

UNFINISHED

By: Kendra C. Highley

Copyright © 2014 by Kendra C. Highley. All rights reserved.

First Edition: December 2014

Editors: Shelley Holloway and Cassandra Marshall

Cover Design: Streetlight Graphics, <http://www.streetlightgraphics.com/>

LISCENSE NOTES

All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DISCLAIMER

The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Epilogue

UNSTRUNG Sneak Peek

Other Books by Kendra C. Highley

# Part One

Ten Years Ago

Quinn watched the monitor. Its camera was trained on the prep room where the new K700 prototype was under development. She was only the second model in this line, and the first female.

His match.

His heart fluttered with excitement. Miss Maren had told him the little girl was going to be his friend. Created specifically to keep him company and learn with him. After spending most of his time in the company of adults—both human and artificial—he could hardly wait to meet her.

Lexa. That would be her name.

She was still pale, her hair almost as white as her skin, just like the day before and the day before that. He wondered when she would change colors, and what color she would be, but Doc Mendal had said not to pry, so he didn't ask. He'd learned that if he asked the wrong questions—or too many in a row—that his curiosity would cause trouble. And pain.

The girl stared blankly into space, but he could tell she was afraid by the way her knuckles whitened as she clutched her blanket. Or the way her right eyelid twitched every so often. Being scared was a good sign—it meant she was turning into a person.

He immediately flushed, feeling bad. He didn't want her to be scared, and it wasn't nice to be glad about it. He remembered the prep room. He remembered the fear. No, it wasn't nice to be glad.

Dr. Martine cocked his head. "Quinn, what's Lexa thinking? Any guesses?"

"She's...wondering where she is, and why she's here," he said after a moment. Even though he was watching her over the feed, he could read her mannerisms easily, which was strange. But if Lexa had been made to be his best friend, maybe that was why he could tell how she felt.

He watched her a moment longer, registering how her chest rose and fell more quickly as the fear turned into panic and grief. "She thinks something's wrong with her." Quinn turned to Dr. Martine. "Please, we need to let her out."

"We can't. You know that. No cross-contamination until imprinting is complete." Dr. Martine tapped his stylus against his data pad. "But maybe we could let you in? What do you think? You want to try?"

Quinn's heart leapt. He tried hard to keep the eagerness out of his voice when he said, "Oh, yes. I think she might talk to me."

"Well, then, let's—"

The door at the back of the observation lab swooshed open and a pair of high heels clicked toward them. Quinn rounded his shoulders to sink a little shorter. _I'm not a threat. I'm not a threat. I'm invisible._

Cool fingers tipped with long, pointed fingernails, brushed the back of his neck. A welt rose up on the sensitive skin below his hairline where they scratched. He held very still.

Invisible. Not a threat.

"Hello, dear," Miss Maren said, releasing Quinn to give Dr. Martine a kiss on the cheek. He didn't look too happy about it, even though Miss Maren was supposedly his girlfriend. "Any progress?"

"Um..." He shot a look at the girl behind the glass. "Well, we were thinking about exposing her to some stimuli to see if she's ready for advanced configuration. Namely, I thought I'd send Quinn in. She'd be less likely to see him as a threat, given her programming."

Quinn balled his fists around the hem of his T-shirt. _Please. Please don't say no_.

Miss Maren pinned him with her eyes. Calculating. That was the vocabulary word he'd use. It meant shrewd. Which sounded a lot like shrew. Which meant mean, screechy lady.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. It wouldn't be a real smile anyway, he reasoned. It would be a nervous I'm-not-hiding-anything smile, and a vaguely disinterested look was required if he hoped to get what he wanted.

Because that's what Miss Maren was good at. She found out what he wanted, then took it away.

After a long, long, long stare, she finally nodded. "A short visit, perhaps. Five minutes."

Five minutes? That was all? The look on her face, though. She wanted him to argue. If he argued, she could tell him no.

"I can be in and out in four, if that's better," he said.

Her eyes widened and she nodded in approval. "Very well."

Dr. Martine gave him a pat on the back and opened the door to the clean room. "Full measures. No contamination."

Right, no touching. Doc Mendal had told him her immune system was still developing and his germs could hurt her. Inside the clean room, which was just a little hall between the observation lab and her prep room, he pulled a white jumpsuit out of the cubby. It covered him from his neck to his toes and had a hood attached to the back to cover his head. The suit crackled every time he moved. It was polymer based and felt like a trash bag.

By now, the little girl was hugging herself and rocking back and forth on her white bed. Quinn hurried to don a pair of latex gloves. She would be better if she could just meet him. He knew it. She needed a friend; that would fix everything.

He gave a thumbs up to Dr. Martine, and the airlocks opened with a clank. When her door opened, she started, staring wide-eyed as Quinn stepped inside.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

Good, so she _could_ talk. They'd loaded her brain with all the right prompts, but they hadn't been sure. "I'm Quinn."

She nodded slowly. "Who am I?"

He blinked fast to clear the tears smarting in his eyes. The white room did that—it made you feel hopeless, helpless. Just being in here...it was awful. "You're Lexa."

"Lexa," she said, like she was trying out the word in her mouth. "Lexa. Is that a good name?"

"Very good," he told her. "It means 'defender of the people.'"

Her forehead scrunched up. "Are there more?"

"More what?"

"People? Are we the only two? Or are there more?"

A smile stretched across Quinn's face. She was so serious when she asked that it was almost funny. Almost. "Yes. Lots and lots. When you're finished here, you'll meet some of them."

He waited for her to ask how long, but instead, she said, "I like you."

"I like you, too." Quinn flushed, and he suddenly didn't know where to rest his hands. He locked them behind his back to keep them out of the way. "You don't have to be scared anymore, okay? Soon you'll move into the dorm with me, and we'll play all kinds of games."

"Are you good at games?" she asked.

"Some," he said, hoping it sounded modest. He didn't know why, though. Usually he talked smack with the other artificials, knowing he was faster and smarter than many of them, even if his biological age was only nine and a half. But there was something about Lexa... He wanted her to feel like she was equal. She had been created to be his equal, right? He should treat her that way.

"Then I'd like to play," she said shyly.

"Great!" He took a step closer. "We can play hide and seek, except I'll hide an object, and you have to try to guess where I hid it. Would you like that?"

"You'd hide it under the third pillow of the couch," she said.

Quinn froze. "How did you know that?"

"Is that right?" she asked. "Did I guess?"

"Yes." How did she know that? She didn't even know they _had_ a couch, let alone that it would be his first choice for hiding something. "You guessed right."

She flushed—it completely changed the way she looked. It made her look more alive. "I guessed right."

Quinn reached out a hand, forgetting Dr. Martine's warning. Lexa's eyes widened in panic, and she scooted against the headboard of her bed. "Who are you? What do you want?"

He froze. "I—I'm Quinn. Remember? Your friend."

"Leave me alone! Help!" She raked her fingers through her white hair. "Seven, two, three-three, six, fourteen. Seven, two, three-three, six, fourteen."

Not sure what else to do, he backed out of the room. As soon as the airlocks hissed shut, the clean room door opened. Dr. Martine looked disappointed.

Miss Maren looked smug. Another vocabulary word. It meant she was right about something, and Dr. Martine was wrong.

And that made her happy.

* * *

Later that day, once he was upstairs in the main training room and safely away from Miss Maren and her scientists, Quinn asked, "What did the numbers mean? When Lexa got scared, she said a bunch of numbers in a row. What are they?"

His instructor, Doc Mendal, had been trying to teach Quinn how to block an opponent wielding a knife, but he had no interest in training today. Doc backed away and huffed a breath. "Boy, you ask a lot of questions."

"Because that's what they designed me to do," he said, feeling stubborn. But it was okay to be stubborn with Doc Mendal. He might have to run an extra mile or climb the rock wall without using his feet for disobeying, but that was easy.

Doc mumbled something about "Goddamned free will" then sighed. "Her reset pattern. Whenever she goes into overload, she recites her reset pattern. It'll happen if she ever reboots or goes into sleep mode, too."

"Do I have one of those?"

"Yes, but you don't know what it is. It's buried in your subconscious. It'll only come out when you trip the recall."

Quinn cocked his head to the side, considering. "So humans wouldn't have those?"

"No."

"So how do they react to trauma?"

"Badly," Doc Mendal said. "That's your advantage." He glanced at the cameras mounted in the corners of the training room walls. "Enough talk. Assume close combat stance."

Now it was Quinn's turn to sigh. He faced away from his instructor, knees slightly bent, waiting for the attack. But when Doc wrapped him up tight in his arms, he whispered, "Remember what I said about how humans handle trauma. There will come a time when you need that advantage."

Then he tossed Quinn to the mat.

* * *

Quinn lay awake long after lights-out. He worried about Lexa all alone in the dark, scared and not knowing where she was. Sometimes he had nightmares about his first few days in the prep room—he woke up in a cold sweat, wishing he had a mother like that girl who had come to visit two of the geneticists. The kid had cut her hand on the sharp edge of an open computer casing and had started to cry. She was almost Quinn's age, but she cried a lot when the blood welled up on her palm. Her mother had raced over to cuddle her before fixing the cut.

Maybe that's what Doc Mendal meant about humans reacting badly to trauma. Quinn wouldn't have cried about a cut hand. Still, he couldn't help but feel just a little envious of the girl. Of course, after that incident, Miss Maren had banned children from visiting the lab.

Unless they lived here.

He sighed in the dark. The sound was thin and sad. Lately, he'd begun to wonder what his point was—why had he been created? The K600s were very near human in every way, so why did the scientists make him? Why create a K700 that was more than human, only to treat him like he was an object, a thing. Miss Maren, when she wasn't in a bad mood, would cluck over him and tell him he had a grand purpose. A destiny. But did artificials have those? To him, it sounded like a fancy word for being told what to do with his life.

A loud rap at his door made Quinn jump. He barely had time to sit up before Piers, the security lead at the lab, strode inside, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him into the corridor.

"Ms. DeGaul said you upset the new asset today, beanpole." Piers's hand clamped hard onto his neck. "She said they told you not to contaminate the area, but you tried to touch little Lexie, anyway. You _disobeyed_."

Quinn's knees shook inside his thin pajama pants. Piers's eyes had that wicked gleam, the one that spelled trouble. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know what I was doing. I just thought—"

"Save it for her."

Oh, no. Piers was taking him to see Miss Maren. That only served to spike his fear to painful levels; his bladder felt too full and his lungs felt too empty. Piers was a slender man, but powerful, all wiry muscle, with a love of hurting small things. They trotted down the hall at an awful pace. Quinn had a hard time keeping up, so Piers gripped his biceps to drag him whenever he slowed. By the time they arrived outside of Miss Maren's office, downstairs near the labs, his bare toes were stubbed and his fingers had gone numb from Piers's grasp.

"Now you listen," the man growled. "You answer her questions honestly or we'll know. And you know what happens when you lie about lying."

Quinn shuddered. Yes, he knew. The roundish scar on his back from the heated metal pipe was a permanent reminder that he couldn't keep secrets. "I'll tell the truth."

"You better." Piers turned and rapped on the door.

