I stay where I am. “Where are you taking me?”
Jax pulls out her gun again and rests its handle against her shoulder. I stare warily at it. “Do you trust me?”
“Not really.”
“Well, that answers my next question.” Then Jax points her gun straight at me and shoots.
3
I experience what happens next in fragments.
The searing pain near my neck from Jax’s shot. The world around me blurring, the distant thud I hear as I collapse against the wall. A jolt of panic that cuts through the sudden numbing of my limbs.
I’ve been drugged.
The thought struggles up through the molasses drowning my mind. I turn my eyes up at Jax as she approaches. What did you do to me? I try to demand an explanation. But my entire body feels like it’s made of rubber now, and even as I stay awake, I find myself sliding sideways until I’m lying on the floor, focusing on Jax’s boots. My heart beats rapidly, the sound drumming in my ears.
Am I dreaming?
No, I’m awake. I can see what’s happening around me, even though it seems to be happening inside a dim tunnel, and the edges of my vision are dark.
The next thing I remember is the feeling of my arm draped around Jax’s shoulders. Of her dragging me down the tunnel and toward a black taxi. I try to focus on the four-leaf-clover symbol on its glowing cab light. The faint smell of new leather permeates the space. Jax looks down at me. From my view, her face is swimming in a haze.
“You’ll be fine,” she says calmly to me. “You just won’t remember this tomorrow morning.”
My head lolls weakly to one side as the car begins to move, rumbling over the unfinished tracks in the tunnel. Slivers of weak light illuminate parts of the dark passage, and I remember the flash of gray against black against gray on the fabric seats. I struggle to remember our route. My heartbeat is irregular, fluttering frantically.
Can I record a Memory? I try to bring up the menu, try to send an invite to connect to Hammie or Roshan—to anyone—but my mind is far too numb to make it happen. Help me. I try in vain to send a message out. Help. I want to scream Jax’s name as I stare at her, but I feel like I’m still wading through the air, and my tongue feels thick and immobile.
My level changes as we emerge from the tunnel into the night, and suddenly we’re surrounded by office buildings that rise up along either side of the street like woods bordering a path. They stretch up ominously like living things.
Welcome to Omotesando District!
150 Pts. Daily Score: +150
You Leveled Up!
Level 85
My determination momentarily shifts as I notice the change in the sky’s colors. Unlike Shinjuku, where the Phoenix Riders’ scarlet and gold coat everything, Omotesando’s favorite team is the Winter Dragons—so the sky here is covered instead with a sheet of undulating blue and orange-gold. The light posts are draped in vibrant banners, and over them hover virtual versions of the Dragons’ players.
Jax leans over briefly to check on me. She barely glances at the passing celebrations, and when she does, she watches them stoically, without much interest. I fight to keep looking at her, but my thoughts fade into darkness.
My nightmares are full of faces. There is Jax’s grim look as she points her gun down at a human and puts a bullet through his skull. There is Hideo, his voice whispering my name close to my ear, his furrowed brow cutting dark lines over his eyes, his hair brushing against me as he leans in.
Then, there is Zero. A mystery. I can only see him in the form I’ve known, his black armor reflecting red light surrounding him, his features completely hidden behind a black helmet as he sits across from me and laces his fingers together. He’s telling me to run.
I don’t know how long we ride in the taxi before it finally comes to a stop behind a building.
Jax opens my door and helps me out. I turn weakly toward her, trying to move my limbs, but all I can feel is the faint sensation of pavement beneath my dragging feet. Jax has her arm around my waist, keeping me up, and she’s saying something to people standing at the building’s sliding glass doors. It looks like a hotel.
“Out partying too hard,” she explains in a singsong voice to the attendee at the entrance. I want to blurt out that she’s lying, but it takes all my strength just to stay upright. The world spins.
Remember this. Remember this. But even the thought itself flitters out of my mind the instant I think it. My vision blurs more, and the more I fight it, the more it fades. I end up focusing on Jax. She runs a hand through her hair and casts me an unconcerned glance.
There’s the inside of an elevator, then a hallway. As I start to fade away again, all I can hear is Jax announce our arrival.
“Tell Zero she’s here.”
4
Five Days until the Warcross Closing Ceremony
Darkness. Two voices.
“She should have been up by noon. You shot her with too strong a dose.”
“I thought she could handle it.”
“Let her sleep, then.”
Weak light slanting across my face makes me squint.
I roll over in bed and curl into a ball. Where am I? A swirl of images rotates through my mind—dreams, maybe, but brighter, hazier in a way that I can’t explain. I furrow my brow.
Was there a taxi? A black car. An unfinished subway tunnel. A district of colors. My heart pounds furiously. I lie still for a while, willing it to slow down until I’m able to breathe at a normal rate again. Then I open my eyes. The orange light of early morning streaks across my bedsheets, coming gradually into focus as my vision adjusts.
No, wait—this isn’t morning light at all. It’s sunset.
