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“I have one, too,” Dante says, revealing his wrist to me.
I swallow hard. Why has he waited so long to show me this?
“What does yours say?”
“Nothing spectacular. I had reasons for seeking refuge here,” he says. “It was my ticket in, and it helped me get in with Kincaid.”
“He’s more than a Sunrunner,” I surmise.
“Much more,” Dante says. “I can show you new ways of looking at the world, Adelice, but first, I need to see what that techprint says.”
Ready for answers, I thrust my wrist out to him. He takes it gently, and his hand is warm on my skin, sending the oddest sensation of comfort traveling up my arm. The digifile takes a long while to scan.
“Sorry, we only get the castoffs that refugees bring from Arras,” he apologizes, and then the information displays. I can’t read what it says, but the words reflect in his wide eyes.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” I ask.
Dante waits a long moment before he responds, and when he does, his hand grips my wrist tightly.
“It says I’m your father.”
TEN
THE MOMENT LOCKS IN PLACE, MY MIND frozen like a blank screen as shivers ripple from my fingertips to my throat. Suddenly I’m falling, but I never jumped. It’s the sensation of the world slipping away.
This is what my mother was trying to tell me, why she pushed me to seek answers from Dante. How is this possible? Dante is barely a year or two older than me.
A voice calls me back, and I find I’m still on the edge of the fountain.
“Come on, you’re getting wet,” Dante says.
And in that moment, he sounds downright fatherly.
“You’re lying,” I say, pulling my arm from him.
“It’s right here,” he says, holding out the digifile. “Your parents encoded it in your techprint.”
“My father is dead,” I spit at him. “Benn Lewys died on the night of my retrieval. Whoever you are, whatever happened between you and my mom, nothing changes that.”
I don’t stop running until I’m back inside. He doesn’t stop calling after me.
* * *
Jost’s bedroom is across from mine. I stare at his door, knowing it’s late, knowing I don’t want to talk, knowing he’s asleep.
But also knowing that the door will open if I twist the knob.
I do it. His room is too dark to see much. A single beam of light from the security system outside evades the blackout curtains, cutting across the floor and falling on Jost’s still form. I tiptoe to his bedside and watch him sleep. A pillow is twisted in his arms and his hair covers his face. He breathes slowly and rhythmically, and I count each inhale and exhale, willing the steadiness of it to calm me.
When it doesn’t, I climb into bed next to him. He rolls over and wraps an arm around my waist, but his eyes don’t open.
“You’re still dressed.”
I press into him. I don’t want to explain why I’m awake. I don’t want to share what I’ve seen or learned today. Not yet. Not while I still don’t understand any of it.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
“I haven’t even tried yet,” I admit.
