The Inland New York offices of Quint Services were housed in a skyscraper, and the lobby was a sterile glass-and-steel affair, its hard surfaces echoing with the muted conversations of the staff and the authoritative click of high heels. The ceiling soared above them. It shouldn’t have been so hard to breathe.
Caleb had pretended to be in love with Aidan in front of twenty-two thousand people. More importantly, he’d pretended to be in love with Aidan in front of Aidan.
For the third time.
A young woman in a severe black skirt suit with a chin-length black bob greeted Oz. She was brimming with on-the-clock concern and didn’t spare a glance at Caleb or Aidan, who was wearing the disruptor again.
It had been nice to see his face.
“Sir. We weren’t expecting you back so soon.”
Caleb had to control his astonishment. Oz had Quint’s face, so no one questioned them. They were just going to walk through Quint’s entire life like this.
“You thought I’d want to sleep in a monk’s cell in space?” Oz said. He was enjoying himself too much, overacting the tyrannical executive. Caleb would have to tell him to tone it down once they were in private.
The employee didn’t recoil, but Oz’s tone alarmed her. She tamped down her startled motion and said, “Of course, that makes perfect sense. What can I do for you, sir? And your… associates?”
This was her only acknowledgement of Caleb and Aidan’s presence. If she’d glanced at them, Caleb had missed it.
He had probably missed it. He kept nervously checking his side, like maybe if he was quick enough, he could catch sight of Aidan. He couldn’t. The disruptor worked as designed. It was unsettling to be confronted with someone else’s face.
If they were going to keep doing this, the only time he’d see Aidan’s real face was when they were doing an interview, pretending to be in love.
Caleb scrutinized the woman’s body language for a reaction. Was she the type of person to watch Miss Tallulah’s broadcast? He didn’t think so.
“Get me home,” Oz said. He gave Aidan a disgusted glance. A nice touch, acting as if Aidan was the runner. “And not by runner! I’ve had enough of their kind for today.”
Quint had kept his prejudices hush-hush from the outside world. It was unlikely he’d ever said anything so openly bigoted, and the employee’s reaction confirmed it.
For a moment, Caleb thought the woman was going to ask Oz if he was feeling alright, but she decided against it and nodded instead. Questioning the boss’s mood wasn’t a risk worth taking today. Instead, she showed them to the underground parking lot. Caleb restrained his reaction. He’d expected Quint to have a driver—most cars were self-driving, but rich people did love to be served—and he’d thought that would solve the problem of Oz not knowing which car to take. There were eight cars parked in front of them, mostly sleek, black, modern machines. Did all of them belong to Quint?
Oz was already striding ahead. He’d chosen the most distinctive car, an elegant, vintage model in silver. It was a good bet that Quint would have picked something rare and special for himself, but Caleb panicked. That car might be too old to be self-driving. If it didn’t know Quint’s home addresses, it was no good to them.
The car unlocked at Oz’s approach, its recognition algorithm more easily fooled and less given to doubts than the human employee’s. A good sign. It might be a few decades old, but Quint must have updated its systems. It could probably drive them to wherever he lived.
Once the three of them were inside, Oz said, “Home,” and the car called up a destination.
“That’s across the state line,” Caleb said. Quint apparently had some kind of estate in Connecticut. That was his nearest residence. “We don’t have internal visas. We’ll never make it through the border.”
“What are you talking about? Visas?” Oz asked.
“Maybe they won’t ask for them,” Caleb said, seeking reassurance from Aidan, who shrugged. “New York and Connecticut aren’t hostile to each other. Not like if we were trying to cross from Illinois to Indiana.”
Not that Caleb would really know. He’d never needed a visa to go anywhere. He’d only ever traveled to other states via the Nowhere.
He was lucky to have Aidan as a friend. Most people never left their home state, whether they liked it or not. Or if they did leave home, it was to join the Orbit Guard.
“This place is weird,” Oz said, since Caleb hadn’t answered his question. “But by the looks of it, we have a couple hours until this becomes a problem, and meanwhile, that woman in the suit is still watching us and waiting for us to drive out of here. Cross that border when we get to it?”
Oz gave him a reassuring smile. Or maybe he was just pleased with his play on words. If Caleb had to spend a few hours trapped in a car with Aidan and a relative stranger, at least the stranger was easygoing.
“Nice work so far,” Aidan said. “Let's get out of here.”
