Chapter Twenty

September 20X6, Stanford

I exit the dorms through the lobby and slip out into the augmented night. A glass dome encapsulates Florence Moore Hall—West Flo as it’s called—and the sprawling lawn beneath the manufactured starry sky is dotted with Laborer kids lounging on colorful Adirondack chairs around firepits, drinking beers, and warming themselves by the smokeless digital flames. Dodging a flag football game and a cornhole tournament, I make my way to the edge of the dome and find the door to the real world. I switch my Life Stream to private before departing.

Outside the dome, the air is dry and mild. Musty bark and eucalyptus waft on the breeze, pleasantly reminding me of Keystone and hinting at the coming bigger winds that spark fires. Almost immediately, my lower back vibrates with a message from Stewart, demanding to know where I went. Repressing a twinge of guilt, I tap out that I’ll tell him later.

He responds with a series of exclamation points but I ignore him. This is something I need to do alone. I have no idea why Garrett wants to meet me. If everything Allard says is true and we don’t know where his loyalties lie, I should be afraid. He robbed me once, he’ll do it again. But he’s already taken everything, and some part of me is bound by loyalty, by an underlying impression that things aren’t what they seem. I’m certain he won’t hurt me. Not physically, anyway, and I want to face him as Ella. Or Ellie. He’s the only person who knows my secrets, and this isn’t how I want Stewart to find out the truth about my identity.

Standing under a smart streetlamp, well aware I’m on the grid—that some security bot started tracking me the moment I left the bathroom—I turn my wrist over and study the campus map on my screen. I enter in “Green Library” and the directions appear in my AMPs. It should only take fifteen minutes to get there, leaving me about twenty minutes to figure out what the cellar door is and how to break into it. All I know is I don’t want to be late. I want to prove to Garrett he can’t stump me. If anyone asks, I’ll say I’m new and I wanted to explore the campus. It’s perfectly safe at night. The bots always know where I am.

The sidewalks connect with my AMPs, lighting my way as I approach, an omnipresent tour guide directing me to my destination. I wind through succulent gardens and old-timey stucco buildings with red tile roofs, my steps strong and sure. A sense of freedom expands in my chest and I’m practically humming in anticipation of seeing Garrett. But what does he want with me? There’s nothing left to steal…maybe he wants to apologize. Ha.

I pass a circular fountain that performs a water dance set to an Irish drinking song, registering me as Kerri and sensing it will remind me of home. The fountain may think I’m Kerri, but I can’t fool Garrett.

As I walk, I acknowledge the prickling connectedness I always feel around him, the imaginary bond my heart insists is real. But the Garrett I thought I knew was an act. A trick. He’s a dangerous stranger. I inhale that truth, willing myself to believe it, but honestly, I can’t. As always, my instinct is to trust him. And why am I fighting my instincts so hard? I’ve never let myself down before and I won’t now. It dawns on me that there’s a gap between what I’m being told and what’s really going on. Maybe Garrett has some answers for me.

The library, with its arched stone exterior, looms before me and I skip up the steps, my arms swinging like I don’t have a care in the world. The wide wooden doors sense my presence and automatically open, granting me entrance. Once I’m inside, a map of the interior pops up in my AMPs. Needing a place to stow my tracking devices, so I can get off the grid, I follow a path to the Lane Reading Room, my tennis shoes squeaking across the polished wood floor, echoing through the empty building.

The reading room is bright and airy, with high ceilings and huge arching windows that filter the moonlight that illuminates three rows of glass-domed study pods. Along the room’s back wall are painted portraits of old white men framed in gilded gold—I’m guessing an ode to the campus’s history—but that is the only physical history in the space. There are no books. According to my AMPs, the only books in this library are in the basement stacks, where Chloe is contacting Stewart.

I’m relieved to find the study pods empty. School just started and classes haven’t begun. Campus life is more about socializing than studying and only the poorest of the Laborers need to use campus equipment to access information anyway. I select a pod and shut myself inside the glass dome before settling into the recliner at its center. Using the handheld remote attached to the chair, I scan my eyes. A three-dimensional digital solar system appears, the planets rotating around me seemingly in midair until the earth presents itself. It spins in front of my face, slowly revealing the Universal Library logo and a search bar where China should be, before coming to a stop. I type “what are mirror neurons” on the remote and choose the longest explanatory experience available from the list that emerges. A brain replaces the earth as the presentation begins, but I ignore it.

My chin pressed to my chest in concentration, time stands still as I take a flat case from my tool garter and remove my wrist screen and AMPs. I tuck them inside the case before shoving everything under the chair cushion. Satisfied the tracking bots will think I’m inside the pod brushing up on brain research for the next hour or so, I locate my pocket scrambrella. I glance around the library to make sure I’m alone then lower my head, so my hair shields my face, and raise the umbrella as I exit the pod. Tiptoeing so my shoes won’t squeak, I make my way outside and come to a stop at the top of the steps.

