“You could just refer to them by their names,” Layla suggested with a huff of annoyance that could have been in response to myriad things.
“I could,” Chase began, “but you and I know them by different names.”
My eyes widened before I could stop them from revealing my shock. If our parents had truly lied about who they were and what they were to us, it shouldn’t have been any more upsetting to learn they’d hidden their true identities from us as well. And yet, somehow, I hadn’t imagined it. I couldn’t think of them as anything but Monica and Reece Bryson, boring small-town nerd couple.
As the limo took a turn onto a road I’d never been down before, Chase studied us all. “I see you hadn’t expected that. Maybe not as good at seeing the big picture as I’d hoped. Testing of the intellect can’t portray a full spectrum of someone’s complete intelligence.”
“Fuck off,” Layla bit out.
“My point made,” Chase said, though I didn’t see how. “They remain the best of the best in their fields, especially now that I’ve confirmed they continued their research of you all this time. There are no other scientists as uniquely qualified to understand the many facets of your immortality. Now that I have you, I can lure them in again. I have the leverage.”
“Because they’ll want their ‘children’ back,” Layla suggested, but her tone was hopeful. Too fucking hopeful.
“Because they’ll want their prized experiments. Because they know their research could win them several Nobel Prizes if they were able to make it public. People like them, they live for those accolades.” He glanced out the window. “They’ll come for you. Without a doubt, they’ll come, and finally, after all these years, I can continue my research.”
Staring out the glass, he almost sounded like he was talking to himself. “After all this time, every step brings me closer. I can practically taste it now.”
While he salivated over our powers of resurrection, I exchanged looks with my friends in the resulting relative privacy. How many times had we heard our parents discuss the Nobel Prize like it was their combined life goal? Like it was nearly within their grasp, only just out of reach.
If what Chase said was true, then he was right. Ourparentswould come for us—for what we represented to them.
“This school …” Hunt drew out until Chase once again faced us. “… are you suggesting we finish out our senior year there?”
“I’m suggesting that once you see all it has to offer, you’ll want it no other way.”
“We’d live at the school?” Griffin asked, his heartbeat thumping beneath my ear, steadying me.
“Like royalty. You’d want for nothing.”
“Except actual families,” Brady said, surprising me with his nostalgic tone. Of all of us, he was the least likely to long for the family unit, the one most eager to escape Celia Rafferty’s nightly family dinners—whoever the hell she actually was.
“You were never destined to have those,” Chase said without apology, running light fingers along a precisely trimmed sideburn. “You were born into this world as experiments.”
“Damn,” Brady grunted, then whistled. “Cold motherfucker.”
Chase’s eyes whipped to his. “Yes. Just like you, I was destined to be how I am.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Layla asked.
“It means we’re nearly there.”
I peered out the window beside Hunt. So far, all I could make out were thick old-growth trees against patches of azure sky.
Chase uncrossed his leg, placing both feet on the floorboard, preparing for arrival.
“If we do decide to live here,” I said, pretending we had a choice, “I have a dog.”
Gazing out the window, he answered, “A two-year-old pit bull male named Bobo. Yes, I know. All arrangements have been made at the house for him as well.” As he turned his head toward me, I quickly schooled my features to hide my surprise. Was there anything about us this man didn’t know? Fucking hell.
“When you’re ready, I’ll have him brought to the house for you.”
“What house?” Layla asked.
“Though there’s little that money can’t buy, and though I’ve certainly hurried along the construction as much as possible by oiling the gears and arranging work crews around the clock, the school campus isn’t quite finished. It’s getting there, but there’s still more to go. I had your house completed first. Again, I wanted you to be comfortable.”
So much to process. I couldn’t decide what was true anymore, what was even real. A part of me still expected to wake up from a very long dream that began with our arrival at the Fischer House party.
The limo slowed and turned onto a single-lane paved road, and suddenly an entire campus of buildings, connected by a web of single-lane streets, sprawled across my view.
