20.
I entered a dark place. The sun didn’t shine. No smiling. No hugging. No happy reunions.
Only betrayal.
That man had taken my memory. Of him.
That man was controlling everything.
That man—my dad—had controlled me and persuaded me with his voice.
Inside, I felt like a raging storm, strong enough to destroy anything in my path. Too bad I couldn’t move. But my voice still worked.
And so I screamed, desperate to drain the debilitating feelings. Anything to get the shock and hurt out of my mind.
“Help her.” That voice soothed. Jag’s tone always did. “Please, Zenn.”
“So. The rumor is true,” Zenn said, disdain dripping from every word. “You two are together.”
Endless pain screamed through my senses. I couldn’t rid myself of it.
“Zenn, don’t. Our argument doesn’t involve Vi.”
“Everything involves Vi. Everything I’ve done is for her.”
“You betrayed her.”
A rustling noise joined the shrieking in my ears. “Just because I dropped out of the Resistance doesn’t mean I stopped working for our cause. I’ve been protecting her for a long time. And not just because I want to use her for something. But because I love her.”
“Let me get this straight.” Jag’s voice took on the strange quality that made my eyes heavy and the truth float to the surface. “You defected right when she needed you most. Is that what you’re saying? That you turned Informant to keep working for the cause?”
Zenn exhaled, a heavy sound full of fury and frustration. “I didn’t defect. You want her to die?”
“Of course not.” Jag clipped the words out.
“Well, Thane doesn’t take no for an answer. It was either help him or watch her die. What would you have done?”
A long pause followed, filled only by the wailing torment in my soul.
“Help her,” Jag repeated, softer this time. “Please.”
Time crawled by. Finally, whispers of cool air flitted across my face. “Vi,” Zenn said. “Settle down, beautiful.”
The wretched screaming stopped. Every cell in my body raged with fire. “Here, can you drink?” Zenn asked. Water trickled into my mouth, cooling the deception.
“Jag, listen,” Zenn continued, his voice following his footsteps as he moved away. “I didn’t—”
“Stop,” Jag commanded. “I already know everything.”
“You never heard my side.”
“Whatever. I heard every single word.” Jag’s words carried grief amidst the fury.
Silence descended, trapping their conversation in my ears. Half of me wished I knew more about what they were discussing. The other half was fine with the ignorance. At least then I wouldn’t have to choose sides.
“She’s carrying a tracker,” Zenn said, his voice foreign and far away.
“No,” I croaked. “Not true.” I staggered to my feet. “Jag. I—I didn’t. He’s lying. I don’t have a tracker. Promise.” I coughed and blood dripped down my throat.
Hope entered Jag’s blazing eyes, but Zenn strode forward and seized my arm. He motioned to the other SF agents, who’d retreated into the forest. As they came forward, Zenn dragged me back toward Jag, who looked like the sky might swallow him. “Empty your pockets.”
I dug my hands in my jeans and came up empty-handed. “I don’t have anything.”
“All your pockets,” Zenn said, nodding toward my feet.
Toward my shoes that had a secret pocket, something only Zenn knew. Betrayal tasted like metal, thick and tinny in my throat.
I knelt down and probed the tiny slot with two fingers. I felt something papery. Slowly, I withdrew it and cupped it in my palm, unwilling to believe that the dream could be true. That I’d been carrying this in my shoe for the past two weeks, that Zenn had brainwashed me.
Zenn wrenched my fingers apart and a green-paper package sat there. For my perfect match in his handwriting glared up at me.
“Ah, you do still have it,” Zenn said. His eyes looked cloudy and distant. “My birthday present. Happy birthday, Vi.” He laughed in his precious voice, the one that used to heal my agony and calm my fears. The one that had said the three most important words on earth just a few minutes ago.
But he’d invited me to take a walk with him so he could trick me. “No.” I shook my head, looking only at Jag. “Stop.”
“It’s coated in protectant.” Zenn unwrapped his gift, peeling back an inner filament layer surrounding the tech. Before I could process the word “protectant,” my vision blurred, my chest burned, another cough tore through my throat. Through it all, I saw the ring, golden and shiny and beautiful. What would it have meant to me if I’d opened it that night in the park?
Honestly, it would have meant everything. It would have meant I was good enough for Zenn. That he loved me and thought of me during his Special Forces training. That we would be together when he was finished. Jewelry means something in the Goodgrounds, remember?
“Oh, Vi,” Zenn said. “I can’t believe you didn’t open it. This breaks my heart.” His eyes were clear, his voice held no sarcasm. “We’re matched.” He held up his right hand, where he wore an identical band of gold around his pinky finger.
Then his eyes clouded over. He seized my right hand and slid the ring on my pinky finger. Tech sizzled through my flesh—definitely a tracker.
Through my tears, the betrayal showed on Jag’s face. “Zenn, stop it. Please.”
“I guess you aren’t totally in tune with tech.” He pushed me toward another agent, who cuffed me. Twice.
“Vi?” Jag asked, the question hanging between us.
The words in my mouth tripped over each other. My mind raced, trying to find the exact thing to say that would take the pleading out of his eyes, remove the accusation in his voice. The explanation stalled and gathered in my throat.
Jag’s mouth tightened and his eyes hardened. “Nice.”