05:00:06:31
When the noise from the train is loud enough to muffle our voices, I ask, “So, Tomas?”
“My brother,” he says without looking at me.
“Those cops—their whole demeanor changed when they ran his ID.”
Barclay smirks, but it’s not exactly friendly. “He’s a big shot in the corporate world. I lifted his face tag a few weeks ago, before he left town for a conference on global warming or something. He’s one of those environmentalists.”
“One of those?”
“Saving-the-world-by-doing-everything-green-and-organic types. His wife is too.”
The train hovers to a stop in front of us and the doors open to reveal a clean and almost empty car. Barclay’s hand on the middle of my back guides me onto the train and toward a corner in the rear of the car as everyone else crowds on. Floods of people move from the platform into the train and Barclay holds my arm to keep me next to him.
I can’t help wondering why whoever designed this city chose an aboveground system instead of a subway like my New York has.
And suddenly something occurs to me. Something I should have thought of before. “Why is Elijah on New Prima?”
Barclay shushes me. “Not now.”
“You suck at working with someone,” I say, because it’s true.
Barclay leans into me. “There are cameras all over the city.” His lips brush against my ear as he talks, and I hold my breath, partly because of what he’s saying and partly because he’s a little too far into my personal space. “They’ll pick up noise and chatter, and a program will pull out any designated words. We don’t want them to know we’re here.”
I nod and he pulls back.
If there are cameras and what he’s saying is true, he’s absolutely right, but there’s a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can’t imagine why Elijah would ever come to Prima of his own volition. In fact, I know he wouldn’t.
Which means that if he’s here, someone made him come here.
I can think of only a few reasons they would do that.
And none of them mean anything good.
“He’s been detained by IA for questioning,” Barclay whispers once the train starts moving. “The detention center is here in New Prima. They’re not going to release him anytime soon, which means we need to get to him.”
“IA has Elijah?” I ask, that sinking feeling in my stomach getting worse. I think I know, but I have to ask anyway. “Why?”
Barclay grits his teeth and doesn’t answer.
And it hits me that I’m right.
“Because he’s someone Ben cares about . . .” For the first time, it actually sets in what that might mean for me.
04:23:55:49
“Not exactly,” Barclay says.
“Not exactly what?” I hiss in his ear. I’m surrounded by people I don’t know, suffocating on a train that smells like a mixture of cleaning products, perfume, and detergents. If Barclay’s going to do the whole vague thing, he can get someone else’s help.
He grabs my shoulder and whispers, “Elijah’s been detained for the past few month or so, and I’ll be happy to explain more later, but we can’t just hang out in the middle of the city and wait to get caught, Tenner. Use your head.”
He doesn’t elaborate on why. And I get it. He can explain all this at his apartment. Except I don’t want to go to his apartment. I don’t want to go anywhere. Every alarm in my body is blaring right now, and all I want to do is go home.
He must sense my panic, because Barclay grabs my arm. “Come with me,” he says, pulling me along to emphasize his point. When we get to the back of the train car, Barclay opens the door and pushes me through, shutting it behind him.
The air around us is deafening. I’m not sure I realized wind could be this loud. We have to be moving at almost ninety miles an hour. Barclay will have to scream for either of us to hear anything.
“When we got back, Eric and I wrote up a report about what happened!” he yells. “A few months ago, Ben and Elijah were both detained. I’m not exactly sure why they were really brought in, but they were held in connection to illegal interverse travel and trafficking, and at some point, Ben either escaped or was let go, and now the order is out that he needs to be brought back in, dead or alive.”
I look at Barclay’s face. His jaw is tight, and he looks a little worried.
“In the write-up you did.” I can barely hear my own voice. “Did you mention my relationship to Ben?”
He doesn’t look at me and that’s enough of an answer in itself. The hood up, the avoiding the cameras and not speaking, it takes on a whole new meaning now. “So they might actually be thinking of grabbing and executing me?”
“It is a possibility,” he says, but I can tell from the look on his face that’s not what he means. It would be more accurate if he just said, “Yes.”
And he brought me here.
04:23:41:45
The train slams to a stop and I lose my balance, crashing into Barclay, my face colliding with his chest. His arm goes around me, holding me up to keep me from falling again. He smells a little like the ocean—like portals.
I push myself back from him. “What part of your brilliant plan includes getting me executed for something Ben didn’t even do?” It comes out louder than it should, but yelling at Barclay isn’t exactly something I’m about to start scolding myself for.
