Chapter 16
I am a little surprised to wake up.
Everything comes back slowly. There is the clatter of a keyboard, the scrape of metal against a concrete floor, the murmur of voices.
Then the pain hits me. Pain and I are old friends—we shook hands during the car crash that killed me and then it followed in my footsteps in the years afterward.
I might have titanium pins in my bones, regrown muscles, a new cheek and nose, but the fixes weren’t perfect.
I can feel the ache of the old injuries when I overwork myself.
And the last few hours have been nothing but work.
My head throbs in time with my pulse and my mouth is too dry. My visor and ringware are gone.
I’ve never been hungover but I’m pretty sure this is what it feels like.
I crack one eye open. At first, everything is a blur. I blink again and again until I’m sure of what I’m seeing.
I’m tied to a metal folding chair. My hands are behind my back, my ankles zip-tied to the chair’s legs. My shoulders protest the stretch.
The room has concrete floor and walls, the mainframe lights blinking softly in shades of red and green and blue, the keyboard and monitor, a spare garbage can with a bit of gum stuck to one side, and a single scrap of paper with a pen resting beside it.
These smart buildings are designed to be self-sufficient, but a place this large would have someone stop by at least once a day to check on the system.
I wonder what happened to that employee.
Perhaps they weren’t in here when the building was taken. I hope not.
This is the beating heart of the building, the place where Vale could end hundreds of lives with the push of a button.
I can’t stop her. I’m tied to a chair, head throbbing and still a little drugged. And I’m not alone.
I close my eyes. Let them think I’m still asleep.
“—kid. This is the person that’s been taking out my crew?”
I recognize the crisp feminine voice. It’s smooth and cold as steel.
Hannah Vale.
A sigh. This one is heavy, male. “She looked older through a scope.” That must be Corey aka Mr. Muscle.
And then a third voice. “It’s brilliant, actually,” says Carla.
I bite back a curse. Corey must have freed her after Eames escaped. If he escaped.
“Why?” says Corey.
“Think about it,” says Carla. “No one looks twice at a teenager. No one would suspect her. She’s the perfect plant. How long until she wakes up?” Her voice grows louder, as though she’s approaching me. I keep my face slack, my breathing slow.
Corey makes a thoughtful noise. “That dose was meant for someone lighter, so not long.”
“We have other darts, I assume?” Vale says. “You didn’t waste them all?”
Corey scoffs. “Such faith, Hannah. I’ve got plenty for when you need them.”
Vale makes a frustrated sound. “Well, they won’t do us any good right now. Corey, get back to the second floor. Keep searching.”
“I don’t get why we’re searching at all,” grumbles Corey. “They were supposed to be handed over already. You think something happened?”
“She happened, most likely,” says Vale coldly, and there’s no doubt that she’s talking about me. “Someone sent her, but they didn’t use official channels. Extra protection and all that.”
“One wraith,” says Corey, “shouldn’t be that hard to deal with.”
“You say that because you have never dealt with them before.” Vale’s voice sharpens. “Corey, keep searching. Carla, can you get Bud and Anasova?”
“Those doors are locked and secured,” says Carla. “There’s a security code I can’t get through.”
My left foot twitches. I can feel Matthew’s ring where I stashed it in my shoe. If I had been wearing it, they would’ve taken it with the rest of my gear.
Carla continues. “You’ll have to hack the doors manually. Or you can ask our little saboteur here. She’s awake.”
Shit.
“All right,” says Vale. “You two, get to work. I’ll deal with her.”
There is a shuffle of feet, then a door opening and closing. I hear the click of boot heels on concrete, and then fingers take hold of my chin and gently tilt my face up.
I blink my eyes open. No point in pretending now.
Hannah Vale is even more striking close-up. She has discarded her jacket, wearing fitted athletic clothes not unlike mine. Her gloves remain in place—presumably so she won’t leave fingerprints.
“Nice to finally meet you,” she says. She releases my chin and steps back, her arms loose at her sides. “Your tattoo claims you are Augusta Pine, age eighteen. But beyond that … there’s no history. No records. No nothing. Almost like a … a ghost.” The barest hint of a smile touches her lips.
She knows what I am.
“I did some work for the government,” she says. “White hat hacking. Those firewalls that protect ISD—I tested them myself. So I know how the division works. Send in someone that looks harmless … someone no one will suspect.” Her eyes glitter. “Who are you?”
“No one,” I reply. “You know that.”
Every time I go undercover, ISD manufactures a new backstory for me.
The tattoo that proclaims me Augusta Pine is unchangeable—but birth certificates, job histories, addresses, and life stories can be altered.
I have been Augusta Pine the plumber, the student, the prison inmate, the intern, the dog walker, the stepdaughter, and the gig worker.
But between missions … I am no one. I have no past and no future.
She shakes her head. “No. You were someone, before all of this. Would you care to tell me?”
“Only if you answer a question for me,” I say. “Where do you buy your mascara?”
She blinks. “What?”
“It hasn’t budged an inch,” I say. “After a hard afternoon of terrorizing, murdering, and hostage-taking, that’s kind of impressive.”
She smiles at me. It is the kind of smile that makes normal people turn and run.
“You’re a talker,” she says. “Good. That’ll prove useful.”
I roll my eyes at her. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
Her smile widens. Then she reaches down and tweaks my nose. My broken nose.
I hiss and flinch back, trying to escape the lightning flash of agony.
“Ow,” I say, once I can speak again.
She squats down in front of my chair. “Now, let me guess who you are. You did something bad, but your IQ is just this side of genius, so ISD scooped you up before you could be prosecuted. Then they stopped your heart long enough to deactivate your tattoo, promised you a second chance, and then put you here?”