Caleb had never driven out of the city, and he spent the first hour fascinated by the surrounding sprawl, which eventually petered off into a patchwork of open green space and wealthy little towns dotted with trees, all so different from the city streets where he’d grown up or the sterile claustrophobia of Facility 17. It was nice, being back on the surface, breathing fresh air and looking at the sky.
Then his body got the better of him and he fell asleep.
He woke when the car slowed. Aidan was asleep next to him, his head pillowed on Caleb’s shoulder. Shit. They were at the border already? He should have planned for this. What would he say if they asked him who he was? He should have hidden himself in the trunk instead of napping in the back seat. Worse, what could he possibly say about Aidan?
At least Oz was awake and cheerfully alert in the front seat. He wasn’t driving the car, but he’d still chosen the seat with the steering wheel, just in case.
A uniformed border guard peered in the window, saw Oz’s face, and nodded respectfully. “Pass on through, sir.”
They were already rolling away from the checkpoint by the time Caleb’s brain caught up. The guard had barely glanced into the back seat. Aidan hadn’t stirred, his face hidden against Caleb’s shoulder. “They just... let us through?”
“I’m famous,” Oz told him smugly. “I could get used to this, you know.”
Caleb huffed. He recognized Oz’s lighthearted intent, but couldn’t quite bring himself to laugh. Oz had sprung that love story on them during a live broadcast, and Caleb hadn’t yet forgiven him. No matter the success of the ploy, it felt… dirty. Not because he was lying. Caleb liked lying well enough, or at least, he liked acting.
But Aidan had asked him to stop. Caleb wanted to respect that, and then he’d played along with Oz’s idea. It was exploitative, and Aidan probably felt betrayed.
Caleb glanced down at his sleeping form, wondering when they’d get a chance to talk this out.
“He asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“So I know this is none of my business, but… you and Aidan.”
“Oh, now you want to talk about it? After you pulled that stunt on us?”
Oz’s shoulders rose and fell. He didn’t turn around. He wasn’t driving; there was no need for him to keep his eyes on the road. “What did you want me to do, pull something from Quint’s unknown backstory and wait to get fact-checked? If we get caught, I don’t get paid. So I improvised. I watch a lot of soap operas. I know what makes a good story. And it worked. You were both great. So how much of it was acting?”
Out the window, an unremarkable blur of fields and towns passed by. Aidan slumped against his shoulder, warm and heavy, breathing peacefully.
Caleb didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive.
As expected, the house had surveillance everywhere.
It was a sprawling and hideous hybrid of too many corners and columns in sand-colored stone, with a long loop of driveway curving in front, cutting through the manicured lawn. The gate slid open as they approached.
Quint had made his fortune in facial recognition algorithms, so it was only natural that his house was a nightmarish panopticon. Aidan’s skin crawled as they crossed the threshold. Was there any greater proof that Quint was a soulless greed machine?
The door had opened as smoothly as the wrought-iron gate, but there was no one standing in the entryway to greet them. No sign of any staff anywhere.
“Hello,” said the house, and Aidan jumped.
Caleb grabbed his hand and squeezed. Aidan couldn’t tell if it was for show. He didn’t want to like it, but he did.
“Hello,” Oz said, too cheerful, like walking into what was ostensibly his own home was a grand adventure.
The house’s voice was female, exceedingly polite and educated. “Welcome home, Mr. Quint. I wasn’t expecting you. I apologize for the state of the house.”
There wasn’t a speck of dust in sight.
“Ah, yes, this visit is… spontaneous,” Oz said. “These are my friends Caleb and Aidan, and they’ll be staying here, so please give them access to the house. They’ll only need one bedroom.”
Oz smiled, proud of this bit of mischief. Caleb didn’t react, his grip still warm and dry. Aidan removed his hand before his own slick palm became obvious.
He’d resolved to kiss Caleb, if Caleb ever seemed like he wanted to, but after today, he had no way of knowing what Caleb wanted. It could all be an act.
And now the house was always watching, and Oz had just forced them into an all-hours charade. Great.
“My apologies,” the house said. “I’m having some trouble recognizing your friend on the left.”
Aidan owed the Union so much for this disruptor. It was already paying off. He’d expected Quint’s house to have access to a database of unwanted visitors—his real identity among them, no doubt—and a much smaller list of approved guests. Apparently, it was broader than that. Even people arriving in Quint’s company were scrutinized.
“He’s foreign,” Oz said. “He won’t be in your database. But he’s my guest.”
