“That’s not true. Peri, you’re in control of your own destiny.”
“Bull,” she said calmly, angry as she turned off her mule so she wouldn’t have to look at it up there with Silas and Jack. “My actions stem from what I remember, and my memories are a made-up mix of lies and falsehoods. And now you tell me the years I’ve lost are artificial?” she said, voice rising. “I trusted my anchor to tell me what decision to make until I remembered everything—and he betrayed me. Don’t tell me I’m in control of my destiny until you’ve lived without knowing what’s real and what’s not.”
Her soul hurt, and she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. On the stage, Silas’s mule became sad, straightening his tie and tugging his coat as if finding his courage to start again.
“I want asylum, Silas. Can you give it to me or not?”
Silas rubbed the back of his neck and turned his simulation off as well. With a snort, Jack wandered away, heading for the half-dressed mules in the front window. Peri hoped he’d leave. “If that’s the chip we want? Probably,” Silas said. “Let me see it.”
She pulled her purse up and onto her lap. “God help me,” she said as she took out her keys and wedged the bell off the key ring. Damn it, she was going to trust him, and she watched herself, unbelieving when she just gave it to him.
The bell looked tiny in his hand, and he squinted at the chip. “Huh,” he said softly. “How lucky is it that he put it on the one thing that made it out of your apartment.”
She nodded. The collar had dagazes all over it, but only she or Jack would know that made it important. “That cat is the only thing that feels real to me. Apart from my car and a bag of yarn,” she said.
Silas tucked the bell away. “If Howard says it’s the list, I’ll call you.”
Her head snapped up. “Call! I want to go now,” she complained, and Kelly, coming to check on them, turned and went back into the back room.
Mistrust flared when he shook his head. “Opti doesn’t know you broke the memory implants, do they?” Silas said. “You should be okay for a day or two. Once we get it uncoded, the alliance will grant you asylum.”
“This sucks,” she said bitterly. Maybe she wasn’t as nice as she thought. She had killed her own anchor, after all—and she’d loved him. “Please don’t betray me. If you do, I’ll have to kill you.” Angry at herself for having trusted him, she stood. “I’ll probably have to kill you anyway, but I’d rather do it because I was told to, not because you lied to me.”
“Peri …” In a rush, Silas stood. Breath held, she waited, making a fist around her note to herself, hiding it. “Peri, about Jack.” He hesitated until she looked up. “If you have an issue with Jack not suppressing the twin lines, any at all, forget Opti and find me. Try not to draft in the meantime. Even in the best case, Jack will be able to repress the twin timelines only so long, and then you will—”
“Yes, I know, MEP,” she finished, the threat so constant it had lost a lot of its bite. “Don’t call me. I’ll call you. Tomorrow. If I run, don’t follow me. Got it?”
She turned and walked out. Hunched into her coat, she hustled back to the elevated, feeling Silas’s eyes on her every step of the way. Her heart pounded as she took the stairs, her world seeming to shift and realign to something new and far more dangerous.
“Jack?” she whispered, and he was suddenly beside her on the stair.
“Yes, Peri?”
She halted on the platform, the wind in her hair fresher as she looked straight up into the camera, not caring if it recognized her. All she had was this instant. To try to remember her past would drive her insane. But for the first time, she found strength in it, not fear.
“Don’t leave me yet,” she said. She’d seen what happened when drafters fell into memory-eclipsed paranoia. Unable to trust anyone, they usually killed themselves to make the confusion stop.
“Never,” he said, and somehow, she thought that even more dangerous.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
Peri halted outside Allen’s apartment door, her hand falling when she saw that the fortune cookie slip she’d left between the door and frame was gone. Great. “I’m going to go nucking futs,” she breathed, glancing up and down the empty hallway.
She could walk away, find Silas, and hope to God that chip was Jack’s list.
She could pretend she’d drafted and lost her memory of the entire morning, which would result in Opti rehab and ultimately another scrub.
She could admit that she’d taken out the tracker and be the pissed, angry drafter. She could let her temper go. She could demand some answers. Make a reckoning.