“Would you relax!” he hisses at me.
“How can I relax?” I suck down air and try to get a hold of myself. We only have four days.
Four days to rescue Cecily, find Ben, save his family, and stop the traffickers. And IA is looking for me. Which means that in four days, I could be dead.
Barclay still hasn’t answered me. When I look at him, he jerks his head to the left and I can see a camera tracking people who are moving from the platform onto the train. We’re far enough away and there should be enough background noise to cover us, but I understand. As pissed off as I am, this conversation can wait a few more minutes.
I wait quietly, though not patiently, as we travel two more stops. When Barclay nods toward the platform, I follow him off the train and from the platform to a long window-covered hallway. We’re still high up, walking on some kind of elevated pedestrian bridge between buildings, and when I glance out the window, all I can see is sky, crystal buildings, and a city that looks like it’s been built on the clouds.
If I weren’t suddenly worried about ending up dead, I would think that New Prima was just a little bit beautiful.
But I am worried. And I’m terrified.
About Ben and his family. About Cecily, wherever she is. And now I’m worried about myself, too, because I promised Struz and myself that I’d come back. I mean to honor that.
The walkway takes us directly to what must be Barclay’s apartment building, because he unlocks a door that leads us to another elevator.
We get off on the thirty-fifth floor and head down a hallway of apartment doors. I remember the last time I was here and suppress a shiver. One moment we were in Ben’s basement, facing off against each other, the next an earthquake hit and the house was starting to collapse. And after that, Barclay opened a portal and pulled us through into his living room.
I think of how it felt like my insides were melting as I traveled through the portal for the first time, and I’m glad that at least this time I’m not going to need a sedative.
Hopefully I’ll make it home alive, too.
Barclay unlocks his door and lets me in the apartment.
Once we’re inside, he pulls off his hat and sets the alarm over his apartment door. I drop my backpack on the floor, peel off my jacket, and throw it on his couch. Then I fold my arms across my chest and wait. Because we’re not doing anything else until I get some answers.
“I’m not exactly leading you into this blind,” he says, turning to me. “You think I want to see you executed?”
“Please, I know I’m just collateral damage to you.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Tenner. We’re both using each other. I came to you and asked for your help. But you want help from me, too. That puts us on even ground. It means you aren’t collateral damage, because I need you, so stop making me out to be the bad guy. We’re on the same team.”
“Fine.” He’s right. We’re on the same team, not because we like each other or because we want to be stuck together, but because everyone else is on the other team. Fighting with each other is stupid, and it’s going to get one of us killed—probably me. “So what’s the plan?”
“Here’s the deal. I can’t talk to Elijah because I’m not on the case,” he says. “The clearance level to talk to a prisoner charged with unauthorized interverse travel, conspiracy to commit treason, and human trafficking is way above my pay grade.”
“So how are we going to talk to him?” I say. But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, there’s a sickening feeling in my chest. Because I think I know what he’s going to say.
“You’re going to have to talk to him,” he says, putting a hand through his hair. Something about the gesture tells me he’s not happy about what he’s about to say. “You were right. IA is looking for you. You’re important to Ben, and they know that.”
That hits me harder than it should. The air seems to get siphoned out of the room, and I take a step backward as if I’ve been pushed.
IA is already looking for me.
So there’s no turning back. Even if I wanted to go home now, I can’t. I have to see this through. I have to solve this thing. Or someone from IA is going to portal into my earth and snatch me out of my bed and bring me back here to be executed.
They’re just as bad as the traffickers. I wonder if that irony is lost on Barclay.
“The plan is that I’m going to bring you into IA to be detained,” Barclay adds. He speaks slowly, his words come out even and soft, as if he’s expecting the worst from my reaction. “You’ll get put in the same cellblock as Elijah, the same cell if we’re lucky.”
“And then what?” I’m not about to let him leave me to rot in some prison cell.
“Then, with my help, you and Elijah break out.”
04:23:05:17
I stare at Barclay. I don’t move, not even a twitch or a change of my facial expression. It’s like I just freeze while my mind replays our conversation. We have four days to find Ben and solve this case before the IA executes people he cares about—including me. The only way to find Ben is through Elijah, who’s in a secure IA prison. Which means I have to give myself over to them and then somehow get him out.
But I can’t.
I’m one of the most confident people I know. Alex always used to tell me it was the thing he loved most—and the thing he loved least—about me. Because I’m confident to a fault.
