged. This time, it was escape. Kev clearly had a plan, and he’d already put it in motion. If she didn’t follow him to the end of this treacherous road, she would end up in the frog pond. Or worse. How far would the Dame go to force Cressa’s dormant powers out of her? If she truly had this latent mutation Kev kept insisting she did, she knew the answer already: the Dame would go as far as necessary. Probably until Cressa was dead.

“I’m sorry about upstairs,” Kev began, trying to interpret her prolonged silence. He was still holding her face between his hands, and Kev’s proximity was making it even harder for Cressa to focus. “I know I put you in this position, and I didn’t give you a choice. But I know you don’t believe that the Dame is a good person. I know you don’t want to be one of her minions.”

Kev searched her eyes intently, imploring her with the depths of his gaze.

“If I’m wrong about that, stay here. Like I said before, you don’t know how valuable you truly are. The Dame needs numbers on her side right now, so she won’t dismiss someone like you easily. Believe me, she knows that Daphne, you, and I were in the tunnels, too. Hartley and the others wouldn’t have been able to keep that a secret, not under psychic interrogation. She didn’t come after us because we are worth more to her as Privileged drones than we would be as caged rats. That public shaming spectacle she put on yesterday was solely for our benefit, to scare us into obedience.” Kev paused for air. “I am giving you the choice now, but you have to make it quickly. Do you want to come with me, to see your parents again? Or do you want to stay at the Institute, blindly following a madwoman intent on enslaving the norms?”

“Well when you put it like that, there’s not much of a choice,” Cressa said dryly, surprised the remark rolled so easily from her tongue.

“Sarcasm is a very good sign.” Kev beamed at her. But when he spoke again, his tone was eerily serious. “I can’t promise to keep you safe, but I will do everything in my power to make sure you make it out of here alive. Are you ready?”

The decision was surprisingly easy. Truly, she’d known it was the one she’d make all along. Cressa wanted to see her parents again, wanted to see Julie again. She wanted her life back. Being Privileged had seemed so exciting before the Institute. But after everything she’d experienced there, Cressa wished she’d never heard of the Dame or her program to turn normal children into Talented leaders in her dream world. She only hoped her parents weren’t too disappointed in her decision. Maybe the news that Cressa was a latent would soften the blow.

Or maybe you’re condemning your family to pauperism, a voice in the back of her mind suggested.

What would happen to the Karmines if the Dame succeeded?

Cressa immediately dismissed the thought. She couldn’t worry about that just then. Once she pled her case to her father, he would know how best to proceed. He loved her, and surely wouldn’t be upset with her for fleeing the Institute. Not after Cressa told him how the Dame was really running the school.

“I’m ready,” Cressa told Kev.

Without further prompting, Kev slid one arm under her knees and the other around her back. He lifted her out of the tub as though she was as weightless as she felt. The situation was so surreal; it took Cressa longer than it should have to notice that she was practically naked, wearing only her underclothes. As was Kev, she realized, when her slimy, wet skin proved difficult for him to hold against his bare chest.

“I’ve got you. Just try to stay still,” he grunted, readjusting her for a better grip. She still couldn’t feel her body, and her head lolled against the straining muscles of his arm.

At the odd angle, the room appeared tilted and off-kilter. Still, Cressa noticed a second deprivation chamber not far from one she’d just left.

“How did you get out of that on your own?” Cressa asked as Kev deposited her on the floor.

He gently leaned her against the wall, carefully propping her up. The ground beneath Cressa was wet, though she couldn’t feel the water against her skin. A small drain had been installed in the flooring, and hanging from the ceiling above was a large showerhead, with a metal chain dangling beside it.

“Like I said, I’ve spent a lot of time in one of those.” Kev gestured towards the glass tubs. “It’s sort of like with any drug; you build up an immunity after a while. Same with the sedative they gave us. It wasn’t easy, but once I woke up, I had just enough feeling in my arms and legs to pull myself out of the chamber. Then, I sort of slithered over here.”

That was when Cressa noticed the trail of blue sludge leading from one tub to the corner where she sat.

“Once I got the gel off, I was fine. You will be, too.”

With that, Kev stepped back and pulled the chain beside the showerhead. Water poured down on Cressa from above, filling her mouth and eyes before she had the wherewithal to close them.

The gel was thick and sticky, and obstinately clung to Cressa’s skin. After a minute, Kev bent under the warm spray and drew Cressa to her feet. With one arm around her waist, he used the other to scrub her arms and legs. Finally, the gel began to slough off of her like a snake shedding its skin.

Tingling started in her toes, traveling up her legs and across her stomach. Another minute later, Cressa was able to stand on her own. Her coordination was still a little iffy, but she managed to help with removing the rest of the numbing gel.

Once she was clean, Kev turned off the shower and rushed over to a supply cabinet. He rummaged through the contents, and then returned with towels, two sets of black scrubs, and two pairs of the booties she’d seen med techs wearing.

Kev wrapped one towel around her shoulders. “Dry off as fast as you can. Then put on these.” He handed her one set of the scrubs and a pair of booties.

