False Hearts (False Hearts #1)(105)

So I followed his advice. Before I ran away, I felt like I needed to … I don’t know. Leave my mark. I scratched the sign of the Hearth, sad because I knew I’d never figure out exactly how everything was connected. Then I wrote Mia’s name in our alphabet. She was the only person who knew I was undercover. If the Ratel got me before I made it home, then I knew you could ask her, Taema, and at least have a few answers.

I started going home, but then I changed course and went to you. Sal ended up phoning the police after all, though, and they tracked my VeriChip and came and found me.

I wish I’d done it differently. Ripped the VeriChip out of my wrist, made you do the same, and we could have disappeared before they could find us. I don’t know where we would have gone, or what we could have done, but it would have been better than all this mess.

You know everything that happened after that. I think you even know more than me now.

They were supposed to put you into protective custody. That’s what they told me they were gonna do, just after they took me, when I said you were in trouble, too. That Mia might have sold me out to the Ratel so my cover was blown. But instead, they made you become me, and you got put in just as much danger.

Bunch of f*cking bastards.

I’m sorry, T. I made a huge mess out of everything. And, as usual, you found a way to fix it. But that’s not fair. It’s not fair on you at all.

I am so nervous. I almost want to stay here, so I don’t have to face you. I only scratched at the edges of the Ratel. I’m afraid to learn your full story. It’s going to be painful to listen to it. But I will.

The guard just came and told me it’s time to go. I asked him for five more minutes. Five more minutes of scribbling crazily, the muscles in my hands cramping, as I try to figure out how to end this.

I guess I’ll be trite—it’s not like what I’ve written is good. Maybe I’ll get you to help me write it into something properly resembling a story, if you’re still speaking to me after all of this.

So this isn’t an end but a beginning. This morning, I thought I was going to be frozen solid and put in a freezer with other frozen humans. Now, I find out I have my whole life ahead of me again. You are the one that brought down Mana-ma and broke up the Ratel. Maybe Adam’s story can be told, along with all the other men and women whose memories were stolen. I heard Mia was killed, and I’m sure it was another one of Ensi’s poor creations. Changing faces like kaleidoscopes.

Maybe we can see our parents for the first time in a decade. Go back to the Hearth, walk through the forest. Listen to the birds. We could swim in the lake for the first time.

I don’t think we’ll really change anything in the long run. But I’ve always been pessimistic. You’ve been the one with all the hope.

So, this is my new chance. My clean slate. All thanks to you. As soon as I finish this, I’ll tuck my notebook into my pocket, give my lipstick a touch-up, walk out of this shithole and look you right in the eye.





THIRTY-THREE

TAEMA

I’m too afraid to go into the building where Tila’s being held, so I wait outside. It’s quiet, this time of day. People mill to and fro, heading to the MUNI or their offices and homes. They don’t spare me a second glance. They don’t know what I did and what I helped prevent, or at least delay. I hope they never find out.

The SFPD will send someone to the Hearth, to see how they’re faring. They received an emergency phone call from our old cult. Mana-ma was found dead the next morning, tangled in her bed sheets, electrodes attached to her head. I’ve asked if they can send Nazarin, and if I (and maybe Tila) can go with him. We’re not banned from the Hearth anymore, and I want to see my parents. I need to go back. Both of us do.

It’s a cool day, even though it’s late spring. It’s the famous uncertain San Francisco weather. I’m wearing a scarf and a hat, my hands deep in my pockets. Nazarin isn’t here. I came alone.

The door opens, and my breath hitches, but it’s not her. A man in a suit walks down the steps and past me, not even glancing in my direction. I rub the palms of my hands against my thighs.

I turn away from the door for a moment, taking in the view of the gunmetal gray of the water, the graceful arches of the bridges. The islands, half-hidden in the mist. Boats are out on the bay, gliding slowly through the white breaks, occasionally calling out softly to each other. It all seems so peaceful. I turn back.

There she is.

Tila stands on the top step. She’s already caught sight of me, and her body is stiffly uncertain. Security drones circle her head like bees before drifting away to continue their perimeter check. She hesitates, and then begins to walk down the stairs.

It’s so very strange, watching her come to me. She’s no longer my reflection, now that I’ve changed my hair and my features back, but we’re more different from each other now than ever before. I have two scars she doesn’t have, and that’s only the physical ones.

My sister stops a few paces away. We don’t speak. She looks a little thinner. She glances down, takes something from her coat pocket. It’s a notebook.

“Here. I wrote this, when I was inside. It was sort of a goodbye to you, I guess. When I thought I was going to freeze.”

I take it from her, not touching her fingers. I swallow. My mouth is so dry.

“It’s not very good, but it … explains a lot of it,” she says. “I’ll tell you the rest.”