I’m itching to get to Garrett and it’s like I just pounded three cups of coffee. Adrenaline pumps through me as I survey the grounds. Now where the heck is this cellar? By the gates across from Green… I spy a set of iron gates closing off the entrance to a colonnade lined with arched stone corridors and hurry down the steps toward them.

Between Lasuen Mall and the clock tower…

When I reach the gates, I turn to face the clock arch, a rectangular tower shooting up into the night with clock faces on all sides, their hands all permanently stuck at 2:20 and its bells long silenced. I hunt around, scanning the ground for anything resembling an entrance until, behind two wooden benches and hidden in some bushes, I stumble upon a metal trapdoor. Judging by the fresh footprints in the dirt, I’m guessing this is the cellar door Garrett is talking about. One side of the padlocked panel is raised, and I kneel, pressing my ear to the earth to peer through the mesh vent that blocks the opening. All is dark and silent inside, and I can’t see anything. Keeping my umbrella up as a shield, I crawl to the padlock and quickly pick it. The metal door creaks as I open it, revealing a ladder that descends below the earth into blackness. My stomach churns.

Here goes nothing.

I take a deep breath to calm my roaring pulse and climb inside. After lowering my scrambrella, I shut the cellar door overhead, blotting out all light. Steamy heat wafts up from below, molding the curve suit beneath my sweatshirt uncomfortably to my body. Blind, I tuck the umbrella into my garter, find my penlight, and switch it on. I flash it down into the unknown. The beam disappears into the dark and I can’t make out the bottom of the hole. The only sound is water dripping and an occasional clang that sounds like a pipe being hit with an aluminum bat, but I have to trust Garrett is down there. And probably rats. Lots of rats. Maybe vampire rats. My skin crawls.

But I don’t have a choice. I’m not going to let Garrett’s choice of location freak me out. This might be a test.

Grimacing, I hold the flashlight in my teeth and descend the ladder with shaking limbs, feeling for each rung, one foot at a time. The air becomes thicker with each quivering step and a minute later, the walls give way to a tunnel. When I reach the bottom rung, I jump to the floor. Thankfully no rats skitter out of my way as I shine my light around the arched brick passage. The walls are reinforced with iron bars and lined with giant metal pipes. It’s hot and damp down here. The humid air clots my sinuses with the smell of rotten eggs and I instantly start sweating.

Someone taps on my shoulder. “You’re late.”

I simultaneously jump—my insides spiking with fear—and screech, “I hate you.”

My hate echoes down the passageway.

Garrett laughs.

“What time is it?” I whip around and illuminate his smug face with my flashlight while trying not to melt—literally—when it reveals the signature three black bars under his eye. My shoulders go slack, as if my muscles have liquified, and any lingering doubts I had about his intentions evaporate. This is Garrett and I know him.

He checks his watch. “10:31.”

“Let me see.” I grab his arm and it’s all I can do not to drape it around me, to press my cheek against his chest and wrap myself up in him. Despite everything, I’m impossibly happy to see him.

He beams his flashlight on the silver watch on his wrist. Sure enough, the short silver hand points at the ten and the longer hand is a touch past the six. A year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to read this watch. The royal blue second hand ticks around the watch’s white face that houses three smaller, circular watches, the center one depicting a gold moon outlining a snippet of navy night sky.

“It’s fast.” I drop his wrist, mostly so I’ll keep my hands to myself.

“No, it’s not.” He purses his lips. “This is a Patek Philippe 1518 Steel. It’s one of the most-wanted wristwatches in the world. There’s only four of them in existence and it was a real pain to steal. Trust me, it keeps time.”

“Did you steal it?” I raise my eyebrows.

“No. Borrowed it from the Vault.” He inches closer to me so I can better make out his features in the dark without my flashlight, and my heart hitches at his nearness. “But that doesn’t matter. It’s worth millions. This watch was the only one to have a perpetual calendar with a chronograph for over fifty years.”

I stare up at him, jaw slack. Nerd. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It tells you the date for years and years and years. It’s about craftmanship, Ellie.” He smirks, talking to me like I’m a child.

I bristle at the mention of my name—well, his name for me—and clamp my mouth shut. “Who knew you were a watch collector.”

“I like nice things.” He shrugs. “Like you.” He teasingly squeezes my bicep.

My stomach constricts, but I squelch the giddy urge to giggle—a side effect of the ridiculous buzzy effect he has on me—and compose myself. “My days of being nice to you are over.”

“I deserve that.” He turns serious, his voice thick. “I’m sorry about Pittsburgh. It’s not how I wanted the night to end.” Frowning, he places his hand over his chest.

Surprised he brought Pittsburgh up, I bite my lip to battle the warmth building in my core, as if it were possible for me to get any hotter. “Do you still have it?” Reminded that he robbed me and of my vow to keep my distance, I take a step back, needing space to steel myself against him. I lower my voice to a whisper. “The tape, I mean?”