Following Miss Maren's muffled "Come in," Piers laid his palm on the scanner, and the door slid open. The office was becoming familiar, Quinn thought, with its priceless wood and velvet furniture and the high-tech vid panel behind her desk. And its familiarity was a bad, bad thing.

"Quinn, come here." Her voice was cool, but he heard the little bit of glee in her tone.

He swallowed hard and went into the office. Piers shut the door behind him, leaving Quinn alone with Miss Maren. He glanced at the cameras in the corner of the room. Not alone, really. Somebody was always watching, which meant if he misbehaved, a dozen security guards—both artificial and human—and Piers could be here in an instant to bash his head in.

He'd seen that happen to one of the service artificials, once. She'd taken a swing at Miss Maren with a vase for calling her a "bolt," which was an ugly word for artificial human. Before Quinn could skitter out of the way, the K600's brains were splattered on the carpet. He'd vomited later, but at the time, all he could think was how those brains looked like curds of cheese flying from the servant's skull.

"Please sit."

Now he was really scared—she never said please. Miss Maren was smiling, and as he sat in the chair on the other side of her desk, she pushed the candy jar his way. He didn't know what she wanted, but he knew he couldn't refuse the candy. He took a small piece of taffy and held it in his fist.

"Dr. Martine tells me that Lexa is coming online remarkably well. Does that match your assessment?"

What did she want? How should he answer? A bead of sweat dripped from the nape of his neck and slid between his shoulder blades. "I, um, she seems proficient in communications?"

There, that was bland enough. Wasn't it? Oh, please let that be right.

Miss Maren leaned back in her chair. For such a tiny lady, the chair made her look powerful and important. Kind of like a throne. Quinn blinked rapidly to clear that thought out of his head before he dreamed up a crown and scepter and started laughing at the picture his mind made.

"Of course she is—we made her and we're very good. What I'm asking is if she seems... _different_ somehow."

Different? "She's a girl," he blurted out. "That makes her different, right?"

Miss Maren rolled her eyes. "Never mind. But hear me well. You will _not_ touch her again, not until she's out of processing. Am I clear?"

He nodded.

"I can't hear you," she said, her voice going as cold and hard as the stainless steel table in the procedure room. "Am I clear?"

"Yes, ma'am. Perfectly," he squeaked.

"Very well. Just to be sure, though..." She pushed a button on the underside of her desk. Piers entered a few seconds later. "Take this young man down to the basement and make sure he understands his new orders."

Quinn's overfull bladder threatened to release when Piers smiled down at him. "Will do. He won't forget after we've finished."

* * *

The next morning, a com ping roused Quinn from a fitful sleep. He winced and rolled from bed, careful to favor his right side. Piers hadn't burned him this time, but the bruised ribs would twinge for a few days, despite the rapid healing programmed into his DNA. Shuffling to his data pad took effort, and it was hard to keep his expression neutral as he answered the summons.

Dr. Martine's frowning face appeared onscreen. "I'd like to see you in my office."

Quinn tried to hold in a sigh and failed. "Yes, sir. I'll get dressed."

Once the link was disconnected, he sank down onto the foot of his bed. He was so tired of being afraid all the time. He was tired of second-guessing every move he made. He couldn't even hide his thoughts—they'd built in a security feature to betray him. Whenever he lied, his shoulder twitched.

He was so tired of being a pawn, pushed around in a game between more powerful people. And he knew what a pawn was because Dr. Martine had taught him to play chess. It only took two months before Quinn beat him, too.

If he could beat one of the smartest scientists in the building at a game he'd only just learned...he could beat them at the biggest game of all. And he would. Because now, he had an ally who was just as smart as he was.

Lexa changed everything.

That thought exploded through him like a stunner blast. Doc Mendal had told him once, quietly enough that the cameras wouldn't hear, that he would become the fastest, smartest, strongest creature in the Precipice labs—maybe even Triarch City—given enough time and training. If that was true...then Lexa would be just as strong, just as smart, and just as fast as Quinn. Eventually, they would have the ability to break free.

And maybe even burn this place to the ground with Miss Maren and Piers still inside.

Quinn hugged himself. This was a dangerous way of thinking. He had to wait, be patient. He and Lexa weren't strong enough to do any of this yet, and if he kept that idea in the front of his brain, it would eventually come spilling out. Good thing he was a planner, a plotter. He'd befriend Lexa, just as expected, and slowly teach her that they could be an unstoppable force if only they stuck together.

Armed with his new plan, Quinn dressed and hurried down to Dr. Martine's office. Unlike Miss Maren's suite, his office was smaller. His walls were covered with plaques: diplomas, awards, and certifications. At one time, Quinn thought he'd like to become a geneticist like Dr. Martine, but Miss Maren had carefully stamped out his ambitions. She wanted him to be something else, so there was no sense dreaming about a life in science.

"Will you sit?" Dr. Martine asked.

Quinn jumped. "Um, yes, sir."

He sank into the worn leather chair across from the doctor's desk and folded his hands in his lap. Dr. Martine's mouth quirked up on one side. "Young man, you don't have to be so rigid here. I'm not going to rap your knuckles if you touch anything."

Quinn's eyes widened. Maybe he meant it, but Piers would punish him for breaking something, no matter what Dr. Martine said. Still, he unclenched his fists and let his leg jiggle like it always wanted to when he was nervous.

"Better." The doctor leaned his elbows on the desk, peering intently at Quinn before saying, "Lexa asked about you this morning."

"Really?" He paused; that had sounded too eager. "She remembered me? That's a good sign of cognitive development."

Dr. Martine's mouth twitched again. "Uh huh. Anyway, I'd like you to see her again this afternoon after you've finished your homework."

He wanted to. The sooner she got to know and trust him, the sooner they could escape. But Piers's "reminder" was still too fresh to ignore. Rubbing the sore spot on his side, he said, "I don't know if that's a good idea, sir. I might stress her and disrupt the imprinting process."

"I know you've been..." He grimaced. "You may've been told not to interfere with Lexa, but I believe she needs you, and I'll make sure you aren't punished for it. In fact, I had that conversation with Ms. DeGaul this morning. She wants you to be friends, and the best way to accomplish that is to let Lexa interact with you."

None of this made sense to Quinn. But it didn't have to make sense—he was getting what he wanted. Better not to question the luck involved. "If you think it's all right, I'll come to the imprinting room at four. I have to meet Dr. Mendal at five-thirty, though."

That earned him a relieved smile. "Good."

* * *

Lexa stared at the glass, her expression torn between hope and fear. Quinn could _feel_ her pain. Why, he didn't know, but it was as real to him as if he was the one sitting inside the prep room. A moment later, her lip trembled and fat tears slid down her cheeks. For the first time, her complexion took on a slightly pink color.

"Her vitals are erratic," a lab assistant said. "Pulse is one-forty, temp's over ninety-nine degrees."

Dr. Martine nodded. "Quinn, I want to see if you can calm her down. If she glitches, take a step back immediately, but I think her short-term memory programming should be strong enough to prevent that."

He hoped so, but his fingers shook as he donned his cleanroom suit. What if she freaked out on him again? They might not let him see her anymore. He had to be careful. Move slowly, so as not to scare her.

The airlocks released, and Quinn stepped into Lexa's room. Her face immediately brightened, and she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks with a fast swipe.

"You're here," she said. "You told me you'd come."

"You...remember me?"

"Yes. The boy from yesterday. Quinn."

Relief made the air whoosh from his lungs. He'd never held his breath before, but this wasn't a normal situation, so maybe he should've expected that. "Yes. So, how are you feeling?"

Lexa looked around the room. "I'm not sure. I cried, but I don't know why."

"Are you scared?" he asked.

She frowned, like she was thinking that over. "Yes. I think so. It's lonely in here."

Quinn glanced at the window, which was a mirror on this side. Dr. Martine noticed, though, and said over his com, "Her heart rate's down. Keep going."

It was working; he was calming her down. "You'll be out in a little while. They need to...um, treat you a little bit longer. But when it's over, you'll have a room in the dorm near mine. We can play."

"Hide and seek. Sofa cushions," she said.

"Sofa cushions." He paused. What should they talk about now? "Um, I also like painting and color matching and strategy games. I could teach you to play chess."

"Is it fun?"

Dr. Martine said, "Tell her you'll give her a board in a few days."

"Uh, yes. It's fun. Kind of hard, though. Maybe I can bring you a board in a few days? I can show you the pieces and stuff."

She stood and took a tentative step his direction. "Okay."

Quinn held very still as she came closer. Even though he wore the clean-room suit, he swore he could smell her. Some vague combination of cinnamon and vanilla.

"Like a cookie," he whispered.

There was a crackle of static over his com—someone was laughing. He felt his cheeks go hot.

"What's wrong with your face?" Lexa asked, peering into his mask. "Are you overheating?"

"A little. I better go."

Lexa's hand shot out more quickly than he expected and caught his wrist. "But you're coming back, right? Please don't leave me here all alone."

Helpless, he looked to the window, silently pleading. Dr. Martine's voice was gentle when he said, "Reassure her."

He put his other hand over hers and smiled. "You're not alone, Lexa. You have me. I'm yours, and when you get out, we'll be together all the time. Friends, okay?"

"Will I see you before then?"

"She's getting anxious," Dr. Martine said over his com. "Tell her yes."

"Yes." Feeling bold, he added, "Tomorrow. I'll bring the chess board."

She released his wrist and went back to sit on her bed. "Tomorrow. You have less than 86,000 seconds to comply."

It sounded like an order, and he cracked a smile. "Noted. Are you going to count them all?"

"Yes." She smiled back. "Every one."

* * *

Quinn raced to the prep room after lessons the next day, the day after that, and the day after that. Each time he visited, Dr. Martine and the lab assistants praised him for helping stabilize Lexa. She'd even hugged him. It had hurt against his healing ribs, but he remembered the feeling of her arms around him long after he left her.

On the fifth day, he hurried down the hall, a brand new chessboard clutched to his chest. It had taken a while to get this one, but he thought she might find the cartoon character pieces more fun than the more traditional kind. She was picking up the game fast, and Dr. Martine said she played by herself, memorizing the board, so she could reset their game before Quinn returned each day.

She was remarkable—everything he'd hoped for. He found he couldn't wait to see her. And with two boards, she could play her own game and reserve the other for theirs. The anticipation of how she would receive the gift filled him with gladness. He'd never had the chance to surprise someone like this. It would be fun.

He was a few steps from the door to the lab when he heard Miss Maren's raised voice.

"She's flawed, Caldwell. Her vitals are erratic, and the only time she's compliant is when Quinn is here. We should start over now, before we've wasted too many resources."

"My dear, you haven't given it enough time," Dr. Martine said. "And you wanted her to be keyed for Quinn, remember? It makes sense that she'd feel most comfortable around him. Let's give it two years—she may yet be useful. Besides, I need the research data for the 800s."

"All I know is that my interaction with her was unsatisfactory. The program should be scrapped."

Quinn's heart stuttered. Scrapped? Was she saying she wanted to kill Lexa? A surge of rage rushed through his body. They wouldn't kill her. She was _his_ special friend. If they wanted to kill Lexa, it would be over his dead body—and a bunch of theirs.

