No, wait—this isn’t morning light at all. It’s sunset.
I blink, disoriented. I’m lying in a bed in a luxuriously stark hotel room, adorned with gray-and-white-striped wallpaper and a series of plain wall paintings.
Waves of memories rush back at me now. The assassins. The subway tunnel. The image of Jax standing over my pursuer. The gunshot.
The Blackcoats.
And then . . . what? The last thing I remember is Jax pointing her gun straight at me.
She drugged me. I’m sure of it. Maybe it was to make sure I didn’t remember anything about where we were going or what path we took to get here—but now here I am, lying in an unfamiliar room with holes in my memory.
I bolt upright. I’m still dressed in the same clothes I’d been wearing that night. I check myself gingerly for any injuries, but besides some bruises and a sore spot on my neck, I’m unharmed. My moment of panic pools gradually into a sense of foreboding that invades my chest. I watch the faint light filtering in through my window.
It takes me a moment to realize that I have a dozen unread messages from the Riders, each one more frantic than the last. I frown. How long have I been missing if they’re this worried? Had they heard about the gunshots fired near where we had dinner? It must be on the news, unless Hideo can somehow control that, too. I hesitate, wondering whether I should tell my teammates what really happened, before sending out some quick replies of reassurance.
I’m ok, don’t worry.
Lost reception for a bit. Talk soon.
Then I freeze when I reach the last unread message. It’s an incoming invite, accompanied by a profile image haloed in soft, blinking green.
Hideo is calling me. Asking me to Link with him.
My heart jumps into my throat.
What does he want? Is it possible he knows what’s happened to me, even though I’m using beta lenses? I glance quickly around the room, looking for any sign that I’m being recorded. But there aren’t any cameras in the ceilings.
Don’t answer it.
I know I shouldn’t.
But I still find myself lifting my hand, reaching up, and tapping on the invite hovering in my view. I regret it immediately. Maybe the drug Jax used on me has lowered my inhibitions and hijacked my common sense. But it’s too late now. I don’t see him appear right away, but through our newly formed Link, I can feel a trickle of his emotions.
They’re a knot of urgency and fear.
Emika.
I startle again. Hideo’s voice is speaking in my mind, his telepathic messaging invention. I should be used to it by now, but even after a mere couple of weeks, his voice hits me just like it did the first time we spoke on the phone. I narrow my eyes, more annoyed at myself than at him.
Why are you calling me? I say to him.
You called me.
This brings me up short. I did? It must have happened while I was drugged—maybe an unconscious reaction. Now I have a faint recollection of trying desperately to call for help. Apparently, I’d decided to call Hideo.
I wince. Couldn’t I have called Hammie or Roshan instead? Any of the Riders? Did my instinct have to be Hideo?
Well, it was an accident, I counter.
Where are you? I felt nothing but panic coming from you. You asked for help. Then you disconnected.
Hearing Hideo’s voice in my mind is so overwhelming that I almost want to sever our Link right away. Then I remember that he can sense my emotions. In return, a stab of concern from him hits me, followed by a ripple of unease. His brother’s name teeters at the edge of my mind, ready for me to tell him—the thought is so strong that I almost send it. With a huge effort, I pull it back.
I’m fine.
You’re fine. He sounds doubtful as he echoes my words back at me.
There’s another pause on his end, and an instant later, my surroundings shift. I find myself sitting on a white couch across from an open terrace, staring out at a twilight of glittering city lights beyond a balcony lit by a circular, stone fire pit. Wherever he is, it’s not his home that I’m familiar with, nor is it Henka Games. It’s an estate more lavish than anything I’ve ever seen in my life, overlooking a city I don’t recognize. Baroque columns tower up to the sky, and gossamer curtains drift on either side of the entrance leading out to the balcony. Neatly trimmed bushes dot the space. Somewhere in the distance come the buzz of voices and the clinking of glasses, the sounds of a party.
Hideo’s shadowed silhouette stands against the open terrace, leaning against the railing of stone pillars. Dim light outlines the edges of his body.
My dream. His hands on me. His lips on my skin.
I try in vain to stop my cheeks from heating up.
It takes me another moment to notice a young woman at his side. I don’t recognize her, but in the darkness, I can tell that she’s in a slender, glittery dress, her long hair falling in waves past her shoulders. She leans close to Hideo, her hand running along his arm, and whispers something in his ear with a smile.
Bitterness shoots hot through my veins before I can rein it in. Who the hell is this, and why is she cozying up to Hideo?
And why the hell do I care? I’d broken things off between us, anyway. Is it such a surprise that someone is already trying to catch his attention?
Hideo doesn’t lean back toward her. Instead, he gives her his polite smile that I’ve come to know so well, then murmurs something to her that makes her remove her hand from his arm. She tilts her head at him, flashing him another smile, and then strides off the balcony. Her stilettos click rhythmically against the floor tiles.
Hideo turns his attention to me without watching her go. He doesn’t look like someone capable of controlling the minds of almost everyone in the world. He doesn’t seem like the reason why we might all lose our freedom of thought. Right now, he’s the person I fell for, flesh and blood and painfully human, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
A jolt of jealousy from him surges through our Link, and I realize that, from his view, it looks like I could be in someone else’s bed. I allow myself a petty moment of satisfaction.
“Where are you now?” I mutter.
He glances briefly over his shoulder at the sparkling city behind him. “Singapore,” he replies. “I have some financial business to take care of here.”
Financial business, billionaire dealings. He’s probably expecting me to comment on what kind of party he’s at or the identity of the woman who just left, but I’m not about to give him that.
“Well,” I say archly. “I guess you seem fine.”
“What happened to you?” Hideo says.
His words are cold and distant, but a torrent of his emotions crowds my mind. Joy, at seeing me again. Anger. Frustration. Fear, for my safety.
For an instant, I want to tell him that I miss him. That I keep dreaming about him every night. That I can’t bear to turn my back on him, even now.
But then the reality of our situation returns, and my own temper flares. “Nothing. I was just about to leave this Link.”
He steps toward me until it’s as if he were standing barely a few inches away. “Then why are you still here?” he says.
It’s been a long time since I’ve heard the ice in his voice—the tone he uses for strangers. The realization hits me harder than I thought it would. “You have no right to be upset with me.”
“I’m not. I just don’t want to see you. Isn’t that what you want?”
“More than you know,” I snap.
“You’re hunting me, aren’t you?” he murmurs. His emotions suddenly shift into doubt, the reminder that we have a wall separating us. He looks sidelong at me. “That’s why you reached out to me, isn’t it? This is all a setup. You were lying about needing help. This is part of your hunt.”
“You’re suspicious of me?” I scowl at him. “Do I need to remind you of what you’re doing?”
“Enlighten me,” he says coldly.