“Thank you for making us welcome,” Caleb said, speaking up. “How should I address you?”
“I respond to the name ‘House’,” the house said.
Somehow that made Quint seem like even more of an asshole, something Aidan hadn’t thought was possible.
“Nice to meet you, House,” Caleb said, with only the slightest hesitation. “Can I ask you something? What happens if there’s a warrant out for someone and you recognize that person? Can you keep it to yourself?”
“I am obligated to log sightings in the state and federal databases.”
“I see,” Caleb said. “So even if Mr. Quint himself asked you not to, you’d still have to file a report.”
“Correct.”
“And if you don’t recognize my… boyfriend, will that interfere with your functioning?”
“I cannot give him access to the house if recognition fails.”
“But if he’s with someone you recognize, he can get in and out with no trouble?”
“Correct.”
“That’s fine, then, House, thank you.” Caleb shot him a significant glance, as if Aidan didn’t already realize he had to keep his glasses on. He wondered if the AI had other types of recognition—some worked with body type or gait, and while he’d never heard a confirmed report of a smart house collecting samples from the people who lived in it, this stay would require some caution.
The house offered them a tour, which they accepted. Every room had been furnished right out of a catalog—albeit a very expensive one—with no personal touches anywhere in sight. No photos of friends or family. All the artwork blandly modern and shiny. It was almost like living in the sterile glass-and-steel corporate lobby, except there were more mahogany leather sofas.
And beds.
The master bedroom was palatial, but it didn’t hold Aidan’s attention. He wasn’t going to be sleeping there. The guest room he’d be sharing with Caleb was almost as absurd, with its massive bed surrounded by empty space. The inside of the house wasn’t as ambitious in style as the grand, grasping façade had led him to believe, and Aidan experienced some relief that the bedroom wasn’t gilded or mirrored. It was, in fact, so boring that his eyes slid over everything without absorbing it. The walls, carpet, and furniture were in various shades of brown and grey, unrelieved by pattern or texture. There was a painting hung over the waist-height dresser in dark wood, a foggy landscape as drained of color as the rest of the room. The only color in sight came from the view out the glass doors: the pool was a searing turquoise, the lawn vibrantly green, the shroud of trees shades of red and orange.
The guest room was far away from where Oz would be sleeping. Good. Aidan didn’t want him eavesdropping at night. The house was bad enough.
Not that any interesting sounds would emerge from their bedroom. Aidan might be willing to take this ruse that far, but Caleb had gone a little grey at the sight of the bed. Sympathy and hurt twisted in Aidan’s gut. They’d been forced to improvise, and he wasn’t looking forward to more public performances, either, but that didn’t make it any easier to see Caleb looking so miserable at the thought of sharing a bed with him. If Caleb didn’t want him, that was fine. Aidan knew how to behave himself, for fuck’s sake. No reason to feel uncomfortable.
“Mr. Quint requests that you join him in his office,” the house said, and Aidan was grateful for the interruption.
Oz was in Quint’s office, sitting at a desk that was one massive pane of glass on a wooden stand and listening to the house read aloud all the messages he’d received that afternoon. There were a lot.
Aidan and Caleb sat down in the leather chairs facing Quint’s desk. A young woman’s voice played over the speakers, high and tremulous.
“Are you feeling well, sir? You cleared your schedule this week and then I see headlines about you on some psychic’s private channel? I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds, but it’s unlike you.”
“Who is this?” Aidan asked, since Oz couldn’t.
“Mr. Quint’s assistant, Carrie Lee,” the house said.
“—we’ve had eight requests for interviews just this afternoon,” Carrie was saying. “I normally reject these kinds of things but, uh, I thought maybe I should ask? Anyway, let me know.”
“Next message,” the house said. “Today at 16:31, from Roger Somers.”
A man’s voice, his accent sharp with the city, began to speak. “Are you fucking kidding me, Quint? You want to start a charitable foundation and I have to find out about it from internet gossip about a fucking psychic? Have you lost your mind?”
The message ended there, and after a beat of silence, Caleb ventured, “And who is Roger Somers?”
“Mr. Quint’s financial adviser,” the house said. “The next twelve messages are from members of the Quint Services board of directors.”
“Right,” Oz said. “Naturally. I think we’ll skip those for now. Please write back to Carrie and tell her to accept all the interview requests. Don’t care who they’re from. Write back to Roger and tell him that he works for me.”
“Please be more specific.”
