“Only if you’ve figured out what the hell to say.” Gray tapped his chin. “If I were you, I’d start with a heartfelt declaration. You’ve apologized enough, so just move right in on how you can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t—”
“Gray.” Knox rolled his eyes at him. “Maybe I’ll just start with how she’s doing and go from there.”
Gray grinned. “Fine, don’t listen to me.”
“I always listen to you,” Knox told him seriously. “You know that, Gray.”
“Of course I do.” He jerked his head toward the stairs that led up to the roof. “Go on. Go be where you need to be.”
Knox stopped on his way to the stairs to grab a bottle from a crate of liquor they’d been using to barter. Eleven more bottles rested in the crate, each one emblazoned with an increasingly coveted label—a skull over a pair of crossed guns. The liquor, supposedly distilled by some distant barbarian king, had started trickling across the Mississippi last year, its rarity making it wildly popular up on the Hill.
Rich people loved anything that no one else could get.
He carried it up the stairs, nerves and hope twisting so tight he couldn’t feel anything but an odd buzzing anticipation.
Knox had no idea what to dream about for his future. He’d honestly never really believed he deserved one, much less might survive to have one.
Maybe with Nina, he could start to dream.
* * *
TECHCORPS PROPRIETARY DATA, L1 SECURITY CLEARANCE
Upgrade C-block detention with the strongest clear polycarbonate we have. We’ll need five cells. Expect an extended stay.
Internal Memo, November 2085
* * *
THIRTY-TWO
Nina didn’t have much use for the TechCorps. Not for their fancy high-rises up on the Hill or for the posh neighborhoods surrounding them, where their executives lived in isolated, luxurious comfort. She didn’t like their methods, their goals, or the way they did business.
But she had to admit that the lights were very pretty.
Most of the space on their roof at home was occupied, whether by their water cistern or trellises and planters, but they’d managed to carve out a little space for a few deck chairs.
The roof of the warehouse the Silver Devils had commandeered was empty, save for a single folding chair. Nina had dragged it to the edge of the roof so she could sit, her arms folded on the ledge, her attention fixed on the lights blazing up on the Hill.
Compared to the rest of the city, especially West End, it was brilliant, a bright spot in the gloom. But all that beauty was paid for with its own sort of darkness. With secrets and blood.
The door to the roof opened. Nina didn’t move. After sixteen seconds that she counted off out of habit, Knox moved into her field of vision, a bottle full of amber liquid in one hand.
“The kids are getting along fine, more or less.” He held up the bottle. “Mind some company?”
“Suit yourself.” She took the bottle, shivering when her fingers brushed his, and sat back. “What are they doing?”
There wasn’t a second chair, so Knox cleared a bit of the rooftop with his boot and sat facing her, his back against the wall. “They’re down there debating what makes someone a serial killer while your sister clears them out at poker.”
Nina closed her eyes as the memories washed over her. Ava had been utterly convinced that poker could be mastered with a solid understanding of the fundamentals and some basic statistical math. Zoey, on the other hand, knew better than to discount the human element.
“Zoey taught us how to play,” she said finally. “How to bluff, how to read tells, and how to keep from giving anything away ourselves. Basically, nobody downstairs stands a chance.”
Knox’s voice lowered to a gentle rumble. “Do you want to talk about her?”
“No.” The word came out too forcefully, and Nina fought a wince. “No, I mean … I was just thinking about the past, but not the good parts. And Zoey was a good part.” She met his gaze with a helpless shrug. “Does that make any sense?”
“It does.”
He didn’t say anything else, just let the silence stand. Nina swallowed the first stirrings of panic and tightened her fingers around the whiskey bottle. She wanted to be like the cool glass beneath her palms—solid, unmoving. Unbroken. But the truth was already shredding her from the inside out, and she had to start somewhere.
Anywhere.
She took a deep breath. “Finding out that Ava’s alive—that the administrators lied to me? It’s made