He leaned against the wall, terrified by his thoughts. When had he gotten so violent? Was this the jealousy his human psychology teacher had tried to teach him about? Or was it something bigger? Dr. Martine was saying something about funding and protocol, but the words were lost in the rush of blood between Quinn's ears. What would he do if Lexa was scrapped?

His heart ached. The one person who was supposed to be like him, to be his partner in all things as they grew up, couldn't be scrapped.

A pair of heels click-clacked toward the door, and he quietly ran down the hall, then turned to walk back just as Miss Maren left the lab, to make it look like he was just arriving. Quinn forced a smile as they passed one another and held up the chessboard.

"Dr. Martine said the intellectual stimulation has been working, so I brought her another board."

She cut a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "Keep an eye on her. If she glitches or cycles out at any time, I expect you to report it to me immediately."

Quinn clutched the chessboard back to his chest. "Yes, ma'am."

She nodded and swept by, leaving him in a cloud of floral perfume. He trudged the rest of the way to the prep room, feeling heavy and uncertain. If Miss Maren questioned him about Lexa, he'd be forced to tell the truth or his shoulder twitch would give him away.

He just had to hope Lexa didn't glitch—or if she did, that he wasn't there to see it so he could deny knowing anything.

The prep room was quiet when he entered. Dr. Martine stood at his usual terminal, looking weary. The other two assistants cowered behind their screens, typing madly, as if work could make them invisible. He rolled his eyes. If they wanted lessons in becoming invisible, the first rule was to hold still.

No one noticed him standing there. The second rule—being the least important person in the room. He cleared his throat. "Sir? I'm here for my visit?"

Dr. Martine jumped. "Oh, I didn't see you there. Um, we need to delay your visit a few days, Quinn. I'm sorry about that, but Lexa's been somewhat unstable today."

"Maybe I can calm her down," he said. "I could try."

"Sorry. No one goes in or out for forty-eight hours," a cold voice said from the doorway.

Quinn turned, and a nasty smirk spread across Piers's face. "The subject is to be isolated until her color protocol is complete. Ms. DeGaul's orders. No disruptions during a critical phase."

Forty-eight hours? That was _two days_. But he knew Piers wanted an excuse to punish him. Better to continue showing the techs how to be invisible, even when talking to someone.

"Yes, sir. Understood." He turned to Dr. Martine. "Will you message me when you'd like me to return?"

Dr. Martine's eyes narrowed a fraction. Of course he saw through Quinn's sudden change of heart. "I will. She should be done processing in time for you to come back on Friday after your studies."

Quinn nodded and walked slowly from the room like he didn't care one bit about the whole thing. Piers was blocking the hallway. He poked a finger into Quinn's chest. "Remember. Be a good little Bolt, or you'll see me again."

Quinn said nothing. That seemed to satisfy Piers because he let him pass. Quinn kept his pace slow the entire way to his room, though his feet felt like they were made of lead and his heart felt made of fire. Two days. He set the new chessboard on his desk and his mood plummeted farther when he saw the blinking icon of a message. Doc Mendal had called. What would it be this time? Scaling a building without an anchor?

He tapped the icon and Doc's face filled the feed screen on the second ring. "Boy, put on your climbing gear. Got a treat for you."

Quinn groaned quietly. "Yes, sir. Um, my ribs are still a bit sore. Will that be an issue?"

Doc grimaced. "Shouldn't be. Meet me downstairs by the front doors in ten minutes."

* * *

"Where are we going?" Quinn asked as they left the main grounds of Miss Maren's lakeside compound. He'd been allowed outside in the yard—even without supervision—but he was rarely allowed to go off property.

"Partway around the lake, there's a set of metal piers and towers. We're going to climb some."

That sounded suspicious. Doc Mendal's "treats" usually involved some sort of challenge, but climbing a tower was easy. Unless he was going to make Quinn climb it blindfolded. Now that would be hard.

They hiked in silence, but it was comfortable. Doc was one of the few adults who didn't require him to speak. Quinn let the quiet of the lake seep into his skin and bones while soaking up the sunlight. Even though they'd entered the public grounds, the scrubby grasses around the lake grew wild, and nothing stirred, save a few small animals. He projected his hearing, listening hard to the little sounds they made.

"Moles," he said to Doc. "I can hear their claws rubbing together."

"That's crazy," Doc answered. "I don't think you're busy enough if you can guess the animal based on the sound of their claws from forty yards away."

"And smell and logical reasoning," he said. "It wasn't a random guess."

"Not yet ten years old and smarter than most adults," Doc muttered. "What the hell are we doing?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. Keep moving. We're almost there."

The piers and towers appeared at the next rise. The ground was rocky here as the grass receded from the lakeshore. The metal structures were rusting, and parts had corroded, but they looked sturdy enough. Doc led him over to the first platform. "Up you go. Hands only."

Quinn kept his grumble to himself. So much for not hurting his ribs. He stood on tiptoe to grab the first strut and pulled himself up to balance his body against it so he could reach for the next handhold. It was slow work, but about halfway up, he realized his side didn't ache so much.

When Doc made it to the top and sat next to him on the narrow platform, he said, "I do good work, huh?"

Quinn laughed. "I always wondered who coded our accelerated healing. Maybe you're not the evil taskmaster I thought you were."

"Or maybe I wanted you to heal faster so I could train you harder."

"That sounds more right."

They sat quietly for a moment, and Quinn took in the beauty of Triarch City. From here, the skyscrapers downtown looked like dominoes, stacked together and ready to tumble. It had been six months since he'd been allowed to visit, but he still remembered all the smells and the relentless noise of the cars, video boards, and foot traffic all around him. So many inputs, so much chaos... It had been hard for his brain to process it all. There were no patterns to find in that mess.

"So, you haven't asked why we're out here, yet," Doc said.

"I've learned not to pry," Quinn said without thinking. He shot a nervous glance at Doc. "Sorry. That was flippant. I just, uh, thought you'd tell me when you were ready."

But Doc was laughing. "Good, I was worried they'd beaten the backbone out of you. Anyway, we're out here... Well, why don't you guess?"

The breeze played with Quinn's curls, lifting them from his forehead only to drop them again. It was so quiet here. So still. "No cameras. You can make it look like a nature lesson or a practice hike, but also take me to a place that's unobserved."

"Exactly." Doc sighed. "I assume you know Maren's not excited about Lexa."

Quinn admired his confidence—to call the boss by her first name alone. "I heard."

"Do you know why?"

A thrill ran down his back. "No."

"She's worried Caldwell is too attached. To both of you, but especially Lexa, since he was primary on her build team. That makes him vulnerable, and Maren doesn't like vulnerabilities in her lab."

"Why are you telling me this?" Quinn asked carefully, wondering if this was some kind of test. Maybe there _were_ cameras out here, or a drone, monitoring their entire conversation.

"Because you need to know a few of us _are_ attached. To all of you. That we care more than we can let on." Doc's stare was intent. "Do you know what a slave is?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Quinn...are you a slave?"

Tears welled in his eyes. "Why are we talking about these things?"

"Because you need to know who you are. Not _what_ , son. _Who_ ," Doc said. "You matter. Lexa matters. The earlier models matter. Those K600s who take care of you in the dorm? They aren't any less human than I am. Understand? Piers would tell you otherwise. So would Maren. But guess what? They're wrong."

"I know you're planning something, and I want you to know that you're not alone." Doc tapped a finger against Quinn's chest. "Some painful things are probably going to happen to you—Lexa, too—but if you choose to put the pain somewhere constructive, it'll give you purpose. Understand? Like trying to break your security protocols, so you can lie effectively. You'll need that skill, and you can do it. I'll give you some exercises to try, because it's important. But I know you can do it."

"Everything's possible," he whispered.

"Yes, it is. And for you and Lexa, everything's _probable_." Doc's smile was hard. "You two are the hope of a generation. They just don't know it yet. But you do. Don't carry that burden lightly."

"But why me?" Quinn asked, feeling both fear and excitement warring in his heart. "Why am I so important?"

"You represent a leap in our program. The K500s are _almost_ human. Not quite, but close. The K600s are indistinguishable from humans. They can blend in. But _you_? You and Lexa are better than human. _More than_ , you see? And that's what scares Maren. She wants to control you both. Trap your loyalty so she can use your gifts. Don't let her. Bide your time. One day, you'll make your move, and the entire world will stand still."

"What move?"

Doc started climbing down the platform. "You already know."

# Part Two

Eight Years Ago

"Tell me a story," Lexa said, chasing Quinn down the hall to the training room. "You _promised_."

She had a streak of dust on her face and cobwebs in her dark brown hair. Her skinny knees were dirt-encrusted, too, but her large brown eyes sparkled. She was up to something for sure.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"Finding a way into the attic. Now, what about my story?"

He laughed. "We're late. After we meet Doc, I will."

"Tell me the one about the puppet," she insisted. "Who became a real boy."

His sigh was inward. She still thought it was a harmless story. She had no idea that Miss Maren had banned it. Hit too close to home, that story did. He never should've told Lexa about it. She didn't understand the consequences.

"How about a different story, about a princess who loses a shoe?"

She made a face. "I know you're changing the subject. Besides, you know I don't like stories where the girl has to be rescued. I want a more...badass girl."

"Badass? Where did you pick up that word?" he asked, amused.

"Loading dock. The guys delivering the groceries never even saw me hiding in the rafters yesterday."

Her smile was full of mischief, and Quinn laughed. "You are such a little sneak."

"Hey! That's what Doc said I was made for. I have to practice."

They hurried into the training room, where Doc was waiting. "Lexa, up the ropes, please."

She scampered past Quinn, her ponytail swinging behind her. In seconds, she was halfway up the rope ladder on her way to the network of swings, catwalks, and nets strung from the ceiling.

"Boggles the mind, huh?" Doc asked. "She's like a monkey up there."

Quinn pushed down a tiny twinge of jealousy. He loved Lexa—she was his best friend—but her physical abilities outshined his and that bothered him. "Yeah. Monkey."

Doc peered at him. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing." He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "What should I do?"

"Hide," Doc said, smiling.

"What?"

" _Hide_. You're so worried about what Lexa can do that you've forgotten what _you_ can do. You're my chameleon, kid. Blend in; make yourself invisible. Find a way to make yourself agreeable with the kitchen staff so that they give you extra sweets."

"Right now?"

"Consider it a long-term assignment. Find ways to make friends here. The hellcat," he cast a glance up at Lexa, nimbly leaping from platform to platform twenty feet overhead, "has her strengths, but her sweet disposition isn't one of them."

Wasn't that the truth? But he liked how she could go from mad to happy to curious to snappish in ten seconds. His cheeks warmed. He liked everything about her.

"Look! Look!" Lexa called.

Quinn's heart shot into his throat as she jumped from the platform to catch a rope ten feet away. She swung around once, crying "Wheee!" before climbing back to the ceiling.

"Come down from there, sweetheart," Doc yelled. "Time for drills."

She stuck her tongue out at him, but climbed down. Granted, she took the longest way, and Quinn had to hide a grin. _Definitely_ not agreeable.

"Remember what I said," Doc whispered, turning so the camera couldn't see his lips moving. "Chameleon. Maren had you made to infiltrate certain organizations. That's your power. Hiding the real you and showing people what they want to see—they'll trust you implicitly. You'll be able to find out anything you want that way. Not as a pawn, but for _you._ Understand?"