“It’s cool. You don’t have to whisper. We can talk freely down here.” Ignoring my question, he scans the brick tunnel with his flashlight. “The walls aren’t listening. That’s why I suggested it.” His light lands on my face and he comes closer, again closing the gap between us.

My heart leaps into my throat.

“And I wanted to get you alone. Without your twin. Love the disguises, though.” He stops, inches from me, and with a crooked smile, brushes away a rosy, damp hair tendril that is glued to my forehead.

“You couldn’t have found some place not one thousand degrees?” I retort, keeping my tongue sharp to combat the longing blooming at my center. I’m grateful my cheeks are already on fire, so they don’t give away the internal heat that has nothing to do with the steamy tunnels.

His eyes hold mine, his hand traveling over my ear before coming to rest on the back of my neck. “I thought it was a nice night for a hike.”

He could so easily lower his face to mine—and I would love nothing more—that I freak. Tearing my gaze from his, I pull at my sweatshirt’s neckline like there is air to let in, effectively fanning myself and not just because the padding I wear to make my figure mimic Chloe’s is already heavy with sweat. “A hike through hell?”

“This is the only place we can be completely off the grid. Sorry.” He laughs and lets me go. “And don’t worry. I’ll still owe you a second date after this. This is just a preview.”

“Whatever.” I immediately dismiss him before I can thrill to the prospect of more time with him and wipe away the sweat pooling under my eyes with my thumbs, probably smearing mascara everywhere. “Stop trying to distract me. You didn’t answer my question. Do you have the tape?”

He sighs, his forehead creasing. “No, not on me. But it’s somewhere safe.”

“Is it here? At Stanford?”

“I can’t tell you that. I wish I could.”

“Fine.” I exhale a short breath, having trouble filling my lungs in the heat. “Can you at least tell me who you’re working for?”

“No one of consequence.” The corner of his mouth twitches and I know he’s quizzing me.

Recognizing the line from The Princess Bride, I can’t help but keep up my end of the quotation. “I must know.”

“Get used to disappointment,” he quotes back. Biting his lip, he holds back a smile.

I narrow my eyes at him and end the quotes. “Never.”

“I didn’t think you would.” He voice is soft and, cocking his head, he takes me in. For a moment we face off, electricity vibrating between us. Then, with a jerk of an eyebrow, he waves his flashlight down a tunnel, breaking the spell. “Now, come on, Ellie. Let me show you around. It’s good to know the underground— These tunnels run all over campus. I’ve been mapping them since this summer. They might be useful someday.”

He picks a water container up off the ground and hands it to me before turning on his heel and heading into the darkness.

The bottle is slick with condensation and I press the cool drink to my cheek. “What, no flowers?” I mutter. “If this is a preview I can’t wait for the real date.”

“What did you say?” His voice echoes as he disappears inside the tunnel.

“Nothing,” I mumble, scrambling to keep up with him. My leggings are glued to my thighs and I wish I’d opted to wear not a sweatshirt.

“Hang onto that water. It’s a good idea to keep hydrated. And stay away from the pipes,” he says when I catch up to him. “These tunnels haven’t been updated since the late eighteen-hundreds and they still use them to transport hot water. They might burn you.”

“Great.” I squeeze past a huge water pipe.

“And if you feel cool air, shut up, that means we’re near the surface and people might be able to hear us.”

His voice is infuriatingly superior, and it grates against my overheated nerves. “Thanks for looking after me,” I deadpan, following him down a tunnel that is blessedly lit with overhead lanterns.

“It’s my job.” He doesn’t look back at me.

“So you keep reminding me.”

“That’s not what I meant. You know you’re not just an assignment.” He grimaces over his shoulder, rubbing his forehead like he’s warding off a headache. “I want to keep you safe.”

“Well, you’re not very good at your job,” I snap. “First you rob me and then you leave me dangling in a cable car, wrapped up like a nice little package for Kyran.”

He stops abruptly and whips around, his eyes bulging. “Kyran came after you?”

“Don’t worry. I got away. No thanks to you.” I place my hands on my hips. “Are you working with him?”

“No.” He frowns, his brow lowering. “Ellie. You know I’m not.”

He seems earnest and some of the fight leaves me. “I know.” I clench my jaw. “But can you at least tell me what’s going on? If we’re on the same side—and I think we are—why did you steal the tape?”

He hesitates, waffling his head from side-to-side. Finally, he exhales. “It’s complicated.” Shuffling closer to me, he grips my upper arms. “Believe me when I say I want to tell you everything. But I can’t. Not right now.” His lips close in a grim line and I know it’s all he’ll say on the subject. “I brought you down here for a reason, though, and we don’t have much time. You never know when you might need these tunnels, so pay attention.”

With that, he turns and continues down the corridor, without waiting for my response.

Having no choice, I grit my teeth and follow.