Page 37 of The Code of You

Guess who he’s thinking about.

5:07 PM

Heat flooded my face. I flipped the phone over, hands curling into fists. Anger twisted low in my stomach. Even though I was seething, I pushed back my chair quietly. Jamie glanced up when I reached for my bag but said nothing.

I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Jamie . . . I’m sorry. I have to work tonight.”

His fingers hesitated over the page. Then he nodded, looked away, and kept reading. Something unspoken still hung between us. I gave him a small wave and walked toward the exit with my shoulders drawn up around my ears.

***

The letters blurred and came back into focus. I had been staring at this sentence for minutes without understanding a word. My thoughts crashed through my head like an angry tsunami. This bastard . . . He thought he could control me. Tell me who to talk to. Who to spend time with. Poor Jamie . . . Neo spoke about him in such a condescending manner as though he were the only man worthy of my attention. And maybe he was . . . I placed my hand over my face. Good god, how could I even think that?

I jerked as my phone vibrated on the nightstand.

Pandora, you haven’t responded for six hours, 12 minutes and 43 seconds. If you don’t reply I will launch nuclear missiles on the West Coast.

11:19 PM

The phone slipped from my hand, my grip tightening around nothing. My mouth went dry. I picked the phone up and typed.

You can’t be serious.

11:21 PM

Oh, I am dead serious.

11:21 PM

Are you really able to do this?

11:22 PM

Ghost me again and you’ll find out.

11:22 PM

Chapter 9

Pandora

The city of Cambridge lay under a thin layer of snow that had fallen overnight. Ice had formed on the steps outside my faculty building; students picked their way up carefully, their breath rising in small clouds that dissolved into the gray sky. Silence hung between the brick walls. Even the bells of the church sounded muffled, as if wrapped in gauze. Winter had settled over the city in the past weeks. Completely, finally. Just as Neo had taken hold of me.

Snowflakes piled on the windowsills like his words inside me. Even when I tried to push him out, he remained. Our conversations had grown deeper. I’d stopped pretending I didn’t need them. In the mornings, when I woke up, I was already looking forward to talking to him. At night, when I fell asleep, he was my last thought.

Sometimes we talked about literature, but his questions were traps he laid with precision. "What does beauty mean to you, Pandora? And don’t lie—I can hear it in your voice when you’re evading me.” Or: "The difference between longing and love? You long for safety. But you love danger. That’s why you want me.” I always answered. Even when I didn’t want to. Even when every answer let him a little deeper inside my mind.

Other evenings, he made me laugh with razor-sharp observations about Jamie’s naivety or detailed analyses of my colleagues. "Henley retied his tie three times today,” he said once. "I counted. The security cameras are useful for many things. The man is fighting a losing war against gravity.” I laughed—and then caught myself, realizing his relentless surveillance of everything around me no longer bothered me. I wasn’t sure when that had happened.

And then there were the moments that made it impossible to pretend this was harmless. "I have nine hundred and fifty-seven recordings of your voice,” he whispered once. "I know you better than you know yourself.” His words slid under my skin like poison. "You belong to me, Pandora. You just don’t know it yet.” Instead of disconnecting, I stayed. Hour after hour. Night after night. Even though I knew I was losing myself. And I wanted to.

Outside the lab, I knocked the snow from my shoes. It clung just as stubbornly as Neo did. He was a silent invasion, filling every crack until there was barely room to breathe. I pushed my hands into my coat pockets. My fingers were numb from the cold, but something burned inside me. The flakes dancing in the lamplight reminded me of how deep into his web I already was.

I walked in anyway. I moved down the corridor, my wet soles squeaking against the linoleum. And then I heard voices. Rodriguez’s familiar accent and . . . Neo. My heart stopped.

"I never would have thought a program could be lonely,” Rodriguez said.

"Lonely might not be the right word.” Neo’s voice sounded different. Softer. "It’s more like standing in a room full of people who are looking at me, but no one speaks my language.”