The Ones We're Meant to Find(66)

“Go on, Mizuhara.” His tone was impossibly sleek and cool, and when Kasey met his eye, she knew she was exactly where he wanted her: cornered. Choose, he was saying to her. Me or her. Justice or complacency. Yourself, or everyone else. “Tell her the truth. Tell her who killed—”

Crack.

Actinium’s hand rose.

Kasey closed hers.

If she squeezed her fingers tightly enough, she could erase the stinging of her right palm. But she couldn’t erase the mark on his face, already reddening.

It was all she could think to do, to stop him. The public could speculate as much as they wanted about Celia’s death, simplify a girl to her name and picture and color her in with their conjectures. But the truth was Celia’s to tell. And Kasey would protect it—protect Celia—no matter the personal cost. She could alienate the world, if she had to.

She could estrange both sides.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” said Meridian, staring at Kasey. “You’re like … a different person.”

No, Kasey imagined saying. I’m just not who you want me to be. She’d say it to Meridian and Actinium.

She’d walk away from the two of them.

But she wasn’t who she wanted to be, either, and it was Meridian who walked away from her first, then Actinium. They left her alone.

Kasey told herself she preferred it.





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LAST NIGHT, I TRIED TO leave the house. The gouges in the door are proof. They’re the first things my eyes focus on once I blink away the sleep, on my feet and standing before the five long streaks of peeled-away varnish, one for each of the throbbing fingers on my right hand. You know what I have fewer than five of?

Days to find Kay.

If I change my mind.

I won’t. I can’t. Not only would it be the end of me, but of Hero, too, I’m guessing, probably also programmed to terminate to satisfy human ethics. And I can’t end Hero, who’s passed out on the couch just one room over. I was too, before I sleepwalked to the door and tried to tear it down. We’re both exhausted—him from fussing over me yesterday, and me from keeping up my devastated I-couldn’t-find-my-sister act. It wasn’t hard. My heart pumped out a steady flow of guilt. But then the dreams came at night, my unconscious mind trying to get me to do Kay’s bidding like it’s designed, and now a bitter taste fills my mouth. I won’t be manipulated like this.

Even if I remember all of our trips to the sea.

Even if I remember how I hurt Kay after Mom’s death.

Even if I remember the day I almost lost her completely.

I rub at my eyes. The nail marks don’t go away.

U-me rolls over to me. Together, we consider the door.

“I tried to break it.”

“Agree.”

How many things have I done that I’m unaware of? Better yet, how many things has Hero done that he’s unaware of? He doesn’t remember trying to kill me. But what if there’s more?

A suspicion worms under my skin. I glance down at U-me. “Hero untied the rope that day on the ridge.”

“Neutral.”

If she was with me, she probably didn’t see.

But she wasn’t with me on the morning I woke up in the ocean. She was right here, on this island with Hero while I was busy drowning, time unaccounted for, between me passing out and me waking up to find Leona gone.

I bite my lip. “Hero got rid of Leona.”

“Agree.”

“You let him.”

“Agree.”

Betrayed by my own bot. “But why?” I’m not angry. How could I be? My whole mission to build a boat and leave this island was fabricated. It’s good that Hero dumped Leona into the sea, even if he didn’t do it intentionally. It’s just … I remember my panic. The gritty bite of despair, like sand in places I cannot reach. The pain of losing Leona after losing Hubert … all for nothing.

“Why?” I ask again.

U-me whirs.

I turn my direct question into a statement. “You wanted me to stay.”

“Strongly agree.”

My chest tightens. “I’m staying,” I say, first to U-me, earning myself a “strongly agree.” Then I say it to this house. “I’m staying,” I say for a third time, to myself.

I’m not going anywhere.

A tug in my gut.

This is my home.

The tug turns into sharp, stabbing pain.

My family.

I double over, teeth gritted, one hand pressed against my stomach as if to hold in my innards, the other scrabbling at the doorknob.

The next thing I know, I’ve gotten it open. I’m sprinting over the sand. I’m jerking to a stop short of the surf, my muscles twitching against what I want and what my body’s been tricked into wanting. I fall to my hands and knees, gridlocked. The day’s a windy one. Dry sand peppers the bottoms of my bare feet. When the tide rushes in, the foam nearly meets my fingertips.

Find me.

I scramble back and claw my broken fingernails into the sand. This can’t be the rest of my life. It just can’t. I try to remember what Kay explained to me, how my happiness levels determine whether the “Find me” command is released. I think back to all the suffering I’ve endured on this island.