“Roger comma new line you work for me period your job is whatever I say it is period shut the fuck up and start liquidating assets period,” Oz said. “No signature. I don’t want to check for typos. Just send it.”
Oz had really taken to this position. Aidan hoped to God that was how the real Quint spoke to his subordinates. But they were making it seem like he was having a mid-life crisis anyway, so maybe it didn’t matter.
“Well, I think that’s enough for today,” Oz said. “I’m going to luxuriate in my ridiculously large bed and watch something trashy for the rest of the evening. I don’t want to be interrupted.”
He sauntered out, and Aidan and Caleb rose to follow him. Or Aidan rose and Caleb wobbled and caught himself on the chair.
“You need to eat,” Aidan said. No wonder he’d been looking ill. He’d made a long jump earlier in the day and they hadn’t eaten in hours. “House, show us the kitchen? I’d love to see it.”
Oz and Aidan both laid it on thick when they were acting. “I’d love to see it,” ha. Aidan didn’t give a shit about kitchens. He might love to vandalize it, but that was the limit.
Caleb couldn’t tease him about it or tell him to tone it down. The house was watching. He’d have to couch whatever he said in other terms, and before he could, Aidan grabbed his hand and led him out of Quint’s office, following the house’s directions.
Aidan didn’t seem distressed by the idea that the house might recognize and report him at any minute. Maybe it wasn’t that different from the rest of his life. Caleb had always thought Aidan let his hair get long because he was too focused on his crusade to stop for a haircut, but maybe his unruly bangs were more strategic than that. Come to think of it, Aidan wore sunglasses on cloudy days and knit hats even when it was warm outside. He only owned about two-and-a-half outfits, but both were baggy, and one involved a hoodie. Aidan had a disguise just like Laila’s, but Caleb had never noticed. That was just how Aidan always dressed.
It must be exhausting. Hiding all the time. Not having a safe haven of any kind.
Maybe while they were here, Caleb could divert some of Quint’s money toward getting Aidan a place of his own. Nothing like this one, but somewhere to call home.
This house might be larger than all of Facility 17. It certainly had more open space. They crossed back through the obscenely large living room, with its couches that could sleep four people each. The kitchen was, if possible, grander. It was dusk, but in the daytime, those floor-to-ceiling windows must offer a view of the grounds.
Aidan let go of his hand. “What do you want to eat?”
“Literally anything.” Caleb peered over Aidan’s shoulder into the shiny, brightly lit fridge. It was mostly empty. Quint must have been living in one of his other mansions before he’d gone to Facility 17. He hadn’t called ahead to say he’d be here—because he wasn’t.
“Our options are pretty limited here. Can you call for delivery?”
Caleb paused until he realized Aidan was speaking to the house. Once Aidan had ordered pizza, Caleb said carefully, “Our options are pretty limited here. I hope you’re okay with the one we chose.”
“The pizza?”
“Mmhmm,” Caleb said, waiting for him to catch on, wishing the house wasn’t listening.
“Oh,” Aidan said. “You’re worried I don’t like pizza. But you don’t have to be. I’ve been eating pizza my whole life.”
“Sure, sure. But this pizza’s not just any pizza. It’s okay if you’re mad at me,” Caleb said. “I just didn’t see a lot of other choices. There was no time to think of something better, and the… pizza was right there, so I made a split-second decision and ordered it.”
“Yeah. You’ve done that a few times lately,” Aidan said, and Caleb found a high corner of the room to stare at.
“Excuse me,” the house said. “If you’re unhappy with the pizza, I can provide you with a list of other takeout options.”
“No, thanks,” Aidan said. “We’re going for a walk.”
It was a long, strained walk down the manicured green hillside and into the cool, pine-scented woods. Caleb waved a hand in front of his face to clear away a few gnats, even that small motion taxing his poor, wrung-out body. It would be dark by the time they returned to the house, which now felt very far away.
“So. Pizza,” Aidan joked.
“I think we’re far enough from the house that we can say what we mean,” Caleb said. He pushed the toe of his shoe into the carpet of pine needles. “I was trying to apologize for earlier today. You asked me to stop pretending, but when Oz went down that path, I followed him, and now we’re stuck. I’m sorry. I should’ve thought of something else to say. I know you hate this.”
“Yeah, but not for the reasons you think,” Aidan said. He’d shoved his hands into his pockets, and he stared off into the trees before meeting Caleb’s eyes again. “People watched, Caleb. That broadcast was weird and unexpected and—and you, people like you. You brought a lot to it. When all I did was tell the truth, you know, with evidence and serious journalism, no one cared.”
