Chapter 28
Augusta Pine was born in a fall.
It feels fitting that she should die in one.
For the briefest heartbeat, we are weightless. Then air rushes past, whispers through my hair and clothes. Vale’s grip never slackens on me, and her blond hair whips against my face. I squeeze my eyes shut.
We don’t fall to the marble floor.
Instead, we fall into water.
I don’t remember hitting the pool. The impact stuns me.
One moment, I’m in the air—and the next, I’m submerged. I’m sinking farther and farther until my back hits the pool bottom.
For the first time in so many hours, the world is utterly silent. It’s almost peaceful.
And then chlorinated water floods my nose and mouth, surges into my throat. I can’t hold my breath, can’t swim upward, can’t fight it. I can’t even choke or thrash. I’m not sure how much time passes—it could be a few seconds or a few minutes.
Water tried to claim me once, but I was pulled from it. Now it won’t be denied a second time.
Bubbles flutter around me and there’s a muted sound. Almost like a shout.
I blink my eyes open one last time. Then a figure appears before me. That beautiful boy with the red car.
He’s the true wraith, not me. He has haunted me for so long, it makes sense he would greet me at the end.
His hand closes on my shirt. Something yanks hard, and I’m being pulled upward. Bubbles eddy around me.
We break the surface together. It’s strangely unpleasant, going from water to air.
At least the water was peaceful. I am coughing so hard I think I might vomit, and it’s all I can do to keep myself above the surface.
I find myself clinging to the boy, to the wraith, and it’s only when my fingers catch in his dark hair that I realize it’s the wrong boy.
Eames.
He has me around the waist, towing me toward the side of the pool. He is pulling me up and out of the water. Hands pushing the hair from my face. I’m gagging and sputtering, the taste of chlorine in my nose and mouth.
He crouches over me, fingers poised over my chest. As if ready to give compressions.
No need. I’m coughing and gagging so hard it feels as though my lungs are being scraped by sandpaper. I roll onto my side and spit up far too much water.
“Your tattoo,” I wheeze. “Could’ve—could’ve damaged it. Nanotech—not supposed to get it wet. Might malfunction.”
He shakes his head. “It was a risk I had to take,” he says simply. His tattooed hand falls on my shoulder and rests there.
I recover by the edge of the pool.
I’m still on my side. My mouth tastes like chlorine and vomit, and I don’t know how much time it takes me to feel normal again. I focus on my breathing—one in, one out—and let the world go on around me.
Vale is tied to one of the pool chairs. Eames dragged her from the pool, too. Zip ties encircle her wrist and ankles. “She hit the water first,” says Piper, crouching beside me. “I think she broke part of your fall.”
“You all right?” I ask. My voice is even more hoarse than normal.
She nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She looks outside. “What’ll happen to us now?”
“Not sure, kid.” I force myself to my feet. “But I’m not letting anyone kidnap you again, all right?”
Eames is walking toward me, carrying two backpacks. One is Carla’s stolen military gear, and the other is mine. “Thought you might want these,” he says, setting them down on the floor.
I look around the lobby. Nonna is nowhere to be seen. “Where is…?”
“Oh, she ran to her apartment for a first aid kit,” he says.
His eyes sweep over me. I must look a sight: soaked through with pool water, brown and pink hair stuck at all angles, and bruises suffusing my face. He runs a hand through his own damp hair. “I guess we should find a way to break open the front doors.”
I catch him by the arm. He looks down at my hand, and I let him go. “Wait,” I say. “First—before you do that.” I reach for his T-shirt.
He goes still, allowing me to pull up the side of his left sleeve. There is a small, healing scar. A tracker. Just like any other wraith.
But he’s not like any other wraith. Eames isn’t a criminal. He didn’t come to ISD for penance—but for his sister. He sacrificed his home, his life, and his identity so he could save the one person he needed to protect. He’s good and kind and I don’t want ISD to have him.
I reach down and pick up Carla’s backpack, holding it out to him.
He reaches to take it, but I don’t release the strap.
The backpack is suspended between us, a line of tension connecting us both.
“Bud said that Carla was carrying the equipment needed to dismantle a tracker,” I say quietly.
“It’s all in there. Along with a lot of small bills, lockpicks, visors, ringware, and a couple of small explosives. ”
A flash of understanding crosses Eames’s face. “Everything a person needs to disappear.”
“Yes,” I say. I take a breath. “If you want to leave, this is your chance.”
I watch the emotions flicker through his eyes: confusion, understanding, and, finally, a dawning hope.
“Wouldn’t they look for us?” asks Eames.
“Probably, but you’re Hannah Vale’s son, right?
You should know how to disappear.” I gesture at the building.
“This has been a clusterf—well, you know.” I glance at Piper, perhaps fifteen feet away.
“ISD won’t want it getting out that they had a traitor working with domestic terrorists.
Or not-terrorists. Whatever Radiovexation is.
They might just let you go. They have Vale—and there’s more than enough evidence to put her away.