I blink, disoriented. I’m lying in a bed in a luxuriously stark hotel room, adorned with gray-and-white-striped wallpaper and a series of plain wall paintings.
Waves of memories rush back at me now. The assassins. The subway tunnel. The image of Jax standing over my pursuer. The gunshot.
The Blackcoats.
And then . . . what? The last thing I remember is Jax pointing her gun straight at me.
She drugged me. I’m sure of it. Maybe it was to make sure I didn’t remember anything about where we were going or what path we took to get here—but now here I am, lying in an unfamiliar room with holes in my memory.
I bolt upright. I’m still dressed in the same clothes I’d been wearing that night. I check myself gingerly for any injuries, but besides some bruises and a sore spot on my neck, I’m unharmed. My moment of panic pools gradually into a sense of foreboding that invades my chest. I watch the faint light filtering in through my window.
It takes me a moment to realize that I have a dozen unread messages from the Riders, each one more frantic than the last. I frown. How long have I been missing if they’re this worried? Had they heard about the gunshots fired near where we had dinner? It must be on the news, unless Hideo can somehow control that, too. I hesitate, wondering whether I should tell my teammates what really happened, before sending out some quick replies of reassurance.
I’m ok, don’t worry.
Lost reception for a bit. Talk soon.
Then I freeze when I reach the last unread message. It’s an incoming invite, accompanied by a profile image haloed in soft, blinking green.
Hideo is calling me. Asking me to Link with him.
My heart jumps into my throat.
What does he want? Is it possible he knows what’s happened to me, even though I’m using beta lenses? I glance quickly around the room, looking for any sign that I’m being recorded. But there aren’t any cameras in the ceilings.
Don’t answer it.
I know I shouldn’t.
But I still find myself lifting my hand, reaching up, and tapping on the invite hovering in my view. I regret it immediately. Maybe the drug Jax use
d on me has lowered my inhibitions and hijacked my common sense. But it’s too late now. I don’t see him appear right away, but through our newly formed Link, I can feel a trickle of his emotions.
They’re a knot of urgency and fear.
Emika.
I startle again. Hideo’s voice is speaking in my mind, his telepathic messaging invention. I should be used to it by now, but even after a mere couple of weeks, his voice hits me just like it did the first time we spoke on the phone. I narrow my eyes, more annoyed at myself than at him.
Why are you calling me? I say to him.
You called me.
This brings me up short. I did? It must have happened while I was drugged—maybe an unconscious reaction. Now I have a faint recollection of trying desperately to call for help. Apparently, I’d decided to call Hideo.
I wince. Couldn’t I have called Hammie or Roshan instead? Any of the Riders? Did my instinct have to be Hideo?
Well, it was an accident, I counter.
Where are you? I felt nothing but panic coming from you. You asked for help. Then you disconnected.
Hearing Hideo’s voice in my mind is so overwhelming that I almost want to sever our Link right away. Then I remember that he can sense my emotions. In return, a stab of concern from him hits me, followed by a ripple of unease. His brother’s name teeters at the edge of my mind, ready for me to tell him—the thought is so strong that I almost send it. With a huge effort, I pull it back.
I’m fine.
You’re fine. He sounds doubtful as he echoes my words back at me.
There’s another pause on his end, and an instant later, my surroundings shift. I find myself sitting on a white couch across from an open terrace, staring out at a twilight of glittering city lights beyond a balcony lit by a circular, stone fire pit. Wherever he is, it’s not his home that I’m familiar with, nor is it Henka Games. It’s an estate more lavish than anything I’ve ever seen in my life, overlooking a city I don’t recognize. Baroque columns tower up to the sky, and gossamer curtains drift on either side of the entrance leading out to the balcony. Neatly trimmed bushes dot the space. Somewhere in the distance come the buzz of voices and the clinking of glasses, the sounds of a party.
Hideo’s shadowed silhouette stands against the open terrace, leaning against the railing of stone pillars. Dim light outlines the edges of his body.
My dream. His hands on me. His lips on my skin.
I try in vain to stop my cheeks from heating up.
It takes me another moment to notice a young woman at his side. I don’t recognize her, but in the darkness, I can tell that she’s in a slender, glittery dress, her long hair falling in waves past her shoulders. She leans close to Hideo, her hand running along his arm, and whispers something in his ear with a smile.
Bitterness shoots hot through my veins before I can rein it in. Who the hell is this, and why is she cozying up to Hideo?
And why the hell do I care? I’d broken things off between us, anyway. Is it such a surprise that someone is already trying to catch his attention?
Hideo doesn’t lean back toward her. Instead, he gives her his polite smile that I’ve come to know so well, then murmurs something to her that makes her remove her hand from his arm. She tilts her head at him, flashing him another smile, and then strides off the balcony. Her stilettos click rhythmically against the floor tiles.
Hideo turns his attention to me without watching her go. He doesn’t look like someone capable of controlling the minds of almost everyone in the world. He doesn’t seem like the reason why we might all lose our freedom of thought. Right now, he’s the person I fell for, flesh and blood and painfully human, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
A jolt of jealousy from him surges through our Link, and I realize that, from his view, it looks like I could be in someone else’s bed. I allow myself a petty moment of satisfaction.
