They both nod, and I suddenly feel ganged up on.
“Anyway,” I say, rolling my eyes as I start pacing again. “The Institute tracks every flatline they can get their hands on. Hospitals, EMT logs, military reports. They flag survivors, then they run models to figure out who’s most likely to Ascend.”
“How do they do that?” Lane asks.
“They figured out a common denominator, what it is that increases the probability of Ascension. But they’re notonlywaiting for people to cross Pulse Zero. They’re using what they found to continue causing it like they did with Reese. They take people like they did with him, people who won’t be missed. The thing is, only a small percentage of people Ascend after a single P0E. But if you repeat it? Two, three, more times? The probability spikes.”
Harrison swears under his breath. “They don’t stop after the first death.”
“No,” I reply with a shake of my head. “They kill the same person over and over. Flatline, revive, stabilize, kill again. Until they Ascend or their brain degrades past usefulness.”
My gaze drifts, uninvited, toward the camera. Toward Reese.
How many times did he die?
He said he was dead for a little over a minute. But did he mean just once or was there more he purposefully left out? The thought hits like something blunt to the chest, and my jaw tightens. I don’t know if I want the answer.
“So then this common denominator…” Lane trails off, but then his eyes fill with a sad understanding. I think he pieces it all together seconds before Harrison.
“Fuck,” Harrison curses on an exhale. “Psychological conditioning through trauma.”
“Ding ding ding. Trauma, stress, grief, suffering. All of it increases probability.” I’m pacing faster now, words starting to trip over each other. “Which is probably—no,definitely—how I was able to Ascend on the first try. In fact, I think—”
I stop mid-step.
Something clicks.
It’s not like before, not with data or files. This is a feeling, somethingpersonal. The room goes quiet, and it feels like it drops out from under me.
“Case?”
It’s Lane’s voice, but I don’t answer. Because suddenly I’m not in the room anymore, not staring at a screen. All I see is a basement. Concrete and blood and shadows. Reese and the gun. All those little moments when things went wrong.
My chest tightens, breath catching as the realization crawls up my spine like something alive.
No.
No.
That’s not…
But it is.
Itispossible.
“Holy fucking shit,” I whisper. “This was his plan all along.”
“What do you mean?” Lane asks.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I try to focus on my breathing so I don’t start fucking hyperventilating. My heart starts to pound, too fast, too loud.
“This whole time…Malcolm wanted me to Ascend.”
Those words land like an explosion, but one that brings silence and dread and speculation. Lane and Harrison look at each other, then at me, waiting for more of an explanation.
“Seven years ago. My kidnapping. It wasn’t just setting up Reese’s Ascension. It was setting up mine too.” My throat is too dry, the words coming out raw and scratchy. “I was kidnapped and held long enough to grow an attachment to my captor. Then I had to watch him die. Years later, Malcolm led me to the resistance, knowing I would betray Reese under false pretenses. That Reese would take revenge. That he would…”
I choke on something rotten. My gaze flicks over to the camera on the bookshelf, then quickly away.