Modesty hadn’t gone completely out of the window, so Cressa carefully knotted the towel around her chest before stripping off her wet undergarments. Finding that the scrubs were several sizes too large for her, she rolled the waistband and cuffs. Then, still moving as quickly as her baby-deer body would allow, Cressa slid the booties onto her feet and twisted her wet hair into a knot on the top of her head.

By the time she was finished, so was Kev.

“You do have an escape plan, right?” she asked, pleased to find it was no longer difficult to speak. “We aren’t just winging this?”

“Yes and no. No and yes.” Kev smiled sheepishly. “I have a plan, but it’s not as solid as I’d like. I figured I would have more time to explore the tunnels before my big exit. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. I know there’s an entranceway to the tunnels here in med bay, which leads directly to a passage that I’m fairly confident is a straight shot to an exit. From there? Well, that’s where we’ll start to wing it. I have no idea where we actually are, or what’s nearby.”

Great, Cressa thought, not liking their odds at all.

Nonetheless, she followed Kev to the door, waiting while he inched it open to peer into the hallway. The room they were in was evidently soundproof, because Cressa heard a conversation taking place on the other side as soon as the door opened.

Kev held one finger to his lips, and then pointed to his ear. Huddled beside Kev, Cressa listened to the voices.

“Dr. Wythe gave both Karmine and Leonard a mild sedative,” a woman was saying. Cressa recognized the voice as belonging to Dr. Masterson. “I imagine it will wear off in another twenty minutes or so.”

“And he is sure about the girl? Karmine? She’s a latent Talent, too?” The second voice was that of Sir Tate. Though Cressa had only heard him speak a handful of times, his quiet tone and stilted cadence were undeniable.

“Dr. Wythe is positive,” Dr. Masterson declared. “And her blood sample confirms it.”

“Why is this the first we’re learning of it, then?” Sir Tate asked, sounding more inquisitive than accusatory.

“There were no indicators prior to her second injection. I began to suspect that she might be a latent when I noticed her power retention levels, which are quite remarkable. The incident in the observation catacombs with the Beaumont girl should have caused Karmine’s dormant abilities to become active. Unfortunately, the Leonard boy’s intervention prevented that. Her fight-or-flight instinct was not triggered, or at least not to the degree necessary to activate her talents.”

“And what are her natural talents? Do we know yet?” Sir Tate questioned.

“No. The results of her gene sequencing should be in shortly,” Dr. Masterson replied.

“Very well. What about the episode upstairs? What caused her to lose consciousness?” Sir Tate wanted to know.

So did Cressa. Pain had definitely played a part, but what caused that intense pain?

“The Leonard boy. He’s a Perception Manipulator. We have known this since his arrival, of course.”

“So the deprivation chamber worked successfully in his case,” Sir Tate mused. “Hopefully it will work on the girl as well.”

Dr. Masterson cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“Well, that is not certain,” she began, sounding almost nervous. “I believe his abilities were active long before he came to the Institute, which would explain his superior acting prowess from such a young age. Natural-born Talents can either exude a certain charisma that draws others to them, or a sort of preternatural repellant that causes others to shy away from their power. Obviously, Cadet Leonard falls in the former category.

“According to his medical records, he was involved in a near-fatal hovercraft accident at the age of ten. The incident probably caused his powers to manifest fully, though I doubt he was even aware of it. Perception manipulation isn’t like hurling objects across a room or hearing the thoughts of others—it’s not something that anyone would notice. For the Talented, using their abilities is almost instinctual. It probably never occurred to him that he was making the world fall him love with him by altering their perception, not simply because he was a handsome little boy who could cry on demand.”

Kev glanced over his shoulder at Cressa, his expression heartbreaking.

“I’m a fraud?” he whispered. “All those Golden Achievement awards, letters from fans gushing about how wonderful I am…It’s all a sham?”

While Cressa did feel badly for Kev, she couldn’t muster too much sympathy. So what if his talents gave him an advantage in acting?

“It’s still you,” she said quietly. “The way you were born. It’s not any different from people who win over audiences because they won the genetic lottery for beauty.”

The simple truth did not erase his forlorn expression.

“It’s still you that they love,” Cressa repeated.

“I have to go the Dame’s office,” Sir Tate was saying out in the hallway. “We should have another handful of cadets for you soon. Do you think the ones receiving additional injections will be ready by the morning?”

The soft clicking of Dr. Masterson’s heels indicated that the pair was walking away.

Finally, Cressa thought. Though she found the onslaught of information interesting, Dr. Masterson and Sir Tate were standing between her and freedom. Cressa was ready to leave the entire Institute in her rearview

Their conversation also confirmed Kev’s hurried explanation from earlier, erasing all of Cressa’s lingering doubts over whether she could trust him.

“They will be ready,” Dr. Masterson confirmed, her voice growing distant as she traversed the hallway. “Several of the candidates you and the Dame chose are not ideal, if you do not mind me saying so. They may not survive the procedure. Injecting multiple talent signatures at once carries many intrinsic risks.”

“Penelope Crane and Erikson Kelley survived the process,” Sir Tate replied. “And they were stronger for it.”

There was a whoosh of air, then a slight creaking of door hinges. Cressa leaned forward, straining to hear Dr. Masterson’s reply.