“Is this where your recruitment speech begins?” I roll my eyes. “Because Bud tried that. That whole ‘climate change is being weaponized against the common person’ thing. Which I agree with, by the way. What I don’t agree with is your solution of killing the people you claim to care about.”
“Oh, no,” says Vale. “I’m not going to try to recruit you.”
That stops me cold. “What? Why?”
“For one thing, I’ve been in your company for less than a minute and already don’t like you.”
“Rude.”
“And for another,” continues Vale, “you’d never join me.”
“Well, that’s true,” I say. Then I frown at her. “How do you know that?”
She flicks her fingers at me, gesturing from my toes to my smart-dyed hair. “Look at you. The feds have had you for too long. You’re one of them now.”
For the first time, I feel a little offended. “I am not.”
“You are,” she says.
I don’t know why I’m defending myself to her, but something in her tone sparks my anger. “The only reason I joined them was to get back to my family.”
She gives me a pitying half smile. “Oh, I’m sure that’s what you tell yourself.
‘I’m just in this for my family,’ ‘I’d never do anything terrible because they told me to,’ ‘I’m free.
’” She leans closer. “Lies. All of them. Perhaps you even believe them, but they are lies. You’ll never go back to your family. ”
My mouth tastes too dry, too bitter. “I will.”
“You won’t,” she says. “Wraiths never do. You can’t go home again.”
Her words are chilling. They’re matter-of-fact, utterly disinterested. She truly believes it.
My fingers curl into fists, nails digging deep. “Is that why you began your little terrorism career?”
“You don’t know why I do what I do,” says Vale calmly.
I snort. “Oh, I can guess. You’re a misunderstood little antiheroine who lost someone, and now you’re fighting for the future of humanity, and the only way to do that is to form a culty little following, give your cause a really hard-to-spell name, and then murder people until they come around?”
Vale’s expression remains untouched by my words. “If that’s what you would like to think, go on ahead.”
I frown at her. “Don’t you want to help people?”
“Not particularly,” says Vale.
Something about this doesn’t make sense. I know what sincere belief sounds like. Bud had it when he spoke of his aims. I’ve heard it in Prefect’s voice when he speaks of catching criminals. I’ve heard it in my own voice when I snarl at someone I deem particularly contemptible.
But I don’t hear it now.
Okay, let’s recap.
Fact the first: Hannah Vale and the others clearly think I’m part of the security detail for Project Persephone. They know I’m a wraith. Which means they expected ISD to be here. Not to mention that ISD knew about Hannah Vale and her merry little band of fanatics.
ISD doesn’t normally track domestic terrorists—that’s the FBI’s job. So why would ISD have files on her?
Fact the second: Vale has killed people.
I watched her gun down Security Guard Matthew like he was nothing.
But Corey had a tranquilizer gun. All this time, there was no need for bullets.
They could have used nonlethal force. But instead, she shot Matthew.
Anasova tried to kill me. And there were those maintenance workers who drowned in her last attack.
No matter what her manifesto says, Hannah Vale doesn’t care about life.
So what does she care about?
Fact the third: Vale and her crew have been hacking infrastructure.
City water. Power grids. Sewage.
And that’s when it finally clicks for me.
“Holy shit,” I say, mouth agape. “You’re not a terrorist.”
Vale goes glacier still.
I continue, “You hacked utilities so that you could pretend you’re giving water and power and everything back to the people. But it was never about helping people. You were just figuring out how to hack those systems.
“You tell your crew you’re in it for the good of the people,” I say, “but it’s not about that. All these jobs—it’s been about the hacks themselves. You’re learning how to do it. You’re figuring out ways to control infrastructure.”
Her eyes narrow. It’s a small expression, but it’s all the confirmation I need.
“You’re in this for the money,” I say. “That’s why you sent Carla and Corey out before you talked to me.
They think you’re part of the cause, don’t they?
They’re real believers, fighting for what they think is right.
Bud definitely thinks you’re some kind of climate change Robin Hood.
But ISD knows. Your hacks probably involve overriding identities, phishing schemes, stealing personal codes.
Exactly the kind of stuff that ISD goes after.
You’re not a freedom fighter or a terrorist or whatever you pretend to be.
You’re just another hacker selling information to the highest bidder. And your crew doesn’t even know it.”
Her hand moves toward her belt, resting on a holstered gun. An unspoken threat, yet loud all the same. “You talk as though you weren’t briefed on me,” she says quietly. “Like you just figured it out. Weren’t you sent with Persephone?”
I just gave away my own ignorance with my little revelation. Oops.
“My handler likes sending me into situations without giving me all the facts,” I say. “He says it makes me a better investigator.”
Which is true. But she doesn’t need to know that Prefect never intended me to be here.
“So what are you even doing here?” I ask, nodding at the room around us.
“You hacked water and sewer and power. You’ve probably got everything you need.
You should be smuggling yourself out of the country and to some place that doesn’t extradite to the US.
Then you could auction off your hacks and end up rich. ”
Vale’s chilly gaze slides over me. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I grit my teeth. “I understand that the feds are surrounding the building right now,” I say. “I understand that you’re outnumbered and outmaneuvered.”
“I’m outnumbered but certainly not outmaneuvered,” she says. She pulls the gun from her holster. It’s got a silencer, so the sound won’t blow out her eardrums in this tiny room.
My heartbeat picks up.
Oh no. No, no, no.
I can’t die like this. I’m not done.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, squirming against the zip ties. Their plastic edges bite painfully into my wrists. There are ways to break them, but not when I’m tied to a chair. “I’m tied up. I’m not a threat to you or your plans.”
She shrugs, utterly unrepentant. “Perhaps not. But I find you rather irritating.”
At least she’s willing to admit it.
“Goodbye, little wraith,” she says, and brings up the gun.