And of course, that’s what got Alex killed. My overconfidence.
But I’m also one of the most realistic people I know. And what I’ve got right now is clear-cut logic. Four days to go into a prison, break out, search the multiverse for Ben, and take down the largest human-trafficking ring Barclay’s ever come across.
There’s just no way. There’s not enough time. I don’t have enough of the right skills. I’m not sure what the hell is wrong with Agent Taylor Barclay, but I can’t believe he’s managed to trick me into coming here with him and thinking there was something I could do.
We’re going to fail and I’m going to end up dead.
Barclay sees something on my face. “Don’t overthink this just yet. Hear me out.”
I don’t have a choice.
After all, if I don’t do this, it’s likely IA will find me and bring me in. Cecily will be sold into slavery, Ben will be found guilty of human trafficking, and I’ll be guilty by association.
If I don’t do this, I’m likely to be dead in four days.
04:23:02:33
“I have a plan,” Barclay says. “I’ve got everything under control. I’ll be able to talk you through breaking out. It’ll be almost easy.”
“Almost?” If tone of voice could kill, I would have just cut Barclay into ribbons. And I’m glad, because he deserves it.
“Tenner . . .”
“No, Barclay, this is nuts,” I say. “What were you thinking? I don’t have any kind of tactical training or anything that would be remotely helpful for someone who needed to break out of a prison!”
“I know you think I’m crazy, but—”
The anger in my chest blossoms. “You’re out of your mind.”
“I’m serious about this. I know exactly how you can escape once you’re inside,” he says. “Look. I’ve spent the last six weeks trying to figure out this case and all its details. Every waking minute, I’ve been devoted to this. Even when I’m asleep, I’m dreaming about it. I’ve come up with a good plan. I can get you out.
“But more than that,” he adds, “this is the only way. There’s not a single other option that’s less dangerous and has a chance in hell of working.”
This isn’t just about this case, and it isn’t just about Ben, or even Cecily. If we don’t solve this, the IA will be after me the rest of my life. I’ll never be safe.
As a drop of sweat rolls down the back of my neck, I realize my skin feels flushed, and it’s suddenly too hot in this room.
“Are you okay?” Barclay says.
I shake my head. As much as I want to find Ben—want to see him again and feel his arms around me—we don’t have much time, and a prison break seems counterproductive when we need to be going after the traffickers. The words try to stick in my throat but I force them out. “Maybe we don’t need to find Ben.”
“I thought about that,” Barclay says. “But Ben is missing for a reason. Whoever is in charge of the trafficking ring, they clearly want him dead. He must know something.”
I open my mouth to talk, but I have no words. How could Ben know something about a human-trafficking ring? He should have been at home with his parents and his brother. That’s why he left. Not so he could get mixed up with traffickers and put his life at risk. I take another breath. My lungs feel like they’re on fire—like I just swam too far and too deep, like I’m drowning somehow.
Barclay reaches for me but I flinch away. “Sit down,” he says. “I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
I move toward the window. My hands shake as I lift them to the glass. The way the sun is coming through the clouds, the sky looks purplish blue. Hundreds of skyscrapers made of crystal, like ice castles, loom in front of me, and the streets below are hidden from the smog. It’s like something out of a movie or a dream, only there are people down there in the streets I can’t see—people who want me dead.
I’ve been in over my head before, but this is worse. Because this time I’m alone. This time I don’t have my dad or Struz, or even Alex or Ben, to lean on—to ask for help. I don’t even have Jared beside me. Right now, I’m in a strange world and the only person I can depend on is me.
Eating canned SpaghettiOs, drinking bottled water, playing board games by candlelight, reading the same books over and over again, watching old movies, even handing out rations—I miss it all so much. The longing for my own world, even broken as it is, pierces my chest so deeply and so suddenly that I lean on the window for support.
The glass is cool against my forehead, and it gives me perspective. This is what I have to do in order to get back home. To bring Cecily home.
I can picture her, just the other night when we were watching It’s a Wonderful Life with all those people seated on what used to be the Chargers’ football field. Blankets were laid out and people were huddled together. There was an excited anticipation in the hushed tones everyone used to talk to one another. Not because of the movie but more because they were excited to do something. Anything was better than sitting around and thinking of what they’d lost.
I barely watched the movie because I was more interested in watching Jared, who was clearly captivated by the magic of black-and-white films, his eyes watery.