The urgency in Doc's voice surprised him, but Quinn nodded. "I understand."

"Understand what?" Lexa asked, appearing like magic behind them. They both jumped, and she looked very pleased with herself. "Gotcha good that time."

"Sneak," Quinn said.

She batted at his curls. "Fluffy head."

"Skinny knees."

"Fart face."

Without warning, Doc swept a leg beneath both of them, sending them to the mat with a crash. "I win."

"Understand what?" Lexa asked again, glaring up at him. "Are you two keeping secrets?"

"Yes," Quinn said. "We're planning to sell you to the circus."

"Fine, don't tell me." She popped up and climbed Doc's back to wrap a thin arm around his neck. "Say uncle."

"Like that's actually going to work if you run into real trouble," Doc said. He shook her off with ease. "Both of you, on the treadmill. Wind sprints."

They grumbled but headed to the treadmills without talking back. "Betcha I can outrun you in a mile," Lexa said.

"With those short legs? As if."

"You may've grown six inches in a year, but I'm still faster."

He doubted she was, but the competition helped make the task more bearable. "Let's go, then."

They took off running, each pushing the treadmill faster and faster until they were practically flying. Nine miles an hour, then ten, then eleven. Quinn's heart beat a hard pace in his chest, but Lexa looked calm and determined, and there was no way he'd admit defeat.

At the half-mile mark, Dr. Martine and Miss Maren came in to watch. Great—his lungs were shredded, but now they had an audience. To keep from slowing down, Quinn focused on their mouths, trying to read their lips.

"...flawed. No discipline," Miss Maren was saying. "Runs wild across the compound...cameras caught her in the attic...off-limits..."

"...what you wanted," Dr. Martine protested. "...look at that speed...concentration..."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Lexa. "...you're biased, Caldwell. You don't see...failed programs should be scrapped."

Quinn started breathing harder, and it had nothing to do with the treadmill. Miss Maren hadn't mentioned anything about scrapping Lexa lately. Why now? Had she messed up something in the attic?

"...perfectly objective...can outperform anything you..."

"...prove it...now..."

He turned and said something to Doc that Quinn couldn't see. Doc nodded and strode toward the treadmills, motioning for them to slow down. "They want to see you work."

They did as he asked, and Lexa followed Quinn to the center mat. She cocked her head at Miss Maren. "What can I show you, Ms. DeGaul?"

Her voice was syrupy, and her eyes were wide with innocence. Doc called _him_ a chameleon? He couldn't tell if Lexa was messing with them or projecting what Miss Maren wanted to see.

"It's more of an assignment," she said, sounding suspicious. "There are some people visiting tonight. I want you to steal some files from their personal data pads."

"What kind of files?" Quinn asked. The gears were already turning in his head.

"I have no idea, but it has to do with the Quad. You need to get in there, review the files, and copy everything relevant. And you have to do it without being seen. By our cameras, or whatever security they bring with them."

The Quad? Quinn exchanged a glance with Lexa. This was big—the Quad was the council behind the incorporated governments of the four provinces. Miss Maren's visitors hadn't gotten crosswise with them somehow, had they? If so, this could be the biggest assignment the two of them had ever been given.

"Who are we investigating?" Lexa asked.

Now Miss Maren smiled, and it was a frightening sight. "The governor of Triarch City and his wife. They'll be staying overnight as our honored guests and are important to our business with Precipice. They are _not_ to know you're artificials, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," they said.

She fixed a hard stare on Dr. Martine. "If this works, I'll reconsider."

"We can do it," Lexa said. "We'll get the secrets for you."

If Miss Maren was surprised by Lexa's sudden interest, she didn't say anything. After she swept from the room, a beaten down Dr. Martine in tow, Quinn pulled Lexa aside. "Why'd you agree so fast?"

Her chin jutted stubbornly. "I can read lips as good well as you. I know what she's saying about me, and I don't want to die."

Doc sighed behind them. "I don't want that, either, Hellcat."

Quinn didn't chime in. Lexa knew... She _knew_ what was at stake. That her life hung in the balance on the whim of a crazy lady who changed outfits three times a day. Discarded like a useless com. Rage pulsed in his temples. His best friend was barely nine years old—she didn't deserve to know things like this.

"...master bedroom on the third floor," Doc was saying. "You listening, kid?"

Quinn's focus snapped back to the present. "Yes. The easiest way to do this will be to work our strengths. I'll make the guests like me and deflect their attention to keep them downstairs so Lexa can sneak into their suite and search their belongings."

"A real break-in!" Lexa clutched her hands to her heart, eyes shining.

"You know, most people don't get that excited about breaking into someone else's room," he said.

She stuck her tongue out at him, then headed for the door. "I'm going upstairs to poke around. I might be small enough to go through the air ducts... You think?"

"Worth a try," Doc said. "Quinn, what are you going to do."

Forcing his thoughts past the anger was hard, but he said, "I'm going to learn everything there is to know about Governor Shaw and his wife. If I'm going to con them, I need to be convincing."

And since Lexa's life hung in the balance, he'd be the most charming young man they'd ever met.

* * *

"Governor and Mrs. Shaw," the butler announced. He was a K600, built for etiquette and elegance. Miss Maren called him number thirty-one. Quinn and Lexa called him Preston. Preston liked that, which was how Quinn was perfectly placed to slip out behind Miss Maren when she went to greet them.

The governor was a large man with a belly that made his shirt stretch tight. His wife was tall and slender and dressed like a faded model in a long dress. The nursery rhyme "Jack Sprat" ran through Quinn's mind. He gave his head a shake to keep from laughing. Especially since two security guards—human—wearing dark suits came in behind them.

"Governor, Mrs. Shaw. Welcome to my home," Miss Maren said, ushering them toward the stairs and right into Quinn's path. She stopped short, but covered her surprise by saying, "This is my, um, my nephew, Quinn. Darling..." The edge to her voice was barely perceptible. The Shaws would never hear it, but she knew he could. "Why aren't you in the play room?"

Showtime. Plastering a curious smile on his face, he said, "But...Aunt Maren, I've never met a real governor before." He turned wide eyes on Mrs. Shaw. She looked like she wanted to put him in her pocket and feed him tea biscuits. "How do you do, ma'am?"

Miss Maren's expression was as brittle as frost on grass—until Mrs. Shaw said, "Oh, aren't you adorable. Well, this is my husband, the governor of Triarch City."

Quinn shifted his expression to trustworthy and forthright. "Pleasure to meet you, sir. Or is it 'Your Honor'?"

"In public it is, but you can call me sir here." He reached out to give Quinn a firm, if condescending, handshake. "You keeping up with your studies, young man? That's important, you know."

Quinn held in the eye roll. He was more than keeping up—he was studying university-level mathematics for gears' sakes. "I try my best, sir."

"Is Quinn joining us for dinner?" Mrs. Shaw asked.

Miss Maren held Quinn's gaze. He blinked once, slowly. After a long beat of silence, she smiled. "If you don't mind children at the dinner table, I'm sure he'd be delighted. Now, my butler can show you to your rooms upstairs. We can meet in the library in half an hour for drinks if that's convenient."

The Shaws agreed and were led away by Preston. The guards followed, and one shot a frown over his shoulder at Quinn. He smiled at him and waved. The guard's frown melted into a quirky smile. That's right, there's nothing suspicious about a nephew you've never heard of. Just keep on walking.

As soon as they were out of sight, Miss Maren marched him to the small study near the front door, the place she took meetings that she wanted over quickly.

"What the hell are you doing?" she growled. "And how were you able to lie without twitching?"

"You told them I was your nephew," he said, thinking fast. She couldn't know he'd finally broken his programming after months of work. "For now, that's my reality. It's not lying when I'm playing a part—it's _acting_."

"This wasn't in the plans."

"You told us to find out their secrets." He squared his shoulders. "People often say things around children, not expecting them to notice. Besides, if I keep them entertained, Lexa will have more time to go through their things."

Miss Maren looked conflicted. He could tell she _really_ wanted to find out everything she could, but the thought of Lexa succeeding wasn't in the plans. "All right. I'll give you some leeway. Fail me, and I'll give Piers free rein. Am I clear?"

Despite the fact that he felt like he'd swallowed a bucket of ice water, Quinn nodded. "Perfectly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find something to wear to dinner."

Miss Maren groaned as soon as his back was turned, and a little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Failure wasn't an option—they'd get results—but that didn't mean he'd go easy on her tonight. Oh, no.

He'd call her Aunt Maren every chance he got, just to rub it in.

* * *

"But the Outlands need more stability," Miss Maren said. "If we send artificial laborers into the other provinces, we can help create order. Don't you think that's our responsibility?"

"No, I don't," the governor answered, spearing a large piece of steak with his fork. "They chose not to incorporate. Whatever happens out there now is their business. Not ours."

Quinn made himself small and invisible. It didn't matter that they were sitting at a table for six. It didn't matter that he was seated between Dr. Martine and Mrs. Shaw. He'd become a pair of ears and eyes.

"Our trade is being curtailed. I lost three shipments this month alone." Miss Maren's expression was pleasant, but Quinn could see how tightly she gripped her wine glass. This was the reason for the visit.

The governor sighed. "I understand, but do you really think that introducing artificials into Valardia is necessary right now? We're so much farther along in development—"

"So, Quinn," Mrs. Shaw said, dragging his attention away from the debate. "Do you play any sports?"

He forced himself to flash her a charming smile. "A few. I really like some of those old sports, like fencing and martial arts. I also love to run. I'm pretty quick."

"I bet you are. Do you run track at your school?" She frowned. "And where _do_ you go to school?"

From his research, he knew the Shaws's daughters went to Engleton prep, near midtown. "St. Andrews. I'm planning to try out for the track team in the spring."

"Brilliant."

She kept nattering on about the virtues of organized sports. With a few well-placed nods and "uh-huhs," he could tune her out.

"I'm just saying it's a good time for expansion. Don't you think? The Quad has grown very powerful of late. We can use that to our advantage," Miss Maren said.

"The Quad is a paper tiger," the governor said. "They ceased to be relevant once the four city-states got back on their feet."

Quinn tensed. Next to him, Dr. Martine slowly set down his wineglass.

The governor didn't seem to notice the silence descending on the room. "They meant well, but it's time we were given our independence to manage Triarch. Surely, you agree. Wouldn't it be better to run Precipice without their interference?"

Dr. Martine was staring at the corner of the ceiling. Cameras were everywhere. If Miss Maren didn't handle this, they'd all be dead by morning.

"The Quad gave us our lives back," she said. "We owe everything to them."

"Everything," Dr. Martine echoed, still looking worried. He glanced at the camera again. "Without them, we wouldn't be here at all."

"They have their uses, to be sure," Mrs. Shaw said. "But do we really need them? That's why we're—"

"Not now, dear," the governor said. He nodded toward Quinn. "We don't want to bore the youngster."

Oh, he wasn't bored. Far from it. But Miss Maren gave him a look that said he needed to leave. He faked a yawn. "That's okay, sir. I'm a little tired. Aunt Maren, may I be excused?"

"You may. And Quinn? We're going to be in the library for a while after dinner, so please keep it down upstairs. No loud music or games."

