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  Something bubbles in my stomach. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s anger. Wow. I haven’t felt like this in ages. Sad, yes. Horrified, lonely, even determined. But not angry. Because this emotion presupposes that you are entitled to something. That you’ve been wronged.

  I may be used to taking what Fate’s given me, but sometime in the future, some version of this boy will kill me. And I’m not okay with that.

  “This is my right.” I let my emotion leak into my voice. “If I have to wait for him to commit the crime, it will be too late. I’ll already be dead.”

  My mother opens her mouth—and then closes it. Her eyes flash, a light so brilliant it is almost painful to see. She shifts, and all of a sudden, it is as though we are the only two people in the room.

  Scenes of our past confrontations flow through my mind. In all of them, she stands before me, her glittery eyes testing me, daring me. Determining if I’m strong enough, smart enough, good enough to be her daughter. With all my foresight, I still don’t know exactly what she wants from me.

  “Fine,” she says. “The job is yours. But be thorough. I want him to live every nightmare in that case, you got it?”

  “I can’t watch this,” Jessa says miserably.

  “Then you should leave,” my mother snaps. “There’re a million things you could be doing for me. Go make yourself useful.”

  Jessa sets her jaw. I can see her gathering her strength the way a tornado picks up the wind.

  “Leave!” the chairwoman thunders. “And take your boyfriend with you.”

  “Go ahead,” I murmur to Jessa. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle…”

  …it.

  She pulls me close to her. “You have to save him,” she says directly in my ear. “You have to save Callie.”

  I nod, but inside, I’m trembling, trembling, trembling. Isn’t it enough that I’ve offered to torture her best friend so she won’t have to? What else does she expect from me?

  Suddenly, I want to take it all back. I’m the Shadow! I want to shout. The Shadow. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to do any of this.

  But she doesn’t give me the chance. With one last glance at Ryder, she takes Tanner’s hand, and they walk out of the room.

  And then, it is just us. Me, my mother…and Ryder.

  “You’re making me proud, Olivia.” The chairwoman rubs her hands together. “So proud.”

  Ryder lifts his chin. “That’s right, Olivia,” he says mockingly. “Make your mother proud. Make the long history of the human race proud. Show all those little girls and boys the kind of person they should aspire to be.”

  I adjust my sweaty grip on the case as the room spins lazily around me. “You will kill…”

  …me.

  “Not yet,” he responds, his voice low and urgent, as though he doesn’t notice that I’ve dropped a word. “If my will and my strength have anything to do with it, not ever.”

  Sweat gathers on my upper lip. My heart drills a hole in my chest. Never once in my life have I ever deliberately hurt—much less tortured—anyone. I don’t know how it will change me. I don’t know what it will destroy inside me.

  But this isn’t about me. I’m doing this for Jessa. For the countless boys and girls who will be wiped out if my mother’s plans of genocide come to fruition. I’d never willingly torture someone. But for Jessa, I can. For Jessa, I will.

  For Jessa. For Jessa. For Jessa.

  Before I can change my mind, I move to the com terminal and insert one of the black chips into the slot. Immediately, Ryder’s body arcs in the chair, and his arms and legs thrash violently.

  “Which memory is it?” my mother asks, her tone not quite gleeful but close. Uncomfortably close.

  I read the label through the slot. “Drowning,” I say shakily.

  Ryder’s eyes bulge. His chest heaves, straining against the chains, but his lips are sealed tight. I want, with everything in my being, to look away. But I don’t. If he has to live through this torture, then the least I can do is watch it.

  Sixty long, eternal seconds later, the memory is finally over. Ryder collapses against his seat, the breath coming out of him in pants.

  “Have you had enough?” my mother asks. “Go on. Tell us where they’re hiding. We’ll bring them in, save Callie’s life. You have my word we’ll treat them well.”

  He lifts his head, even though the action obviously pains him. “I can do this all day.”

  “And so we will.” She turns to me. “Go ahead, Olivia. This time, find a memory that’s not underwater. I want to hear him scream.”

