it echoed through Nina’s bones. So did the words, their rhythm and cadence carved into her heart. “Assumptions are for people who don’t have facts.” Ava’s lips curved in a reluctant smile. “You used to hate it when I told you that.”
Nina didn’t have facts, but she had feelings. Things she knew on such a visceral level that they might as well be enshrined truth. “You wouldn’t work for anyone, not willingly. Not once you were free.”
“You’re right. You usually are—and I used to hate that about you.” Ava inclined her head. “I work for myself. I plan my own missions. Maybe next time we meet, I’ll tell you about a few of them.”
“Wait.” Nina took a single, careful step toward Ava. “You don’t have to go. Really. If you need privacy, there’s room in the basement. We’ll make you your own little space. Just … please stay a while.”
Fear spiked through Ava’s eyes, a flash of raw, naked vulnerability. But by the next heartbeat, she’d locked her expression down again. She stood stiffly, a chilly stranger clad in heeled boots and a designer coat that was too warm for the summer evening.
“I can’t,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Where will you go?”
“I have business up in Virginia.” Her sudden smile was vicious. “I’ve got to see a very bad man about his continued insistence on breathing.”
“Will you come back?”
“I’ll try.” Ava turned to leave, but stopped after a few steps and looked back. “I’m glad you have this cozy, domestic life, Nina. Zoey would be so proud of you.”
Some things were familiar, but not this. The words and sentiment were so jarring that Nina closed her eyes. By the time she managed to breathe through the pain and open them again, Ava was gone, and the window near the top of the wall shut tight.
Nina leaned against the prep table. Part of her wished that Ava had promised to stay, but that would have been a lie. Oh, she would have tried, but she would have wound up leaving the same way—silently, through a window, with her farewells disguised as emotional confessions.
This way was better. Honest. And they needed that if they ever had a hope in hell of rebuilding their relationship.
Of being sisters.
* * *
TECHCORPS PROPRIETARY DATA, L2 SECURITY CLEARANCE
Recruit 66–615’s habit of altering his mission objectives has become more pronounced. While he continues to navigate conflicts to successful, nonviolent resolutions, some members of the Board have expressed concern about his ultimate loyalties.
The VP of Security has requested a comprehensive psych evaluation on Knox’s entire squad the next time they come back to Atlanta. Given the lingering tensions over Skovgaard’s activities, I advise we comply.
Recruit Analysis, February 2084
* * *
TWENTY-EIGHT
The bar wasn’t as nice as Clem’s, but at least no one had shot them.
Yet.
Knox traced his fingers over the obscenities someone had carved into the table and pretended the entire bar wasn’t studiously avoiding their gazes.
It wasn’t working. Even Conall’s enthusiasm had dimmed slightly in the fifteen minutes they’d been nursing their beers.
No one was willing to be caught looking at them, but the glares directed at their backs were sharp enough to slice bone-deep. This bar was situated on the very edge of Nina’s neighborhood, not to mention filled with the sorts of toughs and criminals he couldn’t imagine her associating with, so the distrust probably wasn’t personal.
This time.
Knox sighed. “How much longer do we wait for this guy?”
“I don’t know.” Rafe fiddled with one of Conall’s clever little folding tablets, snapping the thin screens open and shut in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “McClain’s never really been punctual, but he always shows up.”
Knox imagined that being perpetually high on the most exclusive proprietary drugs in the TechCorps’ dispensaries tended to warp one’s sense of time. But the inside connections that got him access to those drugs made him an invaluable resource when it came to countering implant-related side effects. “I suppose we can give him another ten minutes.”
“Can we? We’ve already been out in the open too long.” Despite the doom and gloom of his words, Gray casually sipped his beer. “Plenty of time for someone to make us.”
True enough. Fifteen minutes was probably ten minutes too long—a grim fucking assessment of their futures. Conall had spent days laying false trails and scrambling any evidence of their passage. He’d mapped every TechCorps camera within a dozen miles and set alarms for incoming drones. He’d bent every scrap of intelligence in his brain, the best tech brain the Protectorate