In other words, he and Lexa had time to sneak around and eavesdrop on conversations. "Yes, ma'am."

He left the room, swinging his arms like that human girl who came to the lab with her parents. Carefree, unselfconscious. As soon as he cleared the door into the sitting room, the conversation began again at a more vigorous pace.

Certain that Miss Maren would keep everyone occupied, Quinn dashed upstairs. When he got to the third floor, he bumped into Preston.

"Whoa, there, where are you going so fast?" he asked. "And why are you up here?"

"Um," he glanced down the hall. No sign of Lexa. "The Shaws wanted me to ask if everything was ready with their rooms."

Preston's forehead wrinkled as one of the security guards got up from his chair outside the door to the suite. "Of course it is. Now, down to the second floor with you before we both get in trouble."

Quinn nodded and jogged down to the second floor, fuming the whole way. He headed to his room, changed into his training gear, then went to the gym. As he expected, Doc was there, waiting.

"Well?"

"Miss Maren is keeping everyone busy, but they have a guard on the suite door. I have no idea where the second guard is."

"Lexa hacked into their com system. The second guard is off duty. They're taking shifts."

Good, that meant he wasn't inside the room. He took a deep breath. "Where's Lexa?"

Doc grinned and pointed to the rafters. The vent grate was hanging open. "Slithered right in."

Quinn eyed the narrow duct. "Must be nice to be small."

"I wouldn't know," Doc said. "She was going to find the data pad and plug in a decoder. You're on decryption duty to grab the right files."

He nodded and went to the data bank in the corner. "Doc? They were having an interesting conversation at dinner." He lowered his voice. "About the Quad."

"Don't even want to know. Safer that way," Doc said, backing toward the door. "But make sure you two aren't traced. This runs perfect, got it?"

"Perfectly," Quinn murmured.

Doc threw up his hands. "Now's not the time to correct anyone's grammar."

After he left, Quinn focused on the data feed. Blank. Empty. Nothing.

"Where are you?" he whispered.

Twenty minutes ticked by so slowly that Quinn thought time had stopped. His palms were slick with sweat, and he couldn't help replaying a scene in his mind; one in which Lexa was caught in the governor's room, then dragged away by Piers, never to be seen again.

He pushed his chair back. He had to find her, even if it meant risking getting caught.

A blinking cursor popped up on the screen. Then "LP Online" spelled itself out before his eyes.

His com beeped. "You in?"

"Yep," she breathed. "Gotta be very quiet, okay? Like bunnies."

"You have a weird sense of humor. And where have you been? I was about to come looking for you."

"Got stuck in the ventilation shaft, but that doesn't matter. I'm in their room. Do you see the data pad on your screen?"

A series of icons flooded his station. "Yes."

"Okay, so what are we looking for?"

"Can't you leave the trace and come back?"

"Nope," she whispered. "They'll see the hack. Gotta do this now, then delete the trace. So get busy before I'm caught."

Grumbling under his breath, Quinn typed in a series of search commands: Precipice, Maren DeGaul, outlands, sex.

"Sex?" Lexa sounded scandalized. "That's so gross!"

"And if Miss Maren wants their secrets, maybe that's something she can leverage. Doc always says that sex and lies are what get you into the most trouble."

Data streamed across the screen, and nothing notable popped up. Quinn bit his lip, wondering. Then he typed in "Quad."

Instantly, files flooded his screen. Most were normal stuff like internal memos or governmental edicts approved by the Quad. But there was one that stood out.

It was called "Independence."

Quinn copied the Independence file and cut off the connection. "Lexa, I'm done. Break the hack and get downstairs."

No answer.

"Lex? Lexa?"

Nothing but static. He had no idea what happened, but her sudden silence couldn't be good.

A bang sounded in the wall near the duct, and Lexa, covered with dust, slid out of the opening. Just when he thought she was going to fall headfirst to the floor, she caught a training rope and swung around for a second before climbing down.

"Did we get anything?"

"Yes, but what happened to you?"

"Almost got caught." Her eyes shone with pride. " _Almost_."

"Did they come back from dinner early?"

"Nope. Guard shift change—they sweep the room at each change, apparently. I had to bug out, but I managed to cut the connection before I left." Lexa puffed out her chest. "Never saw or heard me. I'm the best sneak _ever_."

"Okay, okay, you are the best sneak ever." He pointed at the screen. "This was all I could find."

"We giving this to the boss lady?" she asked. "Or are we gonna read it first?"

"Of course we're going to read it first," he said, laughing, and opened the file.

Dear Mr. Shepherd,

What you propose is interesting, but how do I know the outlanders will keep their word? If we don't succeed, there won't be a place on Earth I can hide. Do you have any assurances that your intel about the Quad is accurate? And, if so, how can you get close to them?

As for my end of the bargain, I'm collecting powerful allies to assist us with our cause. Once I have them convinced—or bought—we can proceed.

R. Shaw

"What's all that?" Lexa asked. "Is he messing around with the outside?"

Quinn thought about dinner, how the governor dismissed Miss Maren's concerns about the outlanders disrupting her shipments, and how he wanted to keep the artificial tech in Triarch City alone as an advantage. What was he up to? Did he want to stir up the outside so Triarch could break away from Quad control?

If so, the governor was right in his note—he was a dead man.

"It's big," Quinn said. "Good work getting into the room."

"So now what?" she asked, brushing dust out of her hair and letting out a huge sneeze. "Those ducts need a good cleaning."

"After we're done with this, I'll send you back through with a scrub brush."

She smacked his arm. "Not nice. And you didn't answer my question."

"Now," he told her, "we listen and learn."

* * *

Quinn huddled in the butler's pantry cabinet just behind the library. He'd invented a little com amplifier—something Dr. Martine had suggested as a test—that allowed him to hear through the library wall. He'd sent Lexa back into the rafters, and she should be right above them by now.

"We can't delay," the governor was saying. He sounded cross, which meant Miss Maren had him where she wanted him, most like. "We need to move _now_."

"I don't see how that's wise," Miss Maren said, her voice cold and clipped. "I won't help. But I won't stand in your way, either."

"Better than nothing," the governor said. The sofa creaked. "I think we'll retire for the evening. I beg you to reconsider. There won't be a better time than this."

"Give me tonight. If I change my mind, we can discuss it over breakfast before you return to the city."

Their voices faded as they moved across the room. Quinn waited sixty seconds before easing out of the cabinet.

Preston stood right in front of him, holding a tray of highball glasses. He jumped and the glasses rattled, but he didn't drop them. "What were you doing in my cabinet?"

His shoulders slumped. He'd lie to humans, but not to a fellow artificial. "Miss Maren asked me to gather intel on the governor. This seemed like a good way to do it."

"Yes, but she was in the room. What were you going to learn that she doesn't already know?"

Quinn shrugged and forced a winning smile. "It's good practice, anyway. Goodnight!"

He hurried away from Preston, who was staring at him like he'd lost his mind. Better for the butler to think him crazy than to be caught.

When he got upstairs to the training room, Doc and Lexa were waiting. Doc said, "Maren's coming up. Get anything?"

"I think so," Quinn said, hoping he was right.

The click-clack of fancy high-heeled shoes announced her arrival. When she and Dr. Martine came inside, Miss Maren looked at both of them, her nose wrinkled. "Well?"

Quinn gave her a data stick with the file on it. "Lexa got into their rooms, and we copied his data pad. We found one file that might be of particular interest. It's called Independence."

She cocked her head. "Is it now?" A slow, cold smile spread across her face. "We got him. We finally got him."

"What happens next?" Lexa asked.

Miss Maren gave Dr. Martine a calculating look. "You just bought yourself six more months, Caldwell. Don't waste them."

Then she was gone.

"What did that mean?" Lexa asked, sounding panicked.

"Easy there." Dr. Martine leaned down so he could take her hands. "It means everything is going to be okay."

"Good work tonight," Doc added. "Now go to bed."

Quinn tugged at Lexa's sleeve. "Come on."

On the way to her room, she asked, "Was Mr. C right? Is it okay?"

"For you, I think so. For the governor, I doubt it." He stopped by Lexa's door. Who cared about the governor when she was safe, at least for a while longer. He hadn't felt this relieved since he heard that Piers was going on a three-week business trip last summer. "You did well tonight. Get some sleep and maybe Doc will give us some free time to play tennis tomorrow."

"You hate tennis," she said, kicking at the carpet.

"But you like tennis, and I like you."

Lexa giggled. It was a bubbly sound, full of surprise and sweetness. A tiny spark awoke in Quinn's heart. She didn't laugh often, and he decided to find ways to make her laugh more.

He suddenly felt embarrassed and didn't know what to say or do. He should probably go. "Goodnight, Lex."

"Goodnight."

Her door shut with a click, and Quinn leaned against the wall. They had a six-month reprieve, but that's all it was. Dr. Martine needed to do something to convince Miss Maren for good, but what? Because Quinn wouldn't let them kill Lexa. No matter what he had to do.

Even if he had to take her place.

With a sigh, he pushed himself off the wall and started toward his room. When the muted sound of gunfire sounded from upstairs, he jumped. It sounded like it was coming from the governor's suite.

Lexa's door flew open. Her face was pale. "Are we under attack?"

"No." He cast a weary glance at the ceiling. "I think the governor just found out that the Quad doesn't like traitors."

She was shaking. "I'm still worried they're going to come steal me away some night, no matter what the boss lady said."

"If that happens, I promise I won't stop looking until I find you," he said. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Lexa threw her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. "I love you. You've always been my best friend."

Quinn patted her back, enjoying the fierceness of the hug. "And you're mine. Time for bed. I promise I'll see you in the morning."

She pulled away, smiling and went into her room. Once the door shut again, Quinn stumbled to his own room, exhaustion overwhelming him. He meant what he said—he wouldn't let anything happen to Lexa.

But that wasn't within his control. And he only had six months to convince Miss Maren otherwise.

# Part Three

Seven Years Ago

"Shhh," she whispered. "They'll hear."

Lexa was trying to teach him how to use the crawl spaces to spy on the kitchen staff. The air ducts had been too narrow for his broadening shoulders—something that had made Doc smirk and Lexa frown with confusion.

"How come you're getting so...big?" she'd asked, eyeing his arms.

It was all he could do not to show off how well his biceps were coming along. "Growing up, sneak."

"Huh," she'd said, before shrugging and running off to climb her ropes. Her interest had left him feeling a little wobbly.

Now, though, they were in utility easements. The passages were wider, so the wiring could be worked on, but he still didn't like the feeling of being trapped, and his breathing had turned ragged and noisy.

"S-sorry," he gasped.

She stopped crawling forward and turned to look at him over her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Just need a second." Quinn forced himself to breathe more slowly. Sure, he could bench press three times what Lexa could. He could outrun her, too. But being trapped in tight places? Screws, why did she think this was fun?

"We need to hurry. They're going to serve the soup any minute."

He nodded and began following her. There was a service cubby in the corner of the kitchen, and he could hear the cook—human, because why would an artificial care about good food (which totally explained why they both stole cookies every chance they got)—bustling around to ready the salads. Maren was hosting some politicians to talk about the gubernatorial race, and dinner had to be perfect.