  She smiles, small and tight and mean. Why is she smiling?

  As Ryder glares at me, his eyes dark pools of rage, the answer dawns on me. I know what she’s wanted all these years. I now understand that sharp look in her eyes, the one that slices up my insides. She thinks she’s won. She believes I am no longer a shadow.

  Instead, I’m turning out to be just like her.

  No! The knowledge strikes me like a sledgehammer. We’re not the same. She wants to destroy the world. I want to save it. But does it matter, if we use the same means to reach our goals?

  I tremble so violently that my knees knock together. All these years, I’ve been hanging onto an idealistic image of the chairwoman. I’ve been fiercely loyal to the woman my mother could be. But that woman has yet to appear in my timeline. What if she never does? What if my mother’s plans of genocide are not the misguided by-product of a person who means well—but the evil brainchild of a true monster? What then?

  “That’s right. Do exactly as your mother says,” Ryder growls. “That’s the only thing you’re good for, isn’t it? To be her little bot.” His voice is ragged, raw. A few decibels above a whisper. And yet, the words pierce through my gut like a tranquilizer. “If I die today, then at least I’ll know I was protecting my family. What will you die for?”

  “Shut your mouth!” The chairwoman stalks toward him so that she’s standing next to the empty recliner. “Do not speak to my daughter that way. She’s worth a hundred of you. A thousand.”

  Why, I didn’t know you cared, I think weakly. But it doesn’t matter. I have to remember why I’m doing this. So that I can save the people of North Amerie from genocide.

  Correction: so that Jessa can save the people from genocide.

  In the majority of our futures, it’s Jessa being close to the chairwoman that’s important. Not me. It’s Jessa who saves the world—not me. I’m simply an ally for Jessa. I’m the one who got her onto this course, but she doesn’t need me anymore. This mission doesn’t need me.

  But maybe, just maybe, other people do.

  Jessa’s words drift through my mind again. You have to save him, she said. You have to save Callie.

  All of a sudden, a single pathway lights up for me. It is only one branch in my thousands of possible futures, so remote that I didn’t notice it before. But I see it now.

  And I know what I have to do.

  Without warning, I charge forward, striking my mother in the chest. She gasps and falls over, landing in the empty chair next to Ryder. Quickly, I move to the com terminal and push a button. Chains slither over her shoulders and thighs, holding her in place.

  The chairwoman is now my captive.

  7

  “What the Limbo, Olivia?” my mother roars. “Let me out of here!”

  I float somewhere outside my body. I must be, because that’s not me confirming there are no security cameras, since the chairwoman likes to torture her victims in privacy. That’s not me placing oval sensors all over my mother’s head. That’s not me crossing to the com terminal and setting up twenty black chips—and twenty memories—to play one after the other. That’s not me watching my mother buck against the chains, letting loose an unending scream.

  One of those weird pathways must be flitting through my mind—the ones that are so utterly remote that I usually filter them out as noise.

  Vaguely, I note that my heart is battering
against my ribs, that sweat is stinging my eyes. The me outside my body hears the sound of Ryder’s ragged breathing, registers a bite on my tongue and the taste of blood.

  My blood. But not nearly the only blood that’s been shed in this room.

  That’s all it takes to make me return to my body.

  I press the button that releases the chains that strap down Ryder. As soon as he slides off the chair, however, his knees buckle, and he barely manages to lurch to a wall. Fike. I guess the drowning messed with his body more than just mentally.

  “What in Fates are you doing?” he manages to gasp.

  “Rescuing you,” I say.

  My mother’s writhing has made the shirt ride up on her waist. I stare. There, all over her stomach, are needle marks, along with bruises on top of bruises on top of bruises. Some look new; others look weeks—maybe even months—old. It’s like my mother’s been injecting herself on a daily basis in a place where nobody else will see.

  Are Tanner and Jessa right? Has she been medicating herself for the last ten years? Why? To treat those strange symptoms Danni has?