But if you stay … they’ll enforce your deal.
And now that Vale is captured, they don’t have to hide you anymore.
They’ll put you to work until Vale is sentenced and imprisoned for good. And that could take years.”
Eames looks down at the backpack, then at Piper.
“They’ll use Piper against me, won’t they?” he asks.
I nod. “Probably. They could make it hard for you to take custody of her, if you don’t cooperate. Eames—you’re smart. You’re the kind of person they’d love to recruit. But … but you deserve more.”
“And you don’t?” he says softly.
I shake my head. “I—”
“You are a hero.” His voice is firm and gentle. “I don’t care what you say. You’re amazing.”
I look away, smiling ruefully. “You might be smart, but you have terrible taste in girls.”
He answers my smile with one of his own. But it fades quickly. I feel a dull spasm of loss. I won’t ever see him again if he runs. I know that.
I let go of the backpack.
“What about you?” he asks. “You could come with us. We could remove your tracker.”
For a moment, I let myself consider it: running with Eames. I imagine being part of something that isn’t ISD, something built on trust and—and maybe more. Part of me wants to go with him. To take his hand and vanish into those tunnels. To leave behind my sentence and guilt.
I let out a breath. “I can’t,” I say.
This time, it’s his turn to nod. “I know,” he says. “Nonna.”
I do my best not to flinch. “What?”
He smiles faintly. “I didn’t realize, not at first. Took me longer than it should have. But you slipped after Piper was taken. She’s your grandmother, isn’t she?”
I don’t answer—which is all the confirmation he needs.
“It wasn’t a coincidence you were here, was it?” he says.
I raise my shoulders in an inconclusive shrug.
His fingers catch me under the chin, tilting my face up. “You’re not running from your past,” he says. “You’re trying to get back to it.”
“Something like that,” I say, keenly aware of his fingertips on my jaw. “You need to go. Right now. Take the Portland Underground entrance in the basement. There are explosives in Carla’s bag. When the blackout ends…”
“Things start up again,” he says. “The city goes back to what it should be.”
He leans down, giving me a moment to pull away. I don’t—and the press of his mouth against mine feels like fire. My stomach tightens with want, and I arch into him like a plant seeking sunlight.
For the briefest moment, he is mine. And I am his. Two ghosts clinging to each other.
He pulls back, fingers still on my chin. His thumb strokes the corner of my mouth. Once, just once.
“Thank you, Augusta Pine,” he says quietly.
“You’re welcome, Eames Ahlberg,” I say.
He steps back, holding out a hand to Piper. She takes it, glancing at me.
“I’ll read those Foal Patrol books,” she says.
I dissolve into a laugh. “Hoofbeats of justice.” I hold up a hand, watching as the two run for the basement stairs.
Just before he rounds the corner, Eames looks back at me. He nods and I return it.
Then he’s gone.
And I’m alone by a pool with only a half-conscious hacker for company.
A breath shudders out of me, and I realize I’m shivering.
It could be adrenaline or shock; I’m not sure how long I can remain standing.
I consider going to one of those pool chairs and just lying down, but a voice calls out to me.
It’s a name. A name that both is and isn’t mine. It pierces me through.
Nonna hurries down the stairs. She drops the first aid kit and her hands hover over me. Her gaze rakes across my face.
“You’re alive,” she breathes. And I know she isn’t referring to my fall into the pool.
I nod. “Nonna—I can’t—”
“I know,” she says. She tucks my damp hair behind my ears. “You’re like them, aren’t you?”
I nod. “Ten-year sentence for—for what I did.” My throat is so tight the words come out mangled. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh.” She pulls me into her arms and I close my eyes. This is what I’ve wanted ever since I saw her again. This is what I dared not hope for. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
I cling to her. Everything I’ve wanted to say for three years snags in my throat. My eyes sting, and I breathe in the scent of her. Safety, familiarity, warmth.
Home.
I want this moment to stretch out into eternity. To stay here, in this small world where all is quiet and secure. But I know I can’t.
“I can’t stay,” I say into her shirt. “And when the cops interview you, don’t tell them you know me. If they find out who we are to each other … they won’t let me come back.”
Her arms tighten around me. “But you are coming back.”
I sob. “Yes. I love you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”
She pulls back for a moment, framing my face with her hands. Her own cheeks are tearstained, but her mouth is firm. “Dear girl. We’ll fix this. That’s what families do.”
I nod. And then I hug her one last time.
“Come back,” she whispers. “When you can.”
I watch her go. It takes everything in me not to follow.
Instead, I walk to the front doors. They’re still chained shut from the inside. I can see the glint of weapons, the swarm of black-and-white suits, and the familiar flash of a golden tattoo.
The outside world strains at the edges of the building, yearning to come inside.
I fall to my knees. My lungs are on fire with chlorine and every part of me hurts. I gesture at those outside, beckoning them in.
There’s a metallic screech as someone cuts through doors. Then the scents and sounds of the city engulf me.