He and Lexa overheard them talking on the way to the dining room about the "terrible tragedy" that befell the Shaws and their security team six months ago. Suicide hill, the steep road leading to Maren's house, _was_ the site of many hovercraft accidents. So no one questioned that they'd gone straight into the lake after their car malfunctioned.

Very sad.

Quinn felt nothing but disgust about the whole thing, especially his part in it. Sure, Governor Shaw had been a blowhard, but his party didn't deserve to be gunned down while guests in someone else's house.

The message had gotten through loud and clear to the rest of the council, though. Frak with the Quad, you get a bullet—or four—right through the skull.

Quinn flushed a little at his daring. Cursing was his new favorite vice. Yes, he could curse like most artificials: screws, gears, mech-headed tool. But he liked the feel of the human curse words on his tongue, too. So he used them to keep them from having any power over him.

If he used their words, they meant nothing.

Which was also why, in his head, he'd started saying "Maren" without the Miss tacked on. If Doc could do it, so could he. He was done being a scared little boy.

"She's leaving!" Lexa's excitement was barely contained. "Preston came to tell her one of the guests had some questions about the salad."

The cook had gotten onto them for taking cookies, and she was mean as hell to all the artificials. Quinn had caught her cuffing Preston across the face because the tablecloth had a spot on it— _after_ dinner. The wine stain had come from Maren's glass, and somehow that was Preston's fault.

Quinn couldn't let that slide. So he had decided they needed a new cook.

As dinner had started, he'd disabled the kitchen security camera. The cook, of course, had shooed the guards away, telling them she'd raise an alarm if "a gang of nasty Bolts" showed up, but that she didn't want them underfoot for no good reason other than to watch her stir soup.

Just like he planned—now they could go into the kitchen without being seen.

"Let's go," he said.

They crept into the kitchen. The pot of butternut squash soup bubbled on the stove. It was thick with cream and smelled delicious. Quinn smiled; that wouldn't last long.

Lexa ran for the salt. He ran for the cayenne pepper. They worked quickly, dumping half the salt and a quarter of the pepper into the soup. He'd chosen cayenne because specks of black pepper would've been too noticeable in the golden soup.

Lexa went to the door to keep watch. "She's talking to one of the ladies about the salad dressing."

Quinn stirred the mess into the soup, rinsed the spoon, and put it away.

"She's coming back!" Lexa hustled over and put the salt and pepper away. "Into the cubby!"

They raced into the cubby, and Lexa barely had the door closed before the cook hurried in, muttering, "Who does _she_ think she is, asking all those questions? As if we'd alter the menu just for _her_. The citrus vinaigrette is Miss Maren's favorite, and I'm not changing it for some two-bit reporter. No, ma'am."

The barrage of insults continued the entire time she dished up the soup. Quinn didn't know how she missed the change in smell—cayenne was pretty obvious. But she must've been so peeved that she didn't notice.

Preston arrived a few moments later with empty salad plates—save one.

"Did that hussy not eat?" the cook grumbled. "She's going to go hungry if she keeps turning her nose up at everything."

"Yes, ma'am," Preston said, sounding bored.

She loaded up his tray with the soup and sent him on his way. Lexa had her hand clamped over her mouth so she wouldn't laugh.

"We need to get back," Quinn whispered. "If we're in the training room when this goes down, how could we possibly be involved?"

She made a face. "I can't lie like you can. I hope they don't ask."

They started crawling back to the utility adjunct near the service entrance, when they heard the kitchen door swing open, and a panicked Preston saying, "Miss Maren's coming... The soup..."

"What did you put in the soup?" Maren's voice promised pain and suffering. "I understand you weren't happy with Carolee for not liking the salad, but I won't have my staff—"

"Miss Maren, I have no idea what you're talking about!"

There was an icy pause. "It doesn't matter. I haven't been pleased with your service, anyway. You're dismissed. You, show her out, then come back and serve the roast."

"Yes, ma'am," Preston answered.

Quinn and Lexa crawled faster until they tumbled out into the service entrance behind a stack of crates. The cook was tearfully accepting a ride from one of the security guards. When Maren dismissed someone, she didn't mess around.

Once they were gone, the two of them scrambled upstairs, using a route Lexa had developed that avoided the security sweeps. The first time she'd sneaked into the training room while Doc watched all the security feeds without seeing her, he'd tossed her in the air, laughing.

Now, it gave them the run of the entire house, except for Maren's quarters, of course. They still hadn't figured out how to leave the grounds without being caught, but Quinn was working on it. These little incursions were training for that day.

They stumbled into the training room, panting and laughing.

"I wish we could've seen the look on her face," Lexa said. "She was so mean, I'm glad she got kicked out."

"Me, too, even if her snickerdoodles were the best out of the last three cooks." Quinn sighed. "Does it ever strike you as weird that the two of us live here, eating Maren's food, instead of the Precipice dorms downtown?"

" _Miss_ Maren," Lexa said, shooting a glance at the door. "But I hadn't really thought about that. I mean, the security artificials live here. So do Preston and the cleaning staff. Why wouldn't we live here, too?"

"Yes, but we have special instructors, combat training, expensive tutors." He lowered his voice. "They're preparing us for something. Doc hinted about that once, and he has to be right. But for what?"

"I don't—"

Lexa's answer was cut short by the sound of footsteps in the hall. They split apart, Quinn hurrying to start up a computer simulation he'd been running and Lexa to shimmy up a rope to the ceiling.

A moment later, Maren, Piers, Doc, and Dr. Martine entered the room. Dr. Martine looked stern—a bad sign. Doc looked blank. Another bad sign.

"What did you do?" Maren's voice carried through the open space, bouncing off every hard surface to rebound back to her. "One of my guests went into anaphylactic shock because she's allergic to cayenne pepper."

Lexa let out a squeak in the rafters, and Maren fixed her death-ray stare on her. "Oh, yes. That little prank nearly killed someone."

"Miss Maren," Quinn said, to deflect the attention away from Lexa. "What are you talking about?"

A muscle ticked in her jaw. "Someone put a bunch of salt and cayenne in our soup. The cook swore to security that she didn't do it. I had to make a public example of someone, and she was on warning already, so I let her go. But the moment we figured out what was wrong, I knew who was behind such a childish and insolent trick."

Quinn sat completely still. She hadn't asked a question, so he wasn't obligated to say anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lexa climbing all the way to the top platform in the corner of the room. When she got there, she hugged her knees to her chest.

Maren noticed her distress, too. "Lexa, dear. Come down. Now." She turned to Dr. Martine. "See, she's trouble. And now, she's corrupting Quinn. I can't have my investment tainted by a failed experiment."

Dr. Martine opened his mouth, then shut it, like he had no idea what to say.

When Lexa came to stand before them, she bowed her head so her hair hung in her face. He could practically smell her desperation. She couldn't lie, so if they asked her a direct question, she'd have to answer or her security programming would give her away. That shoulder twitch would be her undoing—permanently.

Maren walked over and put a finger under her chin to force her to look up. "The cookies last week, hiding my data pad yesterday, and now this? Why did you do it? I ought to let Piers take care of you, but maybe it's time to terminate your program if you can't—"

Quinn leapt to his feet. "It was my idea. All of it. I dragged Lexa into it."

Lexa shook her head, her eyes pleading with him. The cookies had been _her_ idea, but he'd take the blame for all of it. He didn't know why Maren hated Lexa and not him, but he'd use that to their advantage to keep her safe and whole.

"Well, I must say I'm very disappointed," Maren said. "Caldwell, take Lexa to her room. Quinn, you'll go with Piers."

"No!" Lexa screamed, fighting her way free of Dr. Martine. Before she could reach Quinn, though, Doc grabbed her arms and held her back. "No! Let me go! Don't take Quinn. Take me!"

"Quinn's already admitted his guilt," Maren said, obviously enjoying Lexa's fear. "Dr. Mendal, remove her...and give her a sedative."

"She won't remember what happened if we do," Doc warned.

"Exactly." Maren went to Quinn and gripped his shoulder tight enough to bruise. "I want her to have no memory of this, so Quinn can bear his punishment alone."

They dragged a howling Lexa from the room. Maren shook her head. "I see why Dr. Mendal calls her Hellcat. She's about as feral as an alley stray. There are days I question the wisdom of creating you a helpmate. So far, it hasn't worked out exactly like the old Bible stories claimed. Then again, I'm not sure you've developed a strong enough personality to make her submit to you properly." She released his shoulder. "I expect that, from here on out, you'll take a firm hand with Lexa. She's yours to control and your responsibility. You have the ability to work people over to your will. You'll do that with Lexa, or she's finished."

Quinn's stomach twisted in misery. Bend Lexa to his will? He'd sooner be able to control the wind than restrain her. Besides, that sounded like a good way to make her hate him forever.

Could he be rough with her to save her life, though? Because that might be his only choice.

"Now," Maren said, "Piers will provide a lesson in what it means to cross me."

"Come on, beanpole." Piers grabbed his arm. "Downstairs we go."

Once they were in the stairwell, the frustration and anger about his situation finally got the better of him. "I weigh almost as much as you. So who's the beanpole now, stickman?"

Oh, gears... Had his mouth malfunctioned?

Piers laughed. "There's a difference between wiry and weak, moron." He slammed Quinn against the wall, and the stair rail knocked the wind out of him. As he gasped for breath, Piers leaned in close. "And you are weak."

A tear ran down Quinn's cheek. He _was_ weak. He'd wasted his time on petty crimes. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Piers hauled him up and led him down to his "workshop."

The artificials called it the horror factory.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Piers hit Quinn with a low-energy stunner blast, just enough to turn his limbs to jelly and make him more compliant about being strapped into the chair. It was like a dentist's chair, except it had restraints at the chest, waist, and calves. Once you were strapped in, you weren't going anywhere.

Piers made sure the straps were extra tight. The bump on his nose, where Quinn had broken it in a bid for escape three months ago, had taught him "beanpole" was a lot stronger than he looked. Quinn counted that as one of his few victories in this place.

Getting the cook fired was another.

He was being reckless, though. Lexa was too important to him to screw up anymore. It wasn't just the pain he knew was coming. It had nothing to do with any punishment they could devise.

He knew, for sure, that he'd learned how to love. Maybe it was a programmed response based on a girl created for this sole purpose, but he _felt_ it. Maybe he was only twelve and she was barely ten—but he loved her. He'd do anything to protect her. Sure, the thought of kissing her was a little gross, but that didn't make his feelings any less intense.

"What are you grinning about over there?" Piers said from his workbench.

Quinn wanted to say, "Your ugly face," but he was running a new program: being good for Lexa's sake. "Just glad we're getting a new cook."

Piers surprised him by laughing. "You know, I hated that old cow. She always served undercooked or lukewarm stuff to the staff. Like she couldn't be bothered to feed us if Ms. DeGaul wasn't in residence."

Huh. "Does that mean you won't punish me? I promise to be very convincing."

He turned around, a padded cudgel in hand. "What's the fun in that?" He swung the cudgel and nodded. "Now, the boss said we had to do this so your marks are hidden. She was dead serious. Little Lexie is not to know that you took her punishment. Ms. DeGaul doesn't want you to get ideas about being noble or heroic."

Quinn deflated a little. Fine. Lexa would never know he took her punishments. But that wouldn't stop him.

