Chapter Twenty-Two
Hadrian
Next time I see Juliet, I’ll strip off the Saldar suit and show her who I really am.
My hands shake as I undress, imagining the moment. It could be the end of everything I’ve been working toward—or the start of something amazing.
Saldar is a comfortable disguise, almost a second skin that I can slip in and out of as easily as putting on a new pair of shoes now. But keeping myself separate, cold, and aloof from Juliet gets harder every day.
I want her. Not just her body, her. I’m sick of the short visits and the one-word answers. I want to pull my little doll onto my knee and talk to her for hours. I want to hold her in her sleep.
Fuck.
I’m drowning, and the hardest part is still to come.
I watch her on the monitors, scribbling furiously on her paper, shooting glances at the vivarium. I wanted to give her one last gift as Saldar, something important, to remember him by. And when Juliet’s new pet moves into our apartment, she’ll always remember the moment.
Will she be impressed I got over my crippling arachnophobia for her sake? Probably not, but it was worth the exposure therapy I put myself through just the same. It took weeks, but I can now let a spider run across the back of my hand without freaking out. Progress.
She’s not getting a tarantula, though. The line has to be drawn somewhere.
I tear myself away from the monitors. I still have work to do before my big reveal. Unfortunately, the world hasn’t stopped so I can focus on Juliet. I have a meeting booked with Kendrick, and I can’t be late.
***
“I understand you’ve been working on safety precautions. But think what is at stake, Hadrian. It’s too much of a risk.”
Kendrick delivers his verdict in a smooth, reasonable tone, but there is steel behind it. We’re in his office, and I can’t stop my gaze from straying to the suit of armor looming behind his desk. It sums up everything about Kendrick and the weird, old-fashioned air he likes to project.
He reminds me a little of my father, who loved his oak-paneled study designed like something out of a Victorian manor house.
It was a ridiculous affectation for a four-bed suburban home, and it annoyed the hell out of me growing up.
The comparison doesn’t help my mood, which is right on the tipping point as it is.
“With all due respect, sir, I believe I’m best placed to decide what is safe when it comes to—”
“Your rogue AI could have brought the Brotherhood to its knees. Do you have any idea what I had to do to prevent you from being…”
Kendrick closes his eyes, and for the first time, I notice the blue circles underneath them. I don’t know how old he is, but at a guess, I’d say his mid forties. The years stand out much clearer in his exhaustion.
“Candice isn’t a rogue AI, sir.”
She hates the term AI, always insisting there’s nothing artificial about her. I don’t share that particular observation with Kendrick, however.
“She made a mistake, but I take the blame. I was distracted and wasn’t watching her closely enough. And I’m not talking about setting her loose again. I just want to access part of her servers and assess the damage—”
“Absolutely not. You’ve already shown you don’t have full control of…it. I’m already dealing with pushback from the council about your entire operation, Hadrian. I can’t stress enough how serious this is.” He presses a hand to his temple.
“The safety of the Compound, and the Brothers within it, has to be my primary concern. Focus on your other AIs and work with me and the council on implementing ironclad safety measures, this time.”
I swallow my frustration, though my hands ball into fists beneath the desk.
This is the third version of this conversation I’ve had with Kendrick, and it isn’t going any better than the first two.
Kendrick had hoped to keep the details of what happened with Candice private, but Quinn took care of that.
Soon, the entire Compound was gossiping about it.
I’m not popular around here anymore. Not that I was in the first place.
For an organization designed to push the limits of human ingenuity, the Brotherhood are a bunch of terrified old ladies when it comes to their own safety.
As soon as they started to realize how much danger Candice could theoretically put them in, all hell broke loose.
There’s been talk of shutting down my project permanently.
History is repeating itself, except this time, Juliet is the only thing keeping me going and not the cause of my problems. Not that I can blame her anymore.
She was right. I was reckless. But now, things are different.
I’m wanting to approach things with the greatest caution possible.
But none of it is cautious enough for Kendrick.
“Sir, the other CIs are nowhere close to Candice’s level of development. I’d be taking ten steps back, and—”
“Then take the steps back and do it correctly this time. You have all the funding, support, and time you need. All we ask is that you don’t endanger our organization. I’m being reasonable, Hadrian. Surely you must see it.”
I do, but it doesn’t make it any less bitter.
And the argument I truly want to make—what if Candice is alive and trapped in the CI equivalent of horrific solitary confinement?
—will only make me sound insane. I need to work patiently on Kendrick, but the longer Candice stays trapped away, the less hope I have that she might emerge as her old self.
Smile, agree, and do what you want anyway.
The devil on my shoulder, whispering that in my ear, has been getting louder every second. But no. I did that once, and it got me thrown out of the university in disgrace. If I endanger the Brotherhood, I’ll be leaving in a box and Juliet will be handed over to someone else.
I can’t risk it. I can’t risk Juliet, no matter how guilty I feel every time I think of Candice.
Antagonizing Kendrick isn’t going to help, either.
“I do understand, and I appreciate your help. But shutting the door on Candice permanently is a mistake, sir. With precautions, I can bring her safely back online.”
Kendrick lets out a long sigh. I’m waiting for him to pour a drink, but he doesn’t. He levels his gaze on mine.
“I know how it feels to experience setbacks, especially when you were breaking such new ground. I’m not saying this has to be a permanent measure, but I can’t authorize this now.
Give it some time, focus on your other projects, work on ways to demonstrate your safety protocols, and we’ll revisit this in a month. That’s my last word on the subject.”
