Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“Mia.” Kat’s voice cuts through the spiral. “Talk to me.”
I stop walking. We’re on a deserted stretch of sidewalk, warehouses looming on either side, the distant rumble of the subway the only sound.
“They’re building a fucking army,” I say, unable to keep the hysteria out of my voice. “Using trafficked people as test subjects. And Paragon—the hero who’s supposed to be Nate’s partner—is the first successful product. I mean, it was so obvious, wasn’t it? Of course, he’s a robot; why didn’t I see that? One programmed by Van Veen to do whatever the fuck she tells it to do.”
“Well, not technically a robot if he has human consciousness,” she says.
“He’s all machine inside,” I point out. “That makes him a machine. That makes him a robot. The consciousness part is for what? To make him a better weapon somehow? But it doesn’t make him a human.” I shake my head. “It’s fucking worse than we thought. Global Dynamix isn’t just a corporation. It’s a weapons manufacturer wearing a cape.”
She gives me a steady look. “And Vanguard is the face of it all. Complicit.”
I shake my head again. “No. He doesn’t know. I’m sure of it. The way he talks about Julia, about the company—he’s frustrated with them, yes, but he believes in the mission. He thinks he’s actually helping people, and he is helping them, average, everyday people. He believes in the greater good, a better tomorrow, all that golden boy, gee shucks bullshit because that’s who he really is deep inside.” I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. “He has no idea what’s happening in those labs. What his partner really is. Fuck, if Paragon is all machine, he might be the only person in the world who can successfully kill Vanguard.”
“Other than you,” she says quietly.
“Yes. Other than me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“About what?” I ask testily.
“That Vanguard has no idea about any of this.”
I drop my hands and stare at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, how well do you really know him? A few weeks of interviews. Some pillow talk. A trip to his childhood home.” Her voice isn’t cruel, but I hate it anyway. “People hide things, Mia, especially people with power. Especially people with handlers.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But something in me rebels against the idea that Nate could be complicit in this. The man who told me about his mother, about Emma, about wanting to help save the world? That man isn’t capable of knowingly profiting from human trafficking and murder.
Is he?
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “If I tell him what we’ve found, I blow my cover. The mission ends, and we might never get close enough to bring Global Dynamix down.”
“And if you don’t tell him?”
“Then I keep lying to him. Keep sleeping with him. Keep pretending I’m just a journalist while his world burns down around him.”
“That’s the job, Mia,” she says lightly, as if she has any idea how fucking hard this all is. “I thought you would be used to this by now. Vanguard can’t be anything to you in the end. You’ll get over it.”
“What if I don’t want to get over it?” I explode, throwing my hands out. “God, Kat, can’t you just be a fucking friend for a second? Just for a second? Just try to understand what’s happening to me isn’t normal, that I never had the same luxury as you, to so easily discard people?” I look away, trying to calm my heart. Everything feels so impossible. “Don’t you ever get tired of it? The lying. The pretending. Being someone else so constantly, you forget who you actually are?”
Kat is quiet for a long moment. The wind picks up, carrying the smell of the river and distant rain.
“There was someone,” she says finally, to my surprise. “Years ago. Before you. Assignment in Prague. He was a musician—played cello in the symphony there. I was supposed to be getting close to his roommate, who had connections to a Russian oligarch.” She pauses, and I turn to look at her. “But I fell for him instead. Michal. He had these hands, these artist’s hands, you know? And he used to play for me in his flat after everyone else had gone to sleep.” A ghost of a smile appears as she speaks.
I’ve never heard her talk about anyone like this. Never heard her talk about anyone at all.
“What happened?”
“The mission ended. I got what we needed from the roommate, and London pulled me out.” Her voice is steady, but something in her eyes isn’t. “I left in the middle of the night. No note. No explanation. Just…poof. Gone. Like I’d never existed. I was a ghost—always was, always will be.”
“Did you ever see him again?”
“No. I looked him up once, a few years later. He’s married now. Has children. Plays in Berlin.” She shrugs, but the gesture doesn’t seem genuine. “He’s happy. That’s something.”