“Yes, well, they both have a unique advantage, being natural-born Mimics,” the doctor was saying. “Which leads me to my next point. If we do not capture one or both of them soon, as well as Natalia Lyons, we cannot proceed. I need their blood to continue. Unless the Dame knows of other Mimics, and a Mind Manipulator of that caliber?”

The slamming of the door cut off whatever Sir Tate said next.

“Ready?” Cressa asked, nudging Kev.

Kev shook his head as if clearing the thoughts from his mind, looking miserable. Cressa guessed that he was still stuck on the discovery that his adoring public only loved him because they’d been manipulated, though unconsciously, into doing so.

“Um, yeah,” he said. “The coast is clear now. Let’s go.”

Kev opened the door a little farther, just enough to slide through, and reached for Cressa’s hand. Entwining their fingers, she returned Kev’s squeeze. It was a small gesture, but one that gave them both comfort.

Their med booties made no noise as they hurried down the hallway to a set of doors marked Restricted. Kev paused outside, turning to face Cressa.

“There is a real chance that opening these doors will set off an alarm,” he told her gravely. “If that happens, we need to run as fast as we can to the end of the corridor inside. The last door on the right, Cloning Room Six—that’s our destination. The entrance to the tunnels is in there, through the empty supply closet. You’ll need to use telekinesis to open it. Once you’re inside the tunnels, go straight and don’t stop running. If I’m right, the passage dead-ends about a quarter of a mile down. Again, use telekinesis to open the hidden doorway. Now that you know what the doors look like, you won’t be able to miss it.”

Kev shrugged, looking frighteningly uncertain.

“That’s sort of where my plan ends,” he concluded. “I don’t know what’s around the Institute, so just keep running until you find someone who can help you.”

“But you’ll be with me, right?” Cressa pressed.

“That’s the idea.” Kev held her gaze. “But I got you into this mess, and I didn’t give you a choice. If it comes to it, I want you to keep going without me.”

Cressa started to shake her head. She wasn’t strong enough to do it alone. She’d already left too many people behind. Daphne, Ritchie, Nydia, even Shyla Towers—they were all still under the Dame’s thumb. Cressa knew there was no going back for them, but Kev was not a lost cause. If he was caught, she would fight for him.

“Promise me, Cressa,” Kev demanded. “Promise me that you’ll keep running and won’t look back.”

“I promise,” Cressa lied.

Kev smiled sadly. “Good.” He reached for a small alcove beside the doors.

“Wait.” Cressa grabbed his shoulder and pulled his hand back. “That’s a biometric scanner, right? It pricks your finger and reads your blood to see if you’re cleared to enter?”

“Exactly,” Kev agreed.

“But you won’t be cleared. It will definitely setoff an alarm.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Kev said. “My telekinetic source is not a normal benefactor, it’s someone here at the Institute. Since I was recently re-injected with her source DNA, I’m hoping the scanner will identify her blood and let us through without sending up red flags.”

Kev was leaving a lot up to chance.

Before Cressa could protest, he thrust his hand inside the alcove, wincing when the needle inside pricked his finger.

Several agonizing seconds passed, and Cressa was positive the scanner wasn’t fooled. Then, the doors swung inward. Relieved, she let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. It actually worked. Kev and Cressa were one step closer to freedom.

The hallway in the restricted wing was empty. Unlike the cubicles in the main part of med bay, the glass was clear along this corridor, and several of the rooms were occupied. Unable to resist, Cressa slowed as they passed a room with a lone figure lying inside an incubation chamber. Just like Gracia’s cloning procedure, there were two images side-by-side on a holo-screen behind the chamber. As the robotic arms worked on the boy inside the chamber, one of the faces continuously morphed to reflect the alterations.

“Donavon McDonough,” Cressa muttered, reading the name beneath the unchanging image. “Who’s that?”

She felt a tug on her hand.

“We can’t waste any more time,” Kev insisted.

Something about the name was familiar, though Cressa couldn’t recall why. In that moment, it certainly didn’t matter. Turning her back on the poor boy who was becoming Donavon McDonough, Cressa followed Kev.

Cloning Room Six was deserted, and Kev had no trouble opening the entranceway to the tunnels with his powers. Once inside the dark earthen tunnels, Cressa started to believe they might actually achieve the impossible and escape the Institute. They were nearly there. A quick quarter-mile run, and she would see true daylight for the first time in a month. That prospect alone made Cressa sprint even faster.

By the time they reached the door at the dead-end of the tunnel, Cressa was positively giddy with excitement.

“We did it!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Kev agreed, though he didn’t sound quite as enthusiastic as Cressa felt. “I just wish I knew where we were. For all I know, we’ll have a twenty-mile hike on our hands before we find civilization.”

“True. But after all we made it through to get here, a hike is nothing.”

Kev laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess.” Squeezing her hand, he asked, “Ready?”

Cressa nodded. Together, they placed their palms on the stone doorway and focused on their abilities. The door slid open easily, and the pair stepped through.

Blinding light struck Cressa’s retinas, causing her to blink rapidly. Immediately, she knew something was wrong. They weren’t outside. The light was artificial, not sunlight.