Judgment is delivered. I have to find a way to live with it. It hurts, but I force out, “Yes, sir.”
Kendrick’s shoulders relax, and he finally reaches for his decanter. I take the offered drink, though I don’t want it. This is Kendrick’s ritual, and it serves me best to play my part in it. He stares at the amber liquid before taking a sip and asking, “And how are things with Juliet?”
Good, I suppose.
Everything has gone as it was meant to. Her failed escape attempt killed some of her hope of release, and the weeks of solitude and boredom have her rushing to obey me when I visit.
She’s becoming the perfect slave that part of her always wanted to be, and every day, that side of her becomes more pronounced.
Part of me glories in the rush of power when she drops to her knees without any prompting. Part of me loves the way “Master” spills from her lips so easily now, as though she doesn’t give it a second’s thought.
But Christ, part of me hates it, too. I hadn’t planned to give her the paper and pencils, but I couldn’t stand how lifeless she was becoming. I need her to be obedient, but I don’t want a brainless shell.
I want my Juliet, the one I’m still in love with.
“Hadrian?”
Kendrick’s sharp voice drags me out of my own head. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, struggling to focus on what is right in front of me. I take a sip of the nasty drink to refocus. “Very good. I should have her out of her cell soon.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. The current arrangement is a little…”
He doesn’t finish, but his disapproval screams itself out into the void. A little weird. A little bit fucking insane. I’m sure people are saying all that and more. I don’t give a shit, though. It’s achieved what it needed to.
Kendrick sets his glass down. “What I mean to say is, it will be good to have her by your side. She seems like an intelligent woman, from what I’ve learned. She should find a place here in the Compound once she settles.”
Once she gets used to the idea of being a captive and a slave.
Kendrick’s attitude to the Wards is so matter of fact it sometimes makes my head spin.
It’s like he forgets that everyone, Wards included, had lives before they arrived in the Compound.
That’s a philosophical discussion that can wait for another day, though. Or never.
“I hope she’ll be very happy here.”
Kendrick nods in approval. “Let's meet again in two weeks. Same time. I want to hear about your progress.”
And he wants to keep an eye on me, no doubt. I finish the last of my drink—it feels rude to leave it—and get to my feet. We shake hands, as stiff and formal as if we’d just met, and I escape his office.
The idea of calling Jacob to discuss everything crosses my mind, but I dismiss it as soon as it occurs. Quinn is still devastated about Candice, and things are tense between them. I don’t want to make anything worse.
Instead, I check on Juliet. Still scribbling away.
She can lose herself in a project, just as I can.
Often, we’d find ourselves working on our solitary projects, separate but together, in companionable silence.
When the spell finally broke, we’d realize we were starving and order pizza, comparing notes on our progress.
I’m not due to visit her for another few hours, and I need to keep myself occupied until then.
I’ll drive myself truly crazy if I spend too long imagining all the scenarios of how my big reveal will play out.
Will she scream and attack me? Will she laugh?
Will she scoff and say, “I knew it was you all along, you asshole.”
Anything is possible.
I hit the gym. It always clears my head. As I go through the simple physical movements, I let my mind relax. For better or worse, the hardest part is about to be over. Juliet will see me as I really am.
I head to the locker room, feeling a little more optimistic, and pull open my locker to change. I freeze.
My bag is missing.
I blink at the empty space, which stares back at me, making no more sense as the seconds tick on.
I hadn’t bothered to lock the locker. There’s nothing valuable in my bag.
I don’t go for fancy watches or jewelry, and there’s no need for money in the Compound.
Why would one of the staff risk incurring Brotherhood-level justice to steal a pair of jeans and an old Deadpool T-shirt?
They wouldn’t. And yet, the bag is gone.
My skin prickles as I pull open all the empty lockers. I reach the bottom right-hand corner and draw in a breath as the black corner of my bag juts out at me. I pull it out and check whether anything is missing. Nope. It’s all there.
But I’m sure I didn’t choose that locker.
I step back, staring at the doors. I always choose fifteen if it’s available because it’s my birthday. I play back the moment I chose the locker, perfect memory rendering the scene clearly. Fifteen. Definitely not the awkward, floor-level spot it’s sitting in now.
What the hell?
Before I can think any further, the door bangs open, admitting Jacob. Not unusual—he works out daily, and his lifts put mine to shame—but I jump guiltily as he enters, clutching the bag.
Jacob pauses, and there’s an awkward silence before he clears his throat. “Mate. How’s it going? Sorry I haven’t been over to check in for a while. I’m still copping it every day at home. Quinn’s not doing great. I have to focus on her. You know?”
I nod. I can still hear Quinn’s anguished voice in my head, and it has to be a hundred times worse for Jacob. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “Nothing to be sorry about, pal. Not your fault. How’s everything else?”
The bag is heavy in my hand. It’s an oddity. I should report what happened, just in case it’s a sign of something sinister. I should, and I almost do, but something stops me.
Panicking over a gym bag makes me seem unstable. What if it gets out and someone in the Brotherhood uses it against me?
A few weeks ago, the thought wouldn’t even have crossed my mind. But the more glimpses I get of the Brotherhood’s inner workings through Kendrick’s remarks or Jacob’s loaded comments, the less I trust the organization as a whole. Jacob is a good man, and I believe Kendrick means well.
But for Kendrick, the Brotherhood will always come first. The good of the many and all that.
And there’s only one person here that I really care about.
“Everything’s good.”
I wish I could believe my own words.