  Ryder shoves off the wall, pulling my attention back to him. I move forward, and he holds up a hand, warding me off. “I don’t need your help—”

  “Oh stop. You can hate me all you want, but I’m getting you out of here, aren’t I? So let’s go save Callie’s life.” The words spill out of me, smooth and uninterrupted.

  He nods reluctantly, as if he has no choice but to accept my logic, and glances at my mother, who is nearly hyperventilating on the chair. “And the chairwoman?”

  “She’ll be fine.” Guilt snakes into my veins. She…doesn’t look good. But this is no worse than what she did to Tanner and Jessa when they were six years old. She’ll recover.

  Oh Fates, now I really sound like her. Before I can despair, however, the next black chip slides into place on the com terminal, which means my mother’s beginning a new memory. A new nightmare scenario, a new set of moans and whimpers.

  I grit my teeth. I cannot—I will not—melt into a pile of self-recriminations. We simply don’t have time.

  “I’ve set up approximately twenty minutes of memories.” There. Another sentence without any dropped words. If rebelling against my mother is the reason, maybe I should’ve done it a long time ago. “We need to be out of here before the black chips stop playing. Can you walk?”

  He gives me a withering look. “Of course I can walk.”

  Two steps later, he’s sucking in air and grimacing. Aw, Limbo.

  “Here, lean on me.” I wrap his arm around my shoulder and tuck my own arm tightly around his waist. I’m about half his size, and it feels like most of me is pressed against him…and his bare skin. He smells, inexplicably, of evergreens.

  I shiver—but only because the warmth and hardness of his body are so unfamiliar. I’ve never been this close to a boy, ever. My reaction means nothing. Doesn’t mean I feel anything other than anger and pity toward him.

  “I don’t want your help,” he says, even as he leans into me heavily. We walk forward, and he sucks in another breath.

  “You already said that,” I retort. “And I already said we’re not going to discuss it.”

  “At least your skin is soft,” he says under his breath.

  I halt, glaring up at him. “What?”

  “Never mind,” he mumbles. “Clearly I’m still caught up in the nightmare you put me through.”

  I resolutely ignore him, and we shuffle out of the room and down the hall, still plastered together.

  My mind whirls. Even if we find an exit without anyone seeing us, how will I get him out without setting off any alarms? FuMA’s doubled up on security over the last few months, and no one gets in or out of the building without an identity scan.

  I reach into his future, sifting through the possibilities for a way out of here. Limbo, Limbo, Limbo. In every pathway where I try to sneak him through a door, we’re caught.

  I flip faster and faster through the other branches, staying high-level and zooming in closer when a pathway shows promise.

  And then, I see it. The slender branch that might actually get us out of here.

  “We need to stop by the dispensary,” I blurt out. I can’t let him know—yet—what I’m planning. “There’s one in this sector that should be unstaffed right now. We’ll grab the antibiotics for Callie.”

  He narrows his eyes. “You think I’m just going to lead you straight to Callie and the others? No way. Torturing your mother doesn’t prove anything. This could all be a big ploy to get me to reveal their location.”

  Seriously? My brows shoot up my forehead. So he doesn’t trust me? Good. I don’t trust him, either. We’re talking about the boy who’s going to kill me in twenty days, for Fate’s sake.

  “Fine,” I say. “Don’t show me where they are. I’ll get you the antibiotics and then drop-kick you out the door. Better?”

  His lips twitch. “Much.”’

  At that moment, a FuMA guard rounds the corner. He does a double take upon seeing a shirtless guy draped over my shoulders.

  Ryder stiffens, and he scans the corridor wildly, looking for an escape route. I pinch the skin at his waist, hoping he’ll let me take the lead.

  “Shadow,” the guard blurts out. “Ehrm, I mean, Miss Dresden. What are you doing?”

  I draw myself to my full height, which is difficult while I’m supporting Ryder, and fix the guard with my best imitation of my mother’s scowl. “What does it look like I’m doing? I called for transport half an hour…”

  …ago.