"Then let's get this over with."

The first blow across the top of his legs came before the words died on his lips, and a yelp escaped. After the second blow slammed into his chest, he clamped his mouth shut and retreated into his mind. It was the only safe place he had.

* * *

"Come on, Lexa, put your back into it," Doc called.

She grunted and tugged at Quinn's arm. "He's too heavy!"

"It's about leverage," he told her. "Don't pull. Use your hip to bump me forward. The momentum is all you need."

They'd been trying all morning to teach Lexa how to flip someone larger over her shoulder, but she couldn't seem to get it.

"Hellcat, this is basic close-quarters combat. You don't figure this out, we might as well teach you to sew."

Lexa let out an impressive string of swear words, including something about Doc's mother. Quinn threw back his head and laughed. She was so cute when she was indignant.

"Mistake," she growled, and with surprising speed, she rammed her shoulder into Quinn's stomach and, as he bent over, dragged him over her back to drop him on the floor gasping like a fish.

"Yes, just like that!" Doc said, laughing so hard, tears were in his eyes.

That hurt Quinn's pride, and he struggled to his knees. "Lucky shot."

Lexa propped her fists on her hips. "Was not. Want me to hit you again?"

"Enough, enough," Doc said. "You two have been sniping at each other all day. You need a break. Go play."

"Play what?" Lexa asked. "We can't go outside anymore."

"And who's fault was that?"

Quinn and Lexa pointed at each other.

"Exactly," Doc barked. "Reprogramming all the gardening equipment to mow the words 'Maren's Pizza Parlor' in the grass was a bad idea."

"It was Quinn's idea!"

"Lexa crawled into the garden shed and disabled all the safeguards."

"You thought it up!" she said. "And now we're being punished."

He glared at his shoes. She had no idea just how much punishment was to be had after a prank, and that was the point. Maren told him he had to keep her in hand, so every time they got in trouble, he took the blame. Being grounded to the house paled in comparison to the burn marks on his lower back. He felt like they'd never heal—and they might not, since Piers repeatedly burned the same spots to "keep the merchandise as damage free as we can."

Merchandise. Slave. Bolt.

Names he'd been called that meant he was less than human. None of that was Lexa's fault. He was just having an ugly day. Anger stirred in his chest, and he knew he was seconds away from blowing. He turned and stormed out of the room.

Lexa called after him, but he used his long legs to his advantage and outdistanced her easily. He banged into the stairwell and took the stairs two at a time to end up on the ground level near the service entrance. Maren was getting a delivery of food from a gourmet shop in town. Guests again. Another night of pretending to be invisible so no one would know she'd succeeded in creating artificial children. He tried to tell her it didn't matter—that he could pass for human easily—but she said his existence was top secret, and the incident with the Shaws only made the need for that more apparent.

He stared out at the beautiful spring day. A soft breeze whistled into the delivery bay, bringing the scent of cut grass and the rose bushes near the gate. The human guards were busy chatting up the cute delivery girls, while the artificial guards inspected the cargo. It would be so easy to walk away. Turn invisible and leave this place behind. Trackers messed with internal electronics, so he didn't have one—the last artificial that had one installed had gone homicidal. Instead, they used pain switches to ensure compliance... but Quinn didn't have one of those, either. They were so confident in their ability to find a rogue artificial that they allowed him his free will. And they were so confident they'd cowed his free will that they didn't worry about him roaming the house without supervision.

Their arrogance made him seethe. If it weren't for Lexa, he'd do it. He'd walk away.

"Beanpole? What are you doing down here?" Piers whispered in his ear.

Quinn jumped. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd failed to hear the man creep up on him. "I needed some air. This is the closest I can get."

"Now, that's not true. Your bedroom window opens two inches. Why are you _really_ here? Thinking of disappearing?" Piers grabbed him by the back of his T-shirt and yanked him into the hallway. "I'm watching you. Screw up and little Lexie might suffer _your_ punishment for a change."

Quinn's nostrils flared. "What do you want with me? Why are you always lurking like some kind of candy man waiting to take me to the black market?"

"Candy man? Black market? Where did a Bolt like you learn about those things?" Piers's smile was wolfish, turning his cold, pinched features into something primal. "But what I want is simple. I want you to understand that you can't outsmart me. Petty tricks are one thing, but you ever try to escape, and I will hunt you down like the abomination you are."

"Don't you call him that," a shrill voice demanded.

Quinn froze. "Lexa, it's fine. Go back upstairs."

But Piers was already on the move. He lunged and grabbed her wrist. "Don't you ever talk to me that way, rat."

"Don't you talk to _me_ that way, you piece of shast!"

Quinn didn't have time relish the shocked look on Piers's face as he realized Lexa wasn't scared of him before she twisted, threw him over her shoulder, and came up holding his stunner. She aimed it at Piers's head. "Oops, safety's off. Move and I'll burn your brain out."

"Lex," Quinn said, hands up. He moved slowly away from the wall. "Put the stunner down. This is trouble we don't need."

"He called you an abomination. He called me rat. He hurts you—I don't always forget, you know, no matter what kind of pills they give me. This has to stop." She looked down the hall, to the delivery bay. "We could go. Quinn? We could go."

"You go, and I'll have you down in seconds," Piers growled, staring at the business end of his own stunner.

Lexa tightened her finger on the trigger. "Nah, you'll be too busy drooling and wetting your pants."

Quinn was about to suggest they all forget this happened when Piers lunged for the stunner. Lexa, fast as a young cheetah, dodged him, jumped, and shot him on the fly. He dropped, his limbs twitching.

Lexa shoved the stunner into her belt. "Let's go."

Quinn took a look at Piers's limp form and smiled. Suddenly, he wasn't afraid anymore. What was left to be afraid of, anyway? They were dead, either way, so why not taste freedom first. "Ladies first."

They crept into the delivery bay. The two artificials were reloading the crates after their search, and the human guards were still flirting with the girls.

Lexa led Quinn along the wall, walking light on her toes. He tried to emulate her, but he was too big to stay hidden in the shadows, so he frog crawled instead. Maren's fleet of hovers would hide them most of the way, but they would have a few moments in the open at the bay doors.

"Lex," Quinn breathed. "Wait until the delivery hover starts up and slip out as they leave."

She gave him a thumbs up and crouched in the corner near the door. Quinn scooted in next to her, his heart hammering like crazy. They were doing it. They were really leaving.

The delivery hover spooled up with a whine. Lexa caught his eye, jerked her head at the door, and crept forward. The door started to close, and they rolled out of its way into the edge of Maren's garden by the gate. Being surrounded by thorn bushes wasn't what Quinn imagined his first few moments of freedom would be like, but he'd take it. He breathed in the scent of roses. They smelled different out here.

"Okay, where to?" Lexa asked.

"To the lake. There's lots of places to hide in the ruins, and if we need to, we can swim out so dogs won't be able to track our scents."

She nodded, and they crawled down to the edge of the drive, watching for guard patrols on the roof.

"We're clear," she said, darting out into the road.

Quinn hurried to catch up, then took the lead as they sneaked through the alley and into the field of grass near the lake. Lakefront property—so many places to hide. He showed Lexa how to army-crawl through the field, staying low so the cameras or guards wouldn't see them. Their progress was slow, though, and before they made it to the towers Doc had shown him all those months ago, the alarms went off at Maren's house.

"Go!" Quinn said, shoving Lexa toward the lake. "Into the water. Hurry!"

Guards were pouring out of the house and into the field like ants after a discarded candy bar. Quinn shoved Lexa again.

"Doc didn't teach me to swim yet," she whispered, eyes huge.

"It's simple. Hang on to me, and if we need to go under, hold your breath. We can hold our breath longer than regular humans. We'll go under a minute at a time, okay?" He pulled her into the water and settled her on his back. "Just like a dolphin ride."

"What's a dolphin?" she asked. Her teeth chattered audibly next to his ear as the cold water seeped over them.

"I read about them once. They're mammals, but live in the ocean."

"They can't have gone far!" Piers yelled. He sounded murderous. "Find them or I'll have you terminated."

Shouts and the sounds of men running spurred Quinn forward. "We're going under. One, two, three." He kicked off from the bottom and dove into the murky shallows, using the slimy underwater grass to pull them along rather than kick his feet and give them away.

They surfaced a few moments later, and Quinn stayed low. The men were walking a grid through the field, while Piers and another guard took off in a security hover. He flew straight toward the lake.

He'd have heat-sensing equipment on board.

"Lexa, we're going under again. Longer this time."

"O-o-okay."

He dove, using one hard kick to push them to the bottom. There, he slithered along like an eel among the water plants, hoping they were deep enough to hide their heat signature from Piers.

The water was dark and dirty, so he had to feel his way. That's how he missed seeing the concrete piling. He rammed it with his shoulder and Lexa let go.

No! He looked up, and she was floating to the surface. He clawed his way upward only to find Piers's hover right over them.

"Clever, but not clever enough, beanpole," he shouted. "Now, swim back to shore, or I'm going to shoot you and pay the consequences with Ms. DeGaul later."

Lexa bobbed next to him, fear in her eyes. "I can hold my breath longer. Promise."

Quinn put an arm around her waist to keep her afloat. "It's no good. We tried. It's over."

She slumped against him. "I won't let you take the punishment."

"You have to," he said. "She'll kill you, otherwise."

As he started paddling toward shore, careful to keep their heads above water, Lexa said, "But I'm afraid that this time, she'll want to kill you."

* * *

Maren made them stand on a plastic sheet as soon as Piers dragged them, soaking wet, to her office. Her eyes flashed with more anger than Quinn ever remembered seeing. His confidence that he was too valuable to her to kill wavered.

"I should have you sold off for parts, Quinn," she snapped, pacing the floor, her steps so heavy that her high heels made marks on the wooden floor. "But we've invested too much in you. You're a fifty-million-credit project already." She glared at Lexa. "This one, however, has only wasted half that much. And from what I understand, she subjected my chief of security to bodily harm."

Lexa propped her hands on her hips, defiant even though her lips were blue with cold and water dripped steadily from her hair onto her back. "He hurt Quinn. I don't let _anybody_ hurt Quinn." She took a step toward Maren, fierce and quivering. "Not even you."

"That's it," Maren said. She stopped pacing and turned from fire to ice—a very bad sign. "Caldwell, we're done. Are you going to do it or shall I have Piers?"

"I'd be happy to take care of it," Piers said.

Fear and anger pulsed inside Quinn. "No! Take me. It's my fault. It was all my idea."

"Not this time," Piers said. "And I have the stunner mark to prove it." He smirked at Lexa. "It'd be my genuine pleasure to rid you of this problem, Ms. DeGaul."

Lexa lifted her chin. "I'm going to kill you someday, Piers. And you'll never see it coming."

"Lex, stop!" Quinn gripped her upper arm and turned her to face him. "They're going to term you if you don't shut up!"

"We're going to term her, either way." Maren shook her head. "Kids. What were we thinking, Caldwell?"

"My dear, the project wasn't a total failure." Dr. Martine turned sad eyes on Lexa. "Give me the night to map her brain patterns. If I can isolate the problem that makes her so willful, we could have a new version that's just as strong and fast, but without the disdain for authority."

"Fine, but I want a blonde with blue eyes, this time," Maren warned. "Understand me?"