It took Cressa’s eyes several moments to adjust. Once they did, she realized they were inside an extremely fancy bedroom, nicer than any she’d ever seen. The canopy bed was enormous, with sky-blue silk curtains hanging from gold rods. Five life-sized portraits hung on the walls, the largest mounted above the marble mantle of a real, wood-burning fireplace.

“I’m so freaking stupid,” Kev lamented, stomping his foot like a petulant child. “I should have known this led to her private rooms. Why did I just expect it was an exit?”

“Because you wanted it to be one,” Cressa replied stiffly.

She didn’t fault Kev for the error. Still, all hope of seeing her family, Julie, and daylight ever again vanished. Yes, there probably was an exit somewhere in the Dame’s suite. But escaping from her lair seemed highly unlikely.

Especially since camera orbs were affixed to the corners where the ceiling met the walls. Someone, likely the Dame herself, was probably watching them at that very moment.

It was over.

“I’m so sorry, Cressa. I just assumed…” Kev trailed off.

“Yes, and we all know what they say about assumptions,” a voice called from behind them. It was warm, melodic, and undeniably familiar.

Kev and Cressa spun in unison, their hands still joined.

A panel opposite the foot of the bed was open, a beautiful woman framed by the doorway as though she were just another painting. Except, this woman was flesh and bone.

She was much older than her holographic portrayal, but no less pretty. Her eyes were the same shade of blue, her hair the same blonde bob. Even the clothes were the same sort of simple fashions the Dame favored, though she’d clearly shaved a good twenty pounds off of herself when creating her hologram.

“You’re the Dame,” Cressa breathed. And despite every nasty thought she’d had about the woman lately, Cressa was awed by the sheer power radiating off of her.

This is how Icarus must have felt, Cressa thought. The Dame’s power was so intense that Cressa knew she should look away. But she was too captivated. In that instant, she would have gladly let the Dame’s rays burn her alive, if only to touch true greatness before she died.

Beside her, Kev was having a similar reaction. His mouth was agape, and his eyes were round as frisbees.

“I have been waiting a long time to meet you in person, Cressa Karmine. And you, Kevin Leonard,” she said, seeming to really mean it.

The Dame smiled serenely.

“And because we are sure to be great friends from this moment forward, please…call me Gretchen.”

Erik

London, England

Day of the Vote

“Talia, wake up!” Kenly’s yells dragged me from sleep not long after I’d entered the dream world.

“Too early, go back to bed,” I groaned, rolling over and gathering Talia’s small body in my arms. She stirred, snuggled closer to me, and tried to bury her head in the pillow like an ostrich does in sand.

“The vote results are about to be announced,” James said darkly.

The last vestiges of sleep evaporated instantly. Talia’s head popped up, the back of her skull cracked the underside of my chin. I winced and inhaled a nose full of her tangled curls.

“It’s on every news outlet,” Kenly added. “Hurry up or you’ll miss it. Emma and Kip are already awake, and they made coffee.”

For a long minute, Kenly and James simply stood there, waiting for Talia and I to get out of bed. I glanced pointedly at Talia’s bare torso, her shoulders and arms the only parts of her body not covered by the blanket. Kenly flushed scarlet and rambled apologies, before concocting an excuse to make a hasty exit. For his part, James didn’t register embarrassment at all. He did, however, push Kenly from the alcove while she was still speaking.

No sooner had they turned their backs than Talia threw the covers off of us and leapt to her feet.

“Clothes. I need clothes.”

I watched my girlfriend dart around the alcove, yanking open dressers drawers and forcing bins from beneath the bed with her mind as well as her hands, an amused smile on my face. She used to be a lot more modest, but the lack of privacy in a prison cell had clearly changed that. The thought wiped my expression clean.

Finally, Talia located a pair of neon purple leggings and a white snowflake sweater with the words “One of a Kind” stitched on the back. It reached just above her knees once she’d slipped it over her head, and suited her perfectly. At a slightly less manic pace, I pulled on my dress pants and matching button-down from the night before.

“Come on.” Talia grabbed my hand and led me from the alcove before I managed to get more than the bottom two buttons fastened. “This is huge.”

Someone had pulled more chairs around the desk in front of the wall of monitors. Emma, Kip, and Kenly were seated. James stood behind his girlfriend, his hands planted firmly on her shoulders in a death grip. There was an air of excitement surrounding the group, in addition to a nervous energy they all shared. I couldn’t blame them. The last time the treaty had come up for renewal, we were all too young to appreciate the magnitude of it. Also, the results hadn’t been so uncertain then. In the past, most people took it for granted that the Coexistence Treaty would be renewed. That was not the case this go-round.

Emma turned upon hearing our approach and offered us a tight smile. Kenly pointed needlessly to the two empty chairs with steaming mugs of coffee already in place.

“Anyone want to bet on the outcome?” Kip joked half-heartedly.

“What are you two going to do if it’s voted down?” Emma asked Kenly and James, as though the thought had just occurred to her.

“Nothing different than we have been,” Kenly answered with a shrug. “It doesn’t change much for me. The Poachers are my focus. I’ll stay here and keep doing what I’m doing in the hopes of finally taking them down for good. If anything, my work will become more important. Right now, a lot of the ringleaders are in hiding. But if the vote goes against us, they’ll probably feel it’s safe to resume business. Those Talented who aren’t given spots on the islands will be at greater risk for capture and sale. Governments will care even less than they do now about that sort of thing. Who knows? They might even encourage it.”