“Where are you now?” I mutter.
He glances briefly over his shoulder at the sparkling city behind him. “Singapore,” he replies. “I have some financial business to take care of here.”
Financial business, billionaire dealings. He’s probably expecting me to comment on what kind of party he’s at or the identity of the woman who just left, but I’m not about to give him that.
“Well,” I say archly. “I guess you seem fine.”
“What happened to you?” Hideo says.
His words are cold and distant, but a torrent of his emotions crowds my mind. Joy, at seeing me again. Anger. Frustration. Fear, for my safety.
For an instant, I want to tell him that I miss him. That I keep dreaming about him every night. That I can’t bear to turn my back on him, even now.
But then the reality of our situation returns, and my own temper flares. “Nothing. I was just about to leave this Link.”
He steps toward me until it’s as if he were standing barely a few inches away. “Then why are you still here?” he says.
It’s been a long time since I’ve heard the ice in his voice—the tone he uses for strangers. The realization hits me harder than I thought it would. “You have no right to be upset with me.”
“I’m not. I just don’t want to see you. Isn’t that what you want?”
“More than you know,” I snap.
“You’re hunting me, aren’t you?” he murmurs. His emotions suddenly shift into doubt, the reminder that we have a wall separating us. He looks sidelong at me. “That’s why you reached out to me, isn’t it? This is all a setup. You were lying about needing help. This is part of your hunt.”
“You’re suspicious of me?” I scowl at him. “Do I need to remind you of what you’re doing?”
“Enlighten me,” he says coldly.
“Are you serious? You must’ve heard about the long lines at police stations—you’ve seen footage of people committing suicide. None of that chills you?”
“Of convicted sex traffickers committing suicide. Of untried murderers turning themselves in. Meanwhile, reported crimes over the past week have plummeted.” Hideo’s eyes are hard and unmoving. “Now, what are you trying to convince me of?”
He’s confusing me, and it only angers me more. “You shouldn’t have this power.”
“The algorithm is unbiased.”
“You betrayed me. You made me think I was working with you to do something good.”
“That’s what you’re most angry about. Not the algorithm. This.” Hideo lowers his head, closes his eyes for a heartbeat, and opens them again. “You’re right. I wish I’d told you sooner, and I’m sorry for that. But you know why I’m doing this, Emika. I opened my heart to you.”
“Your choice to, not mine,” I fire back. “It’s as if you believe I owe you something for it.”
“That’s what you think?” An edge comes into his voice. A warning. “That I’d use my past to bait you? Because I wanted something from you?”
“Didn’t you?” I say. My words are hoarse. “Why did you open up to me, anyway? I was just another bounty hunter on your payroll. Just another girl passing through your life.”
“I’ve never told anyone about my past,” he snaps back. “You know that.”
“How can I believe anything you say now? Maybe what happened to your brother is something you tell every girl you want to get into your hot spring.”
I can tell I’ve gone too far the instant the words escape my lips. Hideo flinches away. I swallow, telling myself not to feel bad for spitting my retort out at him. “We’re done here,” he says in a low voice. “I suggest you not waste our time by contacting me again.”
He disconnects our Link before I can respond.
The suite, the glittering city lights, and Hideo’s blue-black silhouette vanish abruptly, and the white couch I’d been lying on shifts back into the silk sheets of my bed. I realize that I’m trembling all ove
r, my forehead hot and damp with a light sheen of sweat.
My burst of fury is over as quickly as it came. My shoulders droop.
I shouldn’t have said it. But all I want to do when I’m angry is stab the deepest wound I can find. And it shouldn’t matter anymore, should it? If the distance in his tone hurts, it’s just because I’m not used to it. Because I’m exhausted. Too much has happened over the course of the day, and with Hideo’s brief presence, I’m suddenly so worn-out that all I want to do is sink into my bed until I disappear.
I shake my head, then head to the bathroom. In the mirror, I see a dark bruise on one side of my throat. It must be from where Jax shot me with that drug. I rub carefully at the sore spot before I turn away and step into the shower.
The steam from the hot water clears my head a bit. Maybe I was fool to think I could ever pull Hideo off his current path. If anything, my conversation with him has only confirmed how unwilling he is to compromise. He’s unfazed by what’s happening around the world, and that means he’s moving full steam ahead to make sure the last two percent of the population is hooked into the algorithm, too.
Soon, that’ll include me.
I have to stop Hideo. Before it’s too late to pull him back. I repeat this to myself, trying to feel convinced, until the water has wrinkled my fingertips.
By the time I step out, the aftereffects of the drug seem to have worn off, and I feel a sense of alert wariness instead of the fog of panic. I walk out into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around me and bring up my menu. I know I’m in a hotel in Omotesando, but that’s about all I can find. Nothing about my suite or this building tells me anything about the Blackcoats. Not that I’d expect it to.