Elusion(72)

The sincerity in his voice peels back layer after layer of distrust away from my heart. And I recognize that exhausted look on his face all too well. I want to let him back in, more than anything—for both our sakes. Going through this ordeal alone is just too much to bear. But how can I trust him again, knowing that he turned to Avery? Will there ever be a good enough reason to justify that?

“If you just give me a chance, I can make you understand everything. I know it. Please message me back.”

The image freezes on Josh’s profile when the message is over, and I can’t move my gaze from his lips. They look so sweet and delicate, but I know from experience just how strong and seductive they are. Or at least I thought I knew. Now I’m more than aware of how Elusion is a distortion of reality, and anything felt or seen inside that virtual reality is impossible to trust. Regardless, Josh and I shared something together once, and as the resolution fades on his image, I feel like I should reach out to him, even if it’s simply to tell him that I managed to break the code in Nora’s note.

But instead of selecting the Contact InstaComm Caller option, I minimize Josh’s window and decide to watch Patrick’s message. When I click on it, Patrick’s image fills the screen, his skin ashen and his brow trickling with sweat. I can tell from the background that he’s at his apartment, not at work, which is highly strange for him at three in the afternoon.

“Ree, I need to see you. It’s really important. No one can know we’re talking and you shouldn’t contact me on my tab—I think it’s bugged.”

I turn up the volume on the screen; his voice is but a jittery, paranoid whisper.

“Meet me in Elusion. I promise, it’s safe—this Escape is under construction and not open to the public. Tonight at nine. Special invite code twenty-three hundred and one. You have to come—”

He’s about to say something else, but the message is paused when a security alert flashes on the screen in bold red letters—



Visitor Request: Heywood, Josh.



I click on the View Camera One prompt and instantly I have a clear picture of the front of our house. Josh is standing on the porch wearing a black jacket and holding his motorcycle helmet. His back is to the camera, which makes it easier for me to consider clicking on Deny Access—I still haven’t made up my mind about him. But then he turns to face the camera, and even with his O2 shield on I notice the tightness in his cheeks, and how the corners of his mouth are sinking. No matter how hard I try to steel myself, my anger begins to unravel and I just can’t put him off anymore.

So I select the Allow Access option, and the words “Entry Granted” appear on the screen. I keep Patrick’s message paused and reduce the video window so Josh won’t see it when he comes through the door. I twist my hair into a low ponytail and smooth back any errant wisps with my fingers. Then I tuck my T-shirt into my capri sweatpants and turn around to greet him.

When Josh walks in the room, he looks worse than he did a few seconds ago on-screen. The veins in his neck seem to be pressing hard against his skin, and his clothes look worn and wrinkled, like he slept in them. I’m so startled by his appearance I forget that we’re on the outs, and I walk over to him, reaching for his hand. His palm is damp and clammy, but then he traces his thumb over my wrist, and given my hazy, post-sedative state, that’s all it takes for me to come undone.

I can’t let that show, though. Not just yet.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Not really, but I feel a little better now that you let me in,” Josh says with a tired smile.

“You look like hell. No offense,” I joke, smiling back.

“Actually, this is what two days of no sleep and twenty cups of pod coffee looks like.”

“I know what you mean.”

Josh nods at the couch. “Mind if we sit and clear the air?”

“Sure.” I let my hand slip out of his, just a fraction of an inch, but he catches it, squeezing a little so I won’t let go.

Once we’re comfortable on the sofa, positioned opposite each other but close enough that our knees are almost touching, he launches into a speech that sounds like he spent hours preparing.

“Regan, I know you think what I did with the QuTap was pretty shady. And you’re right, giving it to Avery without checking with you first wasn’t cool,” he says, pausing to take a deep breath. “I should have been honest with you from the start.”

“Well, you can start now instead,” I say.

“I was going to use one of my Ashville contacts to get the QuTap. But when I remembered Avery’s father worked for Tech Protect, I knew she could scrounge one up without much trouble.”

“But how did you know that? Avery may talk about everyone else’s business on her vlog, but she never reveals anything personal.”

Josh glances away from me, like he’s concerned how I might react to his response.

“I knew because Avery and I . . . are friends,” he murmurs.

“You’re friends with Avery?” I say, stunned. “The Avery who hates my guts Avery?”

He shrugs, embarrassed. “I met her through my sister. She and Nora are pretty close. Have been for a couple years.”

I cover my face with my hands for a moment as this admission sinks in. “So I’ve been ragging on her all week, and you didn’t think to tell me this sooner?”