Kenly’s tone was offhand and she spoke as if it was really that simple, but I felt her fear and doubt. The Poachers terrified her. She hated them with every cell in her thin body, rightfully so. After what TOXIC had done to me, I understood that degree of hatred. The Poachers had kidnapped her and dressed her like a doll for the sole purpose of selling her to the highest bidder. In a way, what they’d done to her was worse than what Mac had done to me. And I’d gotten my revenge.

“You could go to the islands,” James said quietly.

“No.” Kenly’s emphatic reply echoed throughout the bunker. “I will not go into containment. I will not let them poke and prod me all the in name of science. I’d rather die fighting the Poachers.” The steel in her voice made me smile. She sounded so much like Talia in that moment.

“Oh! Turn it up. It’s starting,” Emma squealed excitedly.

Of the six of us, the vote had the least impact on her. From the little Talia had told me of her escape, I knew Emma and Kip lived on a remote island in a secluded community where Talents were prevalent. No matter the result, Emma’s life wouldn’t change.

Kenly hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said that every news outlet was covering the announcement. All fifty of the screens had a ticker running at the bottom with updates and a reporter on scene in Trafalgar Square for a live broadcast. On the center monitor was an overly made-up woman in a canary yellow skirt suit and alarmingly red lipstick. I recognized her from my own interviews: Dana Duval. She was an unflinchingly biased reporter with conservative political leanings when it came to the Talented. She was also one of the world’s premiere journalists. It was her report that Kenly chose to turn up.

“Ladies and gentleman, Talented and Created, I am here in London’s Trafalgar Square, where we are mere seconds away from the Joint Nations big announcement,” Duval began, her eyes twinkling merrily.

The camera panned the enormous crowd. Flags from various nations around the world flapped in the light breeze. It was still dark outside, and many of those gathered held neon glow sticks or had lights attached to their shirts, blue for those in favor of coexistence and red for the opposition. It was hard to tell which side was better represented. The same sorts of signs I’d seen at my rallies jutted into the air on long poles to be seen.

Talia slipped her hand into mine and squeezed.

Did the outcome truly matter? I wondered. If it went against us, we’d be together. Running for our lives, but together. Right, but if it goes in our favor, Talia can return to the islands and we can live in peace, I reminded myself. Even if she had to serve out her jail sentence, they’d release her soon. Or, we could go to the States, where Crane would grant her asylum. That was ideal, I decided. It was the only chance we had of leaving this life of danger behind us. We could start over.

“Ah, Chief Delegate of the Joint Nations, Rumi Hardjoc, has just stepped to the podium,” Duval declared on screen.

My heart skipped a beat. After all of the stupid campaigning and bullshit, the time for waiting was over. Talia leaned into me, placing her head on my shoulder. Her mind was open, so I felt the odd mix of emotions swirling inside of her. She hated that one piece of paper made all the difference in the future for our kind. Why was coexistence even a question? She shared my belief that, in many ways, exile might be best, since so many people didn’t want us in their cities and towns. If it weren’t for the fact that so many refugees would have no place to call home, Talia would definitely be rooting for the treaty to be voted down.

I wanted to help ease Talia’s mind, but my own thoughts were all over the map. My emotions were so out of control, and I was unable to quell the rising tide of trepidation inside of me.

A short man with pale blond hair and a trim black mustache suddenly took center stage on every screen. He cleared his throat and tapped the microphone twice, causing static to crackle over the hushed crowd.

“Good morning,” Rumi began with a blank expression. “We are here at this very early hour to announce the results of the Coexistence Treaty vote. After I read off each delegate’s decision, I will remind the listeners what this means for the future on a global level.”

As Rumi droned on about the history of the treaty, dating back to its inception, and talked about the Great Contamination and how the Talented came to be, the impatience in the room increased exponentially.

“Suspense effectively built,” James muttered under his breath.

“Now, for the reading of the votes,” Rumi finally said, just when my impatience had reached a breaking point. “Delegate Abington from New Zealand votes in favor of renewal.”

Kenly summoned a notepad and pen from somewhere in the back of the bunker. Both zoomed neatly through the air and landed on the desk in front of her. She quickly drew a line down the middle of the top page and made a single tally mark in the left column.

“Delegate Crane from the United States votes in favor of renewal,” Rumi continued.

With two votes for coexistence secured, the crowd in Trafalgar Square erupted in a chaotic mess of boos and cheers. I, however, didn’t feel quite so jubilant, and neither did Talia. New Zealand and the U.S. were known to be Talented-friendly countries; it was no surprise that both delegates had voted for coexistence.

The next three votes went against the Talented. Each pronouncement was met with the same reaction from the crowd viewing it live. Several of the other monitors at the front of the room had switched from the image of Rumi in London to gatherings around the world, where individuals were watching this historic event together.

At a bar in Croatia, a brawl broke out after the fifth vote was announced. Two women, one with talons and a large bird beak and the other very plainly human, clawed and scratched at each other’s faces. Others soon joined in on one side or the other, pulling hair and feathers, biting with razor sharp incisors. One man even brought out a baseball bat from beneath his chair and started clubbing anyone in his immediate vicinity. The image dissolved to an outdoor gathering in Germany that was only a fraction more civilized.

