Now he’s lounging on the concrete stairs to the building’s entrance, leaning back on his arms so casually he could be on vacation. Don’t get me started on his preppy shirt and chinos. A panicked laugh builds in my throat, but I swallow it down and re-scan the perimeter. Are we making a mistake trusting McGregor’s past self? Parker says we aren’t, but a whisper in the back of my mind chantsTrap. Trap. Trap.
He drags a hand through his unkempt hair, a gesture so uniquely Parker it may have been involuntary. Catching me staring, he offers an easy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“What’s taking him so long?” I pull out my vape and inhale.
Two students amble past, both glaring at the white vapor curling from my mouth. I flip them off with a dirt-rimmed nail. If this headache would ease for five fucking minutes, I could—
“Stop pacing, Rose,” Parker says. “You’re making me nervous.”
I scoff. “Youshouldbe nervous. You know there are people looking for us, and if they find us?” I lower my voice. “Have you forgotten your oath?”The one we lived our life by before we got into this mess.
He pushes off the step and strolls toward me. “Stop being dramatic.” His large hands splay over my shoulders, holding me in place, and his light brown eyes bore into mine.
I jerk away from him, hot tension unfurling in my chest. Parker frowns. “I’m still not convinced we can trust him,” I say.
“Have a little faith, Rose. There are good people in the world”—there aren’t—“and I have an offer that he won’t refuse. Trust me, he’ll help us.”
But what if he doesn’t? What if he turns us in?
My breathing picks up, my head pounding with each forced inhale. Parker’s tall form blurs and suddenly I’ve slipped into my past and I’m standing within Neurovida’s walls, reaching toward the recruit who’s just fallen flat on her ass.
Her delicate hand wraps around mine and I haul her to her feet.
“I’m Flame,” she says.
“Rose.” Parker yanks me from my memory, his eyes searching mine. “Are you okay?”
I turn away from him and rub my throbbing temples. “I’m fine. Just tired.” I bite the inside of my cheek. Maybe he’s right about us traveling again so soon. And if we leave now, I’ll be stuck with his unbearable presence for even longer. My skin prickles. I’ve waited six months for this meeting with McGregor. He’ll fix Parker, and we’ll go our separate ways.I’ll be free.I check the time on my new analogue watch and glare at the wooden lecture hall door.
“Who knows? McGregor might be expecting us,” Parker says.
Trap. Trap. Trap.
My stomach turns. If he’s right, it’s possible Matthews—the person we’re running from—might expect us, too.
Parker eyes me. “Remember, we need to gain his trust so he’ll help us.”
“He might not help us, whether he trusts us or not,” I mutter, scanning the maple-lined path.
“This is what I love about you, Rose,” Parker says, stretching his tanned arms above his head. “You’re the face of positivity in a crisis.”
Before I can reply, the lecture hall door opens, and McGregor steps outside. I take him in, his features no longer dulled by the dim lecture theatre lighting. Although leaner than his future self, he still wears his gray hair combed over to conceal his receding hairline.
He halts before us, his blue gaze darting between Parker and me from behind his round glasses. “Can I help you?” he asks, his aristocratic English accent clipped.
Parker pushes off the wall and strolls toward us. “Actually, we’re hoping you can,” he says with his most charming grin. “I’m Parker, and this is—”
“Rose,” I say in a low voice. I step forward, trapping McGregor between us and the door. “Can we speak somewhere private? In your office or…” I trail off at McGregor’s deep frown.
I know what he sees. He’s staring at my tight set jaw and the holes in my sleeve like he can see right through them. Growing up on the streets not only alters who you are, it changes your appearance in a way no amount of food, money or clothing can fix. The brutality, the crime and the disadvantage settle underneath your skin, dimming the light in your eyes, and leaving a permanent harshness to your face. It’s a hardship people like Parker and McGregor will never understand.
McGregor edges backward, peering at us over the top of his glasses. “What is this regarding?”
“We want to offer you an opportunity to further your research on immune cells,” I say, trying to mimic Parker’s easy smile, but the muscles in my face feel tight and wrong.
McGregor waves us off and turns to leave. “Submissions for research proposals closed last month.”
“It’s not a research proposal. Not for us anyway,” Parker calls to McGregor’s back and clears his throat. “You would be the one doing the research.”
