Wildcard (Warcross #2)(48)

OLIVER ANDERSON of AUSTRALIA | CLOUD KNIGHTS

KARLA CASTILLO of COSTA RICA | STORMCHASERS

Others whistle as a group of their friends goes by in spot-on Phoenix Riders gear from one of our championship games.

For them, no time has passed at all. They haven’t just witnessed someone they know get shot, smelled the blood on the ground. They don’t feel like they’d just seen a slice of truth that changes everything about what they’re doing. As far as they’re concerned, the world is still intact. They’re not responsible for putting their friend in fatal danger.

When I arrive, the car door opens for me and I step out, as if everything were fine. The elevator dings like it’s supposed to. The bed in my hotel is still there, freshly made, and a plate of fruit— lychee, starfruit, pears—sits on my writing desk, wrapped in a clean film of plastic wrap. I stand for a moment in the shadows of my curtains, watching the colors and the outfits go by on the street below. Everyone is laughing and waving, blissfully unaware of the dark world around them.

I wash my hands in the sink. A few flecks of blood dot my clothes, and for an instant, I think they’re Tremaine’s until I see the gash in my sleeve. I must’ve cut myself in my rush. I strip off my clothes, step into the shower, and let the water scald me until my skin turns pink. Then I wrap myself in a robe and sit down on the bed, the sounds of festivities still ringing from the street.

I notice the earlier messages I’d tried to send to Tremaine, still unread and unanswered.

What tears couldn’t come earlier now emerge in a rush. I cry deep, choking sobs that echo in my chest, barely able to catch my breath before I let it out again. My hands clench at the bedsheets. Has it only been hours since I stood beside Hideo and told him about his brother? Has it been only a heartbeat since I watched Tremaine crumple to the floor?

I can still picture his silhouette against the rain, his faraway look, and that careless shrug. Right now, Tremaine’s out there in some hospital, lying on a gurney while they probably rush him into the emergency room. He’d gotten too close, and he’d taken the hit that should have been mine. Now I’m alone, lost in this battle between Hideo’s algorithm and the Blackcoats’ secrets. How will Roshan react when he finds out what has happened? Are the other Phoenix Riders going to be in danger, too, if I keep them involved?

Every locked door has a key. But maybe that’s not true at all. What key is there now? I no longer know which way to turn. I don’t know which way is right, or even which way is out.

The image of Tremaine on a gurney is abruptly replaced by old memories of hospital corridors, that familiar, awful smell of disinfectant seared permanently into my memories. For a moment, I’m eleven years old again, walking through the door of my father’s hospital room with an armful of peonies and a dinner tray. I’d put the flowers in a vase and sat cross-legged on the end of his bed as we ate our hospital food together. Dad’s once-thick, bright-blue hair was patchy and gray, falling out daily in chunks. His hospital gown crinkled against his gaunt shoulders in a weird way. He would spear each piece of soggy broccoli individually and pop it into his mouth, cut each piece of meatloaf carefully with his fork. But he avoided the little square of chocolate cake.

Sugar might as well be poison, he’d told me when I asked him why he left it on his plate.

And all I could think about at the time was the space shuttle Challenger, which I’d just learned about in school that morning. The government likes the official story to be that the shuttle’s explosion killed the entire crew instantly—but the truth is that the cabin was intact after the Challenger’s rocket blew. They went sailing three more miles into the sky and then plummeted for two and a half minutes until they hit the Atlantic Ocean at full speed, fully conscious and aware the whole time. And in spite of staring directly into the face of death, they’d still pulled on their oxygen masks, had their seat belts clipped in.

We fight for survival with everything we’ve got, as if the oxygen mask and the seat belt and avoidance of a square of chocolate cake might be the thing that saves us. That’s the difference between the real and the virtual. Reality is where you can lose the ones you love. Reality is the place where you can feel the cracks in your heart.

When the world is murky, guide yourself with your own steady light.

My father’s old words are a low, steady undercurrent in my mind. I can see him smile wearily at me over our dinner trays, his fingers first tapping his temple, then his chest over his heart.

Hold steady, Emi. Keep going.

I sit in the darkness until my tears have dried and my breathing has turned even again. It’s two o’clock in the morning now. The parade outside has finally quieted, and people start heading home. I sit until I can think straight again. Tremaine had chosen this path. If I back out now, his sacrifices would have been for nothing.

I sit until a new message blinks in my view. It’s from an anonymous account, asking me to Link with this person in the Dark World. It’s Jax. Jax, who’s right in the middle of this murky nightmare, with nothing for me to trust about her except the fact that I should be dead by her hand right now.

Are you ready? she asks.

I look up at the hovering invitation through my blur of tears. Why are you doing this?

Who do you think gave Jesse info in the first place?

The anonymous contact who’d shown Jesse the institute badge. That had been Jax.