“This is getting nasty,” Talia sent.

“Did you expect people to be adults?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t really know what I expected. I’ve had a lot of other things on my mind.”

I blanched at the reminder, and then kissed her forehead.

Things only got worse as Rumi continued down his list. Many of the news outlets were no longer showing the international gatherings, but rather fixed on the stage in Trafalgar Square. Of those still willing and able to show the more graphic images, many displayed warnings across the top of the screen so that people would know the bloodshed they were about to witness.

In a neighborhood that could have been anywhere suburban, mobs were dragging Talented from their homes at gunpoint. Local policeman in riot gear watched but did nothing to stop the atrocities. The mob forced Talented men, women, and children into the street, where a waiting group of norms hurled everything from rotted fruit to large rocks at the sobbing individuals.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Talia sent.

“Is this…real?” Emma asked, in the voice of a frightened child.

Even James was green, and he’d spent most of his life witnessing scenes not dissimilar to this one.

Only Kenly seemed nonplussed by the graphic violence, but her eyes were glued to Rumi on the center monitor. Talia’s mentee had no interest in anything besides the actual outcome of the vote. I was a little surprised to feel the lack of surprise on Kenly’s part, though. Then I remembered that visions were one of her created gifts. Had she already seen all of this? I supposedly had the ability to future-gaze. Thankfully, I’d yet to have a single vision. For the most part, I preferred the future be a mystery—made life more interesting.

“Last one,” Kenly muttered. “Come on, come on, come on.”

I’d been consumed by the reports from around the world and hadn’t realized how close we were to learning the final result. Glancing over at Kenly’s paper, my stomach gave a queasy jolt. Tied. The vote was currently tied. This last delegate was the deciding factor, if only because the votes had been read in alphabetical order according to the delegates’ last names, with Rumi saving his vote for last.

There was no air left in the bunker. We were all on the edges of our seats, both literally and metaphorically, waiting for Rumi to announce his decision. One look at the anticipatory expressions of the delegates lined up behind him, and I knew that they were in just as much suspense.

“They don’t know,” Talia sent, obviously having seen the same thing I did.

On stage, the Joint Nations militia edge closer to the delegates, ready to whisk them away to safety once the need arose.

“I, Chief Delegate to the Joint Nations Rumi Hardjoc from Lithuania, vote in favor of abolishing the Coexistence Treaty.”

Stunned silence filled the bunker and viewing parties across the globe. It lasted a full thirty seconds before mutiny broke out.

In Trafalgar Square, people in the crowd turned on one another. Fights started between everyone from an elderly old woman to two children that couldn’t have been more than five or six. There, at least, weapons had been banned, so the damage was minimal compared to other locations. The worst, in my opinion, was the scene in a seaside town, where Talented leapt hundreds of feet from a cliff to the roiling ocean below.

“Turn it off,” Talia demanded. “Now.”

Mutely, Kenly obeyed, it would have been hard not to with the authority Talia infused into her command. Kenly did, however, leave the center monitor on, and the sound turned to max volume. Dana Duval was reporting from Trafalgar Square, the camera zoomed in so close on her face that only flying limbs and tails could be seen in the background.

“UNITED has just provided me with the list of lottery winners who have spots waiting for them on the Isle of Exile,” Duval said, eyes gleaming brightly as though the massacre behind her was the most interesting thing she’d ever witnessed. “The names will begin scrolling on the screen momentarily. Additionally, UNITED has sent comms to all of the winners, along with instructions on how to proceed.”

Most other reporters probably wouldn’t have had the stones to announce UNITED’s plan for mass extermination of their criminal elite. Duval wasn’t most reporters. She took delight in reporting the controversial and outrageous. That was precisely what she did.

My heart broke for the inmates, all of whom hadn’t committed crimes that warranted death sentences. The thought of how close Talia had come to being one of those inmates made my blood boil. But I did understand and appreciate the difficult position Victoria and the others had been forced into. And I wasn’t unsympathetic to the plight of so many displaced refugees.

At the other end of the desk, Emma was curled into a ball, sobbing. Kip was holding her, looking as though he’d just had the shock of his life, which he probably had. Kenly and James had their heads together, talking in low voices.

Talia turned to face me, violet eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“I can’t believe it. I mean, I knew this was a possibility, but not like a real possibility, you know?” She took a deep, calming breath that gave her new resolve and determination. “I think we should call Victoria. I’m going to turn myself in.” Gently, she touched her fingertips to my lips to quiet my protests. “I know, I know. But UNITED needs all the help they can get right now. This is already a nightmare. I am more use to her on the frontlines than on Vault, or dead. She’ll understand that. We did sort of bond over the last month.”

The trapdoor snapped open, as if pulled from its hinges by a tremendous force. Talia and I whipped our heads upwards simultaneously. There was a flash of amber as something came tumbling through the opening. Or, as it turned out, someone.

Talia jumped to her feet. “Victoria!”

I grabbed for Talia’s arm to catch her before she got any closer, because my girlfriend hadn’t noticed what I had: Victoria’s neck had a weird bulge and her head was turned too far on her shoulders. Talia yanked out of my grip and hurried to Victoria’s side, skidding the last few feet on her knees.