  Fike. The last thing I need is for this pesky habit to resurface now. I take a deep breath and center my thoughts. “No one came. So don’t just stand there! Quick! Get me a gliding chair so I don’t have to keep holding him.”

  The guard’s jaw drops, probably because he’s heard that the Shadow doesn’t speak, much less give orders. “Is he a detainee? He doesn’t have on electro-cuffs—”

  “You dare to question me?” My tone climbs into the arctic range, as I repeat the words I’ve heard my mother say dozens of times. “I am the chairwoman’s daughter, and I gave you a direct order. Now, before I report you.”

  He snaps to attention at the reminder of who I am. Of what my authority is, even if I’ve never used it. “Yes, ma’am! I think there’s a gliding chair in the next corridor. Be right back, ma’am!”

  He scurries off, and Ryder turns to me, blinking. “Wow. That was…impressive.”

  I flush. That’s the first time anyone’s ever followed my lead—but he doesn’t have to know that. “Still think you can get out of here without me?”

  “Oh, I could do it. Don’t ever underestimate my will to survive.”

  We stare at each other, his eyes deep, dark, challenging. I shiver again—but before I can figure out why, the guard’s back, nudging along a gliding chair.

  “Here you go, ma’am!” he says. “Will you need anything else? Happy to escort you wherever you need to go. Ma’am.”

  “No, thank you,” I say, my tone softening. “And no need to call me ma’am.”

  He backs away, saluting me until he’s out of sight. I maneuver Ryder into the gliding chair and then guide him down the hallway. “We have to hurry. The more people who see us, the more dangerous it’ll be.”

  I look down warily. Ryder’s sitting perfectly erect, a fierce glower on his face. Even in a chair, he’s intimidating as Limbo.

  “Play dead,” I demand.

  “What?” He twists, his shoulders brushing against my knuckles.

  Sparks shoot through my skin, but I pretend not to notice. “You just lived through the memory of a drowning. It’s feasible that you would pass out from the panic.”

  “Um, I don’t think so,” he says haughtily. “I never pass out. And I’ve experienced much more panic than that.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you can go ten rounds with the electro-whip and not flinch, too. Can you please shelve your pride for two secon
ds? I’m trying to get us out of here.”

  “Fine.” He leans his head back, pretending to sleep. After a moment, he opens one eye. “I can see up your nose.”

  The corners of my lips tug. “Be quiet. You’re dead, remember?”

  We turn down three more corridors and take the transport elevator to the seventh floor. Along the way, we pass half a dozen FuMA employees, but just as I hoped, they do nothing more than nod and salute.

  Once we reach the dispensary, I scan my retinas and fingerprints and then guide Ryder inside. Rows of floor-to-ceiling racks line one side of the long, narrow room. Each revolving rack is ten deep and holds trays stocked with tubes in every shade of the rainbow. The chilly air makes the goose bumps pop out on my arm. At least this time, I know why I’m cold.

  I move to the com terminal at the front of the room, pulling up the location codes for Callie’s antibiotic…and the anesthetic I don’t want Ryder to know about.

  When I turn, my heart jumps into my throat. Ryder’s gotten out of the chair, and he’s peering into the racks.

  “What are you doing?”

  He emits a low whistle. “Take a look at this. What’s this formula used for?”

  I walk over to stand next to him, and my eyes widen. Row after row of trays are filled with tubes of amber-colored formula. Why, fully half of the dispensary must be stocked with that medicine alone.

  I swallow hard. Why do we need so much of that formula? Could the confused victims of future memory require such a large supply? The image of my mother’s bruised stomach flashes through my mind. Maybe, especially if the other victims need as many injections as my mother.

  “People have been having these weird symptoms lately,” I say. “Walking into walls, holding conversations with someone who isn’t there. This formula’s used to treat whatever’s going on.”

  His brows knit together. “Really? That sounds an awful lot like the way Callie’s been acting.”

  It’s my turn to frown. “I thought you said she has an infection from a cut on her palm.”

  “She does. I think.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we don’t really know.”