False Hearts (False Hearts #1)(40)

I understand. “And the easiest way to do that is to get to Ensi. Cut off the head.”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “Exactly. This is the best chance we have.”

A sentence from one of the captured men in my brainloads comes back to me: There are some who don’t agree with Ensi. Some who want him dead. It had seemed obvious to me—of course every organization has those who resent their leaders. The Hearth taught me that. But now I wonder if there’s more. “Unrest?”

“Yeah. That’s my primary goal. I’m seeing who might be thinking of causing trouble and gently encouraging them, but in a way they don’t suspect me as the cause. Division will make it easier to find a chink in their organization. Not easy, let me tell you.”

I rub my temples, the flashing lights of Mirage getting to me. “This keeps getting more and more complicated.”

“That’s how I’ve felt ever since I went undercover. The deeper you go, the crazier everything seems to be.”

“But you’ve still never met Ensi.”

“No. I’m too much of a Knight. There’s an upcoming party they’ve invited me to, though, this weekend. He’s meant to be there. After two years, I might finally meet him.”

“I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to help with all of this.”

“To be honest, a lot of it depends on how far Tila has delved into the inner circle. The fact she rose to working in the Verve lounge so quickly is impressive, but it’s difficult to see the bigger picture. Sometimes she seems to be a relatively little fish, despite being a dreamsifter, but other times I suspect she’s almost reached upper management.”

A shiver runs down my spine, and my flesh breaks out into goosebumps. Tila not only involved with the Ratel, but in deep? Without telling me, without asking for my help. Why has she done this in the first place? What does she hope to gain? Money? Tila’s never struck me as greedy, not in that way. What, though, do I really know about her? She’s been living a whole different life. I bite back a sob.

“Let’s go see what this Mia can tell us, if anything,” he says.

“And if she’s plugged in, we have to go in? Instead of waiting for her to come out?” That’s the part that gives me the biggest pause. I don’t want to go into her dreams and see what her deepest, darkest desires are. I had a secondhand view, watching her relapse, and that was awful enough. Zealscapes can be unpredictable—especially, I hear, in these off-grid lounges. For some, they’re almost like the real world. For others, they’re twisted nightmares. I fear Mia’s will be more like the latter.

“Depends on how long she has left. If she has more than twelve hours, we can’t wait that long.”

“And if we do go into the Zealscape, you think I’ll be able to lucid dream,” I say, looking nervously at the entrance to Mirage. Most of the time, when people plug into other people’s dreams, they’re carried along helplessly by the other person’s fantasy. They can’t really change much. It’s why most people do it alone. Nazarin hopes if I can lucid dream I might be able to affect things, at least a little. The problem is, lucid dreaming might not always change the reality in a way you’d like.

“Yes. This serves two purposes. Question Mia in the Zealscape, if we must, and see how you fare within the dreams. I’m certain you’ll be able to manipulate things, judging by how you’ve integrated the brainload.”

“Maybe.” I’m noncommittal. And frightened. Years of training at the Hearth—it should be easy. I have flashbacks to those shared dreams. I can almost taste the bitterness of the drug as Mana-ma gently placed it on my outstretched tongue.

“Will it hurt?” I ask. I remember so much pain. And mental pain is so much more painful than the physical.

“It hasn’t hurt me.”

“And you haven’t become addicted?” That’s another fear. I only tried Zeal once or twice, but it was years ago. What if I’ve changed since? What if I go into the Zealscape and come out of it to discover my brain is flawed and that I’ll want nothing more than to go back in? It’s a stupid fear, perhaps. I’ve seen scans of my own brain. I know all synapses fire normally. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t still love the violence. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t grow to need it.

“No,” he says. “I’m not addicted. But I think about the Zealscape, sometimes. The power. The freedom. I think anyone who’s tasted it does, even if their mind isn’t hardwired for violence.”

Nazarin’s been undercover for a while. I’m sure he’s had to commit violence, and not just as a false member of the Ratel. As a detective, he’ll have seen things, done things that would be difficult to forget.

“OK,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

My nervousness doesn’t fade as we walk toward the door. I’ve never been in a Zealot lounge, and I’ve no idea what to expect. I wonder what Mia knows. If anything. I can’t help but wonder if Tila wrote Mia’s name on the table to send me off the path and keep me out of harm’s way. It’s the sort of thing she would do.

Nazarin knocks on the door and exchanges words with the guard behind the hatch, a man with a face that’s lost a fair number of fistfights in its time. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the man looks me up and down, assessing me. Does he think I’m an addicted Zealot? The door opens with a metallic groan.