Kenly screamed when she saw the councilwoman. James tried to block her view. Emma’s wails intensified.

Shadows appeared over Victoria’s limp form.

“Talia, move!” I hollered, using telekinesis to force her out of harm’s way, since I knew she wouldn’t go willingly. My girlfriend hadn’t been lying when she’d said that she and Victoria Walburton bonded. Talia felt genuine, deep-seeded remorse over Victoria’s death. So much so that her grief nearly crippled her.

Four figures jumped through the opening, landing in a semicircle around Victoria’s body. My stomach hit the floor. Emerald eyes pierced me from across the room. Deep down, I’d known this was the case. Hell, I’d even shared my concerns with Victoria. Still, seeing really was believing.

“Hello, Anya,” I said calmly.

“Shame we’re meeting this way. I thought you’d come see me at least once over the last month. After all, you were so concerned about me at the auction, concerned enough to risk her wellbeing.” Anya shot daggers towards Talia, who was climbing to her feet near the wall where I’d thrown her just before the newcomers entered the bunker.

Talia grinned, but her eyes remained cold and her thoughts were far from friendly.

James and Kenly moved to stand on either side of me, the combined power radiating off of them comforting. Both were prepared to fight to the death if necessary.

“How long have you been working for Nightshade?” I asked Anya conversationally.

She gestured to her fellow bad guys. The shock of seeing Talia’s doppelgänger among them was hard to keep from my expression. Violet eyes that were identical to Talia’s stared at me lovingly, and I started to feel nauseous. The coffee sloshing around in my stomach intensified the feeling.

Even worse though was the horrible realization the sight of the doppelgänger brought with it. I’d planned to meet the fake Talia the night before. But after everything that had happened in the VIP longue, the meeting had slipped my mind. Not Penny’s though. She must have told Victoria, who’d gone in my stead. The councilwoman was dead, and it was my fault.

“We aren’t Nightshade, Erik.” The face I’d once found so pretty suddenly seemed so ugly, particularly when Anya made a pouty expression. “We’re better. Better than everyone. We’re Privileged.”

This time, I didn’t bothering hiding my shock. Privileged was what the little girl had said she was, just before she blew herself up. So, Privileged was apparently an euphuism for crazy and suicidal. Good to know.

Kip rose and stood on James’s other side, drawing Anya’s attention to him.

“Vester Ozolos, we’ve been looking for you. Fancy our luck, finding you and the little manipulative brat together,” Anya said delightedly.

I felt Kip’s fear, but his face remained impassive.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something careening across the bunker towards Talia.

“Distraction,” she sent me frantically.

“How did you find us, Anya?” I asked, reclaiming her focus.

Anya laughed bitterly. “Victoria Effing Walburton. At first, when she showed up last night at the fountain instead of you, I was miffed. Then, I realized it was really a coup. First, we pulled every last nugget of information from her pretentious head, which included Talia’s location. Then, we killed her. Slowly.”

My guilt was all consuming. Anya had just confirmed my assumption.

“After all the trouble your stupid little girlfriend has caused UNITED, the councilwoman protected her to the very end.” Anya shook her head, baffled by such loyalty. “It’s nonsensical. She knew she was going to die either way. Still, she refused to hasten her death, even when we made it oh so tempting.”

I wasn’t the only one of the non-crazy people in the room feeling sick to my stomach now. Everyone, save Talia who wasn’t listening, was worried about becoming violently ill.

“What do you want, Anya?” I demanded, putting an end to her tale of torture. “You aren’t fool enough to believe that you and those three stand a chance against us.” I gestured down the line of James, Kenly, and me, careful not to include Talia so that no one would look her way.

“You’re the fool, Erik,” Anya spat. “Gracia here is Talia, in every possible way. Talia’s DNA was used to make her, they share all the same powers. She’s just as strong as your stupid doll-sized girlfriend.”

The object Talia had summoned was in her palm. She quickly hid it behind her back when Anya glanced over.

“She might look like Talia. She might sound like Talia. But there is only one—”

“Save it,” Anya snapped, cutting me off. “I don’t care to hear your false declarations of love.”

“False?” I echoed.

With painstaking slowness, Talia began inching her way towards me and the others.

“Oh, come on Erik. Gracia fooled you into believing she was Talia last night. Silly me, I thought you actually loved Talia too much to sell her out. But that’s what you did, isn’t it? You told Victoria that you’d set up a meeting with Talia, and then sent the councilwoman instead. Guess both of us were wrong about your love, weren’t we, Tals?”

Black hair fanned out behind Anya as she whipped her head in Talia’s direction. My girlfriend froze mid-step.

“There is one delusional person in this room,” Talia agreed smoothly.

Anya narrowed her gaze.

“You, of course,” Talia continued. “And I’m not talking about whether Erik loves me or not. I’m talking about the fact that you believe your fake me is capable of fighting, let alone killing anyone.” Talia turned to the imposter. “Gracia, was it? Even she knows that she is no match for me. Look at her, she’s trembling.”

