Prefect exhales. “I wish I could tell you. This is the first time any agency has caught them mid-job and I hope—”
His voice cuts out.
“Prefect?” I say. “Prefect?”
No answer. Which means that the terrorists finally severed the phone lines. It’s not entirely surprising—even if landlines are almost obsolete, they won’t want to risk anyone calling for help. We are wholly cut off from the outside world.
I’m alone. There is no backup, no help. Just me.
I can’t do this.
I have to do this.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay. We should—”
A siren slices through the air.
The fire alarm is a piercing wail that sets my pulse afire. I flinch in surprise, the phone dropping from my hand. A light flashes by the door for those who can’t hear the alarm.
Eames grabs Piper. Fear always brings out the most primal desires of people—what we care about, what we need to protect.
I step toward Nonna. It’s an unconscious movement and I only realize what I’ve done when her hand falls on my arm. Her fingers are warm and soft.
Then, as abruptly as it started, the alarm cuts off. None of us speak; none of us even move.
We all hear it when every virtual assistant in the building comes alive. The result is an eerie echo—hundreds of speakers all with the same voice. It thrums through the building and sets my nerves on edge. I’m not easily creeped out, but the voices give the sense that we’re utterly surrounded.
“Hello,” the voice says.
Piper whimpers and presses her face into Eames’s shoulder. His own face is drained of all color.
“By now, you’ll have noticed that you cannot leave your homes.” This must be Hannah Vale. Her voice is smooth and coolly professional. It’s the kind of voice I expect to hear from flight attendants and news anchors. “This building is no longer under control of the City of Portland. It belongs to the Ratiocination. But don’t panic—we aren’t here for you. We are here because something was taken from us and we intend to have it back. We do not wish to hurt anyone, but we will if we have to.
“Please remain calm. If you cooperate, you will not be harmed. If you fight back, if you attempt to hide, if you try to halt our search in any way, you should know that we have control of the building. Complete control. Should you try to subvert us in any way, we will know it. We can hear you; we can see you. And we won’t bother with guns or knives. We’ll drain the oxygen from your apartment. You will asphyxiate for nothing.”
It isn’t the statement that sends a cold chill through me, but the simple matter-of-fact tone. At least I have the grim satisfaction of knowing that I was right about her plans.
“If you’re in the halls, remain where you are,” continues Hannah Vale. “Do not try to hide. We’ll find you. If you don’t resist, we’ll put you someplace safe until this is over. If you do resist, we will take measures. I repeat, we are not here for you.” There is a pause. “Unless we are.”
And with that, the building goes silent.
I can’t move. As long as I remain perfectly still, a sense of dreamlike unreality keeps my fear at bay.
I’m not a hero.
I’m a wraith.
I am a wraith, I tell myself a second time, because it’s both reminder and strength. I have bones of steel, a half-mechanical heart, and the world’s most advanced spybot.
Death greeted me and then recoiled in horror. Probably because I am just that irritating.
I can’t save everyone. That’s too big to contemplate.
But these three people. I can save them.
“We’re going to be okay,” I say quietly. “This apartment hasn’t been upgraded. So they can’t suffocate us, even if they want to. And they can’t eavesdrop without a virtual assistant.”
Nonna nods. “Damn technology,” she mutters. “I knew better than to trust it.”