When the movie was about to end and Struz came in and winked at me, it was almost a perfect moment. I was surrounded by friends, by people I care about, and for a minute, I forgot about everything that was wrong—with the world and with me.
Cecily did that. She gave people something to look forward to—something to remind them they were alive.
That’s why I have to do this. To make sure the people I love are safe. It’s terrible and frightening and too much.
But I have no choice.
I push back from the window and look over at Barclay.
“It’s a good plan, Tenner, I swear.”
I look back toward the window. But instead of the unfamiliar city in front of me, I see my fingerprints on the glass, and they remind me I’ve overcome insurmountable odds before. I solved my father’s murder, I stopped Wave Function Collapse, and I lived to see my world survive through the quakes.
I walk back to the kitchen table and sit down. “Okay,” I say, my voice sounding less steady than I want it to.
Barclay nods like he’s thankful I’m finally going to play along. “All you have to do is listen to me and convince Elijah to come along.”
“Why can’t Elijah just portal out?” I ask.
Barclay sighs, like my stupidity is annoying him. “The building is portal resistant. It’s a defensive measure in the event that a world with the ability to portal chooses not to be a part of the alliance. No one can portal in and out of certain buildings here. This is one of them.”
My turn to sigh. The building is portal resistant. Of course it is.
“You need to get out and get at least ten feet from it before he might be able to portal you out.”
“Might?”
Barclay stands up and moves into the kitchen. “I don’t know how injured he is.”
I follow him and try to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“That’s why we have to have a plan B in place.” He grabs some rolled-up papers from behind the fridge.
Standing across from Barclay, in front of the kitchen table, I take a deep breath and pull my hair back into a ponytail. “Okay. Before we tackle plan B, how do I get Elijah out of his cell?”
“Good, okay,” he says as he rolls out the paper in his hands. It stretches across the entire table.
Blueprints of the prison.
04:22:41:19
Barclay does have a plan. And he wasn’t lying—it’s detailed. He’s clearly thought of this from every possible angle. It’s not exactly comforting, but it certainly seems like this is a prison break that could work.
The blueprints are faded, poster-size papers that take up Barclay’s entire kitchen table. There’s one page for each level of the prison, and while there are twenty-four levels, Barclay is pretty sure we won’t need to be familiar with anything other than levels one and two.
According to him, I won’t be housed in any of the cellblocks on the first floor with the regular prisoners. Instead I’ll be put in a cell one floor up in the solitary block. Those are the cells that are supposed to be reserved for the worst kinds of criminals, but also house the people IA doesn’t have any reason to hold—the people they want everyone else to forget about. It’s where Elijah is.
The plan is that I need to get out of my cell, get Elijah out of his, and get us both to the infirmary one level down and in the opposite wing of the prison. There, we’ll be able to escape through a grate in the floor that leads to the sewers.
I try not to think about how hard this will be, about how many things have to go right in order for us to escape without getting caught. I try not to think about what the consequences will be if we don’t make it. And I try not to think about the fact that I’m in this alone. Elijah won’t know the plan and he might be injured, and he’s never been my biggest fan anyway.
No matter what Barclay says about us being on the same team, if I don’t get out, he’s got to cut his losses and leave me there. The whole never leave a man behind thing doesn’t apply here. To have any hope of solving this case, he would have to preserve his cover—or whatever you’d call it. Which means if I can’t do this, I’ll be stuck in prison, counting down the minutes until I’m executed.
But I can’t focus on that, because I have no choice. This is the only way, and we have to make it out.
“What’s your problem now?” Barclay asks.
I’m about to respond with something caustic when there are two soft beeps. They could be anything—the microwave, some kind of electronics, even Barclay’s cell phone. But instantly I know they’re not.
They’re something worse.
Because Barclay freezes for a split second, his lips slightly parted with surprise, and then his eyes, wide with fear, flick to me.
“What is it?” I whisper. I’m aware of my pulse in my ears, the dryness in my mouth, and the fact that I don’t know what to do with my hands. Because fear is contagious, and I can’t think of a single instance I’ve ever seen Barclay afraid.
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he bolts up and with one hand grabs the blueprints, with the other grabs me, and before I have a chance to understand what’s happening, he’s pulling me into his bedroom.
“It’s an alarm. Someone is coming,” he says, shoving me into the walk-in closet.
“Who?” I ask, my voice breathless.
Barclay’s eyes meet mine. “IA.”