Gracia was indeed shaking. She may have been made to look like Talia, and she did have the same talents. I could feel that about her. But she hadn’t spent half her life training to be an assassin. When push came to shove, Gracia lacked the ability to do what was necessary. Someone had given her Talia’s genes, but they’d forgotten the sequence for self-preservation.

“You are all going to come with us, without a fight,” Gracia said in a surprisingly even voice.

Admittedly, she was a strong manipulator. Too bad for her and her friends Gracia lacked conviction. Her words had little effect on anyone.

Gracia turned her mind games solely on Talia. “Go. Stand with the others.”

Biting her lip to hide her smile, Talia obeyed. She even went so far as to get all glassy eyed like so many people did when being controlled.

“Emma, come here. Now. Take my hand.” It was Talia’s voice inside my head, even though she wasn’t speaking to me. When James and Kenly both stiffened beside me, I knew they’d heard her, too.

“You. Get up,” Gracia snapped at Emma, her voice stronger with the confidence she’d gained from her believed manipulation of Talia.

Emma struggled to her feet.

“I’m scared, Talia.” Again, Emma wasn’t talking to me, but I heard her voice inside my head.

“I know. So am I. You have to trust me, though. Kip, you ready? Wait for my signal.”

“Ready,” came Kip’s mental reply.

Too busy marveling at Talia’s group mind connection, I didn’t think to scour her mind for details of her master plan. And she wasn’t ready to share with the class, expect, apparently, Kip, who was the only one not experiencing confusion.

Talia held out her hand, and Emma took it.

Anya nodded encouragingly to Gracia. The two other goons in their squad raised tranquilizer guns, one pointed at me, and, interestingly, the other pointed at Kenly. They were under the very false assumption that we were their greatest threats. Or, Talia’s greatest weaknesses, either way.

“Ron and Rand are going to cuff you all now,” Gracia began, and then seemed to think better of the idea. “I’m going to cuff you all now,” she amended. “Then, you will come with us. Our backup is upstairs, right through that trapdoor. Don’t try anything.”

Gracia, Ron, and Rand moved towards us.

“Um, Tals? If you’re going to do something, now might be the time,” I sent.

In response, an image I knew well filled my head, followed by Kip’s, “Got it.”

“Grab the person next to you,” Talia sent.

Everyone did as told. When Gracia was within reach, Talia’s hand, the one she had linked with Emma’s, darted out and grabbed hold of the girl’s wrist.

“Now, Kip!” Talia shouted aloud.

It was as though every light in the bunker went dark at once, and then a vacuum sucked all the oxygen out for good measure.

“NO!” Anya wailed, her cry a mix of fury and panic.

I had a brief moment of disorientation, followed by the trippiest out of body experience ever. One second there was ground beneath my feet, and then there was empty air. I barely had time to form a single thought before the ground was back.

Blinking rapidly, I took in my surroundings, strangely not shocked to see a familiar bed and familiar pictures hanging on the walls around me. I’d only visited Talia there once, but I recognized her bedroom in the McDonough’s house immediately. A part of me must have known from the instant the image flashed inside my head that this was her plan, to have Kip teleport us to the place where, unbeknownst to Talia at the time, her nightmare began.

Beside me, Kenly sank to her knees, panting. James coughed several times as though trying to hack up a hairball. Kip was deathly pale and shaking with exertion. Emma looked as though she’d been hit over the head with a very heavy object. Of our motely crew, only Talia was undaunted by the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it transatlantic journey. Her cold, murderous gaze was fixed on the pile of limbs at her feet: Gracia. And I only had eyes for my girlfriend.

And I thought Talia was more brute force than brains, I thought wryly.

We could have fought our way out of that bunker. The collective abilities in our group of misfits were enough to take down an army. But Talia had chosen the path of least casualties.

I pushed James and Kip out of the way to reach my girlfriend and wrapped my arms around her from behind.

“Why are we here? Wait, buggar that, where is here, exactly?” James asked through sputtered coughs.

“Where it all began,” Talia said calmly. “The McDonoughs lived here for over a decade. There are answers in these walls. There have to be, because this is where I first saw that tattoo on Gracia’s neck.”

Invisible fingers gripped Gracia’s ponytail and yanked it to one side, exposing the eye tattooed just beneath the hairline. It was the same tattoo Henri had seen on Ernest at the Poacher’s auction.

Gracia whimpered. Talia was too furious to care. Victoria’s murder had upset her deeply, and she was looking for vengeance.

“I’m also betting there is quite a bit of information inside Gracia’s head, as well. Like who the hell Selby Masterson is.”

The name meant nothing to me, but Gracia paled and began to cry quietly.

From Talia’s mind, I knew she was considering slamming Gracia’s skull against the floor. In a highly impressive show of restraint, my girlfriend decided against the act.

“One way or another, we will find out who is behind these so called Privileged and Nightshade and what they are planning.” Talia glared down at the girl who could have been her twin. “Start talking, Gracia, or you will learn what true manipulation feels like.”

For more information on Sophie Davis and the Talented Saga, visit Sophie’s website, www.sophiedavisbooks.com

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Thank you for taking the time to read Inescapable. Sophie loves feedback, and any reviews posted to any retail site where Inescapable is sold are greatly appreciated.

Table of Contents

- Prologue
- 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
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- About Sophie Davis