because he adds, “Not that I mind.”
We step onto a square cut into the metal floor. “There are worse things,” I say.
“I know,” he says, as white bulbs in the square light up. “Hands inside the border please.”
The square descends smoothly. Once the walls surround us, Peter turns to me and cups the back of my neck. He tilts my head back so I have to look him in the eye.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen down there,” he says. His fingers burn hot on my skin. I am stuck between wanting to pull away, and wanting to stay in his grip. I don’t know why. I wonder if I could pull away, if I’m as strong as he is.
“What could happen?” I say.
“I don’t know. You went off the grid. I tracked you through a chip you have under your skin.”
A chip under my skin? I doubt I consented to that. I may not know myself, but I don’t seem like the type who agrees to be watched. He found me, though, that’s the important part. I could still be wandering around that mall, hurting people.
The elevator continues its descent. We have to be a few floors underground by now.
He runs his thumb over my ear and releases me. Sweat prickles the back of my neck; maybe putting myself in a hole wasn’t the best idea.
“You could’ve told me earlier,” I say.
“Would you have still come with me?”
Good question. “Yes. I don’t know.”
“With Noah and Olive leaving how they did, Tycast might suspect you. Stay calm. I’ll be with you the whole time.” Peter offers me another smile, but clearly he’s worried too.
The elevator slowly reveals a thick metal door, then stops. Our breath echoes around us. Too late to turn back now. The surface is just a dim square high above.
The door clanks , followed by a scraping metallic sound that lasts two seconds. Then another clank.
The door slides open from right to left, and many, many guns are pointed in our direction.
5
The scarier part of my brain takes over. The part that makes my body react first and think later. All I see is the threat—
Four men, all in black, within armored vests and metal helmets. For all I know they could be robots. The helmets resemble motor cycle helmets but smaller, without the padding. Narrow black visors cover their eyes. Each carries what I recognize as H&K UMPs—these squat, ugly submachine guns.
The fact I know what they are startles me. “Peter, I remember something.”
He sidesteps in front of me, blocking their line of sight. In the middle of the four helmeted men is an old man. He doesn’t wear body armor, or a helmet. Instead he has a white lab coat, the pockets weighed down, rippling the fabric. Fine gray hair is combed back from his forehead. He’s wearing a thin headband, like the workout kind, but made of black plastic instead of cloth. I don’t know this man, but I feel a rush of affection for him.
“What is this?” Peter says. “Doctor, it’s Miranda.”
The doctor raises his hands, palms out. The men flanking him might be statues. “She left the reservation, Peter. This is a precaution. You expected this, I’m sure.”
Peter stands stiff for a moment, then nods slowly. He steps back to put his shoulder next to mine again. Slowly.
The doctor steps into the elevator. “Miranda, my name is Dr. Tycast. Do you remember that?”
“No.”
He nods. “We have to detain you. Will you come peacefully?”
“Yes,” I say. What choice do I have? I doubt I could escape at this point anyway.
He raises two fingers and half the men behind him split off and leave. Their boots thunk down the hallway.
Dr. Tycast drops his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Thank you for bringing her back. Go to your room, I’ll be there shortly.”
“Sir,” Peter says, “with all due respect, I’m staying.”
Dr. Tycast’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “With all due respect?”
Peter holds his gaze for a few more seconds. “Sir—” “Good night, Peter.”
Peter sighs and walks out of the elevator. His left fist
We step onto a square cut into the metal floor. “There are worse things,” I say.
“I know,” he says, as white bulbs in the square light up. “Hands inside the border please.”
The square descends smoothly. Once the walls surround us, Peter turns to me and cups the back of my neck. He tilts my head back so I have to look him in the eye.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen down there,” he says. His fingers burn hot on my skin. I am stuck between wanting to pull away, and wanting to stay in his grip. I don’t know why. I wonder if I could pull away, if I’m as strong as he is.
“What could happen?” I say.
“I don’t know. You went off the grid. I tracked you through a chip you have under your skin.”
A chip under my skin? I doubt I consented to that. I may not know myself, but I don’t seem like the type who agrees to be watched. He found me, though, that’s the important part. I could still be wandering around that mall, hurting people.
The elevator continues its descent. We have to be a few floors underground by now.
He runs his thumb over my ear and releases me. Sweat prickles the back of my neck; maybe putting myself in a hole wasn’t the best idea.
“You could’ve told me earlier,” I say.
“Would you have still come with me?”
Good question. “Yes. I don’t know.”
“With Noah and Olive leaving how they did, Tycast might suspect you. Stay calm. I’ll be with you the whole time.” Peter offers me another smile, but clearly he’s worried too.
The elevator slowly reveals a thick metal door, then stops. Our breath echoes around us. Too late to turn back now. The surface is just a dim square high above.
The door clanks , followed by a scraping metallic sound that lasts two seconds. Then another clank.
The door slides open from right to left, and many, many guns are pointed in our direction.
5
The scarier part of my brain takes over. The part that makes my body react first and think later. All I see is the threat—
Four men, all in black, within armored vests and metal helmets. For all I know they could be robots. The helmets resemble motor cycle helmets but smaller, without the padding. Narrow black visors cover their eyes. Each carries what I recognize as H&K UMPs—these squat, ugly submachine guns.
The fact I know what they are startles me. “Peter, I remember something.”
He sidesteps in front of me, blocking their line of sight. In the middle of the four helmeted men is an old man. He doesn’t wear body armor, or a helmet. Instead he has a white lab coat, the pockets weighed down, rippling the fabric. Fine gray hair is combed back from his forehead. He’s wearing a thin headband, like the workout kind, but made of black plastic instead of cloth. I don’t know this man, but I feel a rush of affection for him.
“What is this?” Peter says. “Doctor, it’s Miranda.”
The doctor raises his hands, palms out. The men flanking him might be statues. “She left the reservation, Peter. This is a precaution. You expected this, I’m sure.”
Peter stands stiff for a moment, then nods slowly. He steps back to put his shoulder next to mine again. Slowly.
The doctor steps into the elevator. “Miranda, my name is Dr. Tycast. Do you remember that?”
“No.”
He nods. “We have to detain you. Will you come peacefully?”
“Yes,” I say. What choice do I have? I doubt I could escape at this point anyway.
He raises two fingers and half the men behind him split off and leave. Their boots thunk down the hallway.
Dr. Tycast drops his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Thank you for bringing her back. Go to your room, I’ll be there shortly.”
“Sir,” Peter says, “with all due respect, I’m staying.”
Dr. Tycast’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “With all due respect?”
Peter holds his gaze for a few more seconds. “Sir—” “Good night, Peter.”
Peter sighs and walks out of the elevator. His left fist
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