“I think their caring was hindered by Quint burying the articles,” Caleb said. “But point taken. It doesn’t reflect well on us as a society that a real news story about torture goes nowhere, but as soon as you sensationalize it with gossip, the public’s all in.”
“If it works, I’ll take it,” Aidan said. “Unless you object?”
“I don’t, not exactly. But…”
“But what?”
“It’s not made up—or not all of it, I mean. The things Oz said about me leaving my life behind to come look for you, that’s all true. He made it sound different. Grander, I guess. At the time, it was just a series of steps I had to take. Getting my job transferred to Facility 17, breaking my lease, putting a few things in storage. It never felt…”
“It never felt what?”
Caleb had gouged a long line in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. He kicked a few pine needles into it, but they failed to disguise what he’d done. He gave up and said, “Heroic. Romantic. Whatever Oz was going for with his story, it never felt like that.”
“Oh.”
“It felt urgent, but I don’t remember panicking. You were missing. I did what I had to do.” Aidan was staring at him, but Caleb had no better explanation. “Anybody would’ve done it.”
Aidan shook his head, smiling a little. “That’s definitely not true. But it’s okay if you don’t recognize yourself in the story Oz told. He was playing to the audience, just like you were. Oz is kind of a shit, but I’m not upset with you.”
“Even though now we’re gonna have to pretend all the time?”
“It’ll probably be a gentler kind of publicity than what I’m used to,” Aidan said. “And it’s not all the time, it’s only until we finish this and put Quint in prison. A week. You don’t have to worry about me. If you’re okay, I’m okay. So, are you okay?”
Caleb squinted at Aidan, who was still wearing his uncanny new face, wondering what he’d missed. The fatigue and hunger were making him stupid. “You didn’t want me to pretend for two seconds when we were in the motel, and suddenly you’re fine with a week?”
“Yeah. Are you? We can set some boundaries if it would make you more comfortable.”
“Will you take your glasses off? I can’t have this conversation with you if I can’t see your face.”
Aidan took off the disruptor. The sharp, slightly crooked shape of his nose re-emerged like a familiar landmark out of a fog, as did the freckle marking the high point of his left cheekbone. Caleb hadn’t known it was gone, but now he would.
“I was serious about setting boundaries,” Aidan said. “If you don’t want to kiss in public, we don’t have to.”
“Kinda already crossed that line,” Caleb said, his face warm. “But if you don’t want—”
“I don’t mind.”
“Oh. Um. I don’t mind either.” He was too tired for his heart to be beating so hard. “So I guess we’re both fine, then. Ready to go back to the house?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course, sorry to keep you out here so long. Let’s get you something to eat.” Aidan slipped the disruptor back on and his features blurred into someone else’s.
Half an hour later, when three pizzas had arrived at the door, Caleb was stretched out on the couch trying to eat without dripping tomato sauce and melted cheese on himself. Caleb’s entire apartment could have fit into this room, but having Aidan next to him warmed up the cavernous space and made it feel familiar. They’d done this a thousand times, sitting around with TV and takeout. Their talk hadn’t changed anything between them—yet.
In the movie playing on the wall opposite them, a wizard disappeared from one spot and materialized in another. Not such a fantasy, that. Distantly, Caleb wondered how much pizza the wizard had to eat to sustain himself.
The next thing he knew, Aidan was nudging him awake. Caleb lifted his head from the couch—no, not the couch, Aidan’s shoulder.
“Hey. We should probably move to bed.”
“Mm,” Caleb agreed, and followed Aidan to the bedroom, still bleary. He shucked off his clothes and crawled into bed without another word. A moment later, the other side of the bed sank under Aidan’s weight. That was good. It was good to have Aidan here.
His presence meant everything would be okay. It had been that way when they’d shared a room as teenagers, and it was the same now. Caleb had grown used to the rustling of his movements as he settled into sleep, and the sound brought him peace. In the intervening years where they hadn’t slept within hearing distance, Caleb had forgotten how reassuring—how necessary—it was to have Aidan in the room. Their time together in Facility 17 had brought it back to him.
They hadn’t been sleeping in the same bed then. Half-asleep, Caleb couldn’t find anything wrong with the new arrangement. Every time Aidan shifted, Caleb felt it. Sharing a bed was almost like touching. He smiled into his pillow and closed his eyes.