Dr. Martine's shoulders drooped. "Perfectly."

Quinn didn't understand—what did it matter that the next version had blonde hair, instead of Lexa's rich brown? Was it to remind him of what he'd lost? To make this new girl as different from Lexa as possible as a warning? His eyes stung with tears. This couldn't be happening. It _couldn't._

Piers yanked Lexa away. "I'll take her to your lab and have her restrained."

"Take care not to damage her," Dr. Martine said firmly. "I need her intact for mapping."

Piers dragged Lexa to the door. She kicked and screamed, and even bit his arm, but he didn't turn her loose. They were really taking her away. They were taking her away forever.

Everything inside of Quinn exploded into a universe of pain and rage.

"No!" He launched himself at Piers, landing one good, solid punch to the older man's chin. Piers's head rocked back, but he didn't let Lexa go.

"Oh, for stars' sakes." Maren pressed a button on the underside of her desk. Ten seconds later, the room was flooded with guards pointing stunners at Quinn's head. "Put him in detention. Piers, once you're done delivering Lexa, take this one to Dr. Drummond. I've had about enough of this free-will nonsense."

Dr. Martine heaved a sigh. "At least let him retain decision and thought control. Like you said, we've spent an enormous fortune on him. We need him to be able to reason and think without fear. A switch will be enough."

"Fine," she spat. "Just get them both out of my office."

"Let me say goodbye!" Quinn cried out. "Please. She's my only friend."

Maren rolled her eyes, but Dr. Martine held up a hand. "We raised his hopes, only to dash them in the end. This is partly our fault. Letting him say goodbye is only fair."

There was a pause while they stared at one another. Finally, she nodded, looking really tired. "Okay. And Quinn, for what it's worth, I am sorry we had to put you through this. She was flawed, and we should've terminated her before you got too attached."

The guards pushed Quinn into the hall, and Lexa rushed to wrap her thin arms around his middle. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he whispered. "It's my fault."

"No, it's not." She looked up at him, her gaze intense. "Remember— _never_ forget—whose fault it really is. Promise?" Lexa stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear, "Make them bleed, Quinn. Make them pay for everything they've done."

He felt his world crumble around him even as a grim purpose filled him. "I promise."

"Enough." Piers tore Lexa from his grip. "Three, Nine, take the boy to detention."

Two low-functioning artificials grabbed his arms in matching vice grips. As they were dragged in opposite directions, Lexa screamed, "I'm your best friend! Always!"

"Lexa!" His heart was going to rip itself apart. He'd never survive this pain. " _Lexa!_ "

Piers yanked her around the corner, but Quinn could hear her screaming his name. Something inside him broke. Make them bleed, she'd said. Remember who's at fault. Well, he knew damn well who that was.

With a roar of rage, he ripped one arm free and punched the artificial in the jaw so hard, something _crunched_ beneath his fist. When that one went down, he yanked the other toward him, sprang off the floor, and kicked him in the chest. Bones cracked under the impact.

Quinn flew into Maren's office before the security team could get their bearings, and he landed on top of her with his fingers around her throat. "Give her back! Give her back!"

"Quinn, stop!" Dr. Martine barked, trying to pry his hands away. "This isn't helping. The decision is made."

"Our lives are worthless," Quinn said as Maren kicked beneath him. His rage turned to hopeless resignation. His life was over, but he'd take her with him. It was all he had left. "I won't live like a slave anymore. You'll have to kill me."

"I've got this," Doc said behind him.

Quinn started to tell him to back off, but something heavy slammed into his skull, and blackness swallowed him whole, drowning him in the sound of Lexa's screams.

* * *

"Six, two, four-seven, nine, thirteen," a voice was saying far away. "Six, two, four-seven, nine, thirteen. Six, two, four-seven, nine, thirteen."

"He's coming back online," Dr. Martine said.

"It doesn't take long," a man with a smooth, pleasant voice answered. "He needs to recognate, then we can test the switch and see if we need to adjust the output."

"Thank you, Dr. Drummond. I'll stay with him if you want to grab a coffee."

"I'll take you up on that. I'll be back in ten. He should be fully aware by then."

The door opened, and a cool whisper of air slid over Quinn's skin. It closed with a quiet snap, and he woke up a bit more. He was... What was this? Where had they taken him? Restraints held his back flat against a table, but he was facing the floor. They'd removed his shirt, but not his pants or shoes. He stirred and discovered his arms were asleep and that the back of his neck, right above where it met his spine, hurt like he'd been cut open.

He tried to tell Dr. Martine he was awake, but all that came out was, "Six, two, four-seven, nine, thirteen."

Dr. Martine knelt at the head of the bed, so that he was underneath Quinn. "You can't answer me yet, but I know you can hear me and understand." He spoke barely above a murmur. "I'm so sorry. I wish I'd been able to save her, but things are dangerous for all of us right now. Attacking Maren was a stupid move, even if I do understand the motivation.

"From here on out, I need you to be a model citizen. That's going to go against everything you want, and I know I'm asking you to do something incredibly difficult. But Quinn, you can hide behind a dozen different masks, act a thousand characters. Do this for me. Don't be too contrite to raise suspicions, but do, over time, prove yourself more docile and compliant."

"Six, two, four-seven, nine, _thirteen_!" The words weren't what he wanted, but the tone came across.

"I know," Dr. Martine said. "But please, don't give up. I couldn't save her." His voice broke. "I won't lose you, too. You're our one hope now."

"Six, two...what...hope?" he forced out between clenched teeth.

Dr. Martine's eyes bored into his. "The Quad ordered you for reasons we don't yet know, but suspect. And there are some of us who think that absolute power isn't right. Whatever you think of me, or Doc, or even Maren, understand there is worse out there. Piers is only a faded example of the evil lurking in the wings. You cannot fall into their hands before you've been prepared. Before we know you're ready to keep from being used to ruin the lives of a lot of good people."

"Like...you?"

"No." Dr. Martine stared at the floor. "Not like me. Better people. Now, when Dr. Drummond comes back, your new pain switch will be tested, and it'll be excruciating. Don't fight. Bide your time. I won't be able to speak freely with you again after this. I have to distance myself, but know I'm watching—and hoping."

The doorknob creaked as it turned, and Dr. Martine rose. "Remember what I said."

Quinn didn't even have time to digest everything before Drummond asked, "Is he coherent?"

"Yes," Dr. Martine said. "Aren't you, Quinn?"

Anger swirled thick in his gut, but he managed, "Yes, sir."

"Very good!" Drummond sounded way too chipper for a man about to inflict pain on a bound subject, and Quinn curled his fists at his sides.

"We'll start with a low-level 'reminder' test. This will be for defiance and failure to follow commands."

A blink later, a glaring headache throbbed in Quinn's forehead, and he gasped.

"Good, good!" Drummond leaned down to look at him. "Yes, that worked well. I can see it by the way you're squinting. All right, next level is for rule breaking."

The glaring headache turned into a searing pain, and Quinn vomited lake water and the remnants of his lunch all over the floor.

"Ah, yes. That's partly why you're still upside down. No aspirating on my watch." The smile in Drummond's voice, like he was enjoying Quinn's discomfort and humiliation, was almost too much to take. "Last level. This is for attacking your handlers. Lay hands on Ms. DeGaul again, and you'll wish you were dead."

"I already do," Quinn whispered.

"Oh, not like this." Drummond's tone turned silky and dangerous. "Not nearly like this."

A bolt of agony flashed through Quinn's entire body, locking his jaw so he couldn't even scream to release his pain. He went rigid, and his eyesight flickered in and out. The last thing he said before passing out was, "Kill me. Please."

* * *

He woke up in his room. It was dark outside his tiny window, and his stomach cramped with hunger. When he sat up, though, the floor tilted, and the idea of eating was forgotten in his hurry to lie back down.

For a while, he let grief overwhelm him. Lexa was dead. He'd never see her smile again. She'd never sneak into his bed in the middle of the night after a nightmare. No more sparring practice or stealing cookies or ganging up on Doc in the training room.

Gone. She was gone forever.

An inhuman cry wrenched itself free from his lungs. Gone. She was gone. Half of his heart had been torn out and no one cared. Not one frakking soul. How he hated this place and everyone in it. Dr. Martine said he was sorry, but what good did that do? Nothing.

His only choices were to end his life or run. So what if Dr. Martine said he needed to pretend, to be compliant for some greater purpose. He had no greater purpose without his best friend. Part of his soul was dead—and he believed he had a soul. Loving Lexa had taught him that. He wasn't a thing to be owned. He was alive, and he loved. That made him more human than the people who kept him locked away. He'd be free, one way or another.

Quinn stood, then rested a hand on his desk. Once the wave of dizziness passed, he went to the door. It was locked. Of course it was. That left only one way out.

He looked around the room, then laughed darkly. There wasn't a single cord, sharp object, or means of electrocution in his room. They'd even taken his sheets while he was with Dr. Drummond. Maybe they understood his thought processes better than he'd assumed. Didn't matter—this would be over one way or another.

Someday, Piers and Maren would get lax. He could be patient—watch, wait, and gather enough currency to run. Someday, he'd have an opportunity to escape into the city. He didn't give two shasts about Dr. Martine's plans.

He'd run the second they became complacent.

That thought sustained him through a very long night. Finally, just after dawn, Doc came with some toast and weak tea. "You ready to behave?"

"Depends," Quinn muttered.

"What if I told you something that might make it easier?" Doc said.

He reached for the toast, and his stomach let out a loud rumble. It didn't know he was falling apart inside. "Depends."

"Funny," Doc said, although his tone was carefully neutral. "It seems there was a problem in the prep room where they were keeping Lexa for the brain mapping."

Quinn's heart let out a painful thump. "What?"

"Strangest thing...no one's entirely sure how she did it. But..." A smile spread across Doc's craggy face. "Lexa escaped. Piers is furious." Now he laughed a little. "She avoided every security camera on the grounds. It's like she disappeared."

"She did?" He couldn't believe it. No, wait, of course he could. "She's alive?"

"I can't say for sure, but security teams were dispatched a few hours ago, and there's no sign of her."

Doc left him with his breakfast. Where had Lexa gone? Would she come back? No, he didn't want her to come back. It wasn't safe here. He'd do what he planned—he'd wait and escape on his own. And once he did, he'd find her. Together, they'd bring Precipice to its knees. They'd free their artificial brothers and sisters. And then? A cold, hard core of righteous anger filled him.

Then they'd take down the Quad.

Together.

# Epilogue

Today

"Now, Quinn," Maren drawls. "Dr. Martine tells me you didn't enjoy the sorting activities."

Deciding who to fire and who to keep at Precipice? No, that hadn't been any fun. I swallow down my loathing, though, and say, "It just wasn't much of a challenge, ma'am. The criteria and patterns were too easy to identify."

"Hmm." She gets up from her desk, already in her robe so she can retire for the evening. "I'm pleased to hear that, actually. I'll come up with something more stimulating in a few days. In the meantime, you're excused."

I nod respectfully and let myself out of her office. I no longer fear walking these halls, not since Piers was promoted to Chief of Security at Precipice and moved out of the house. Most people ignore me now, and that's how I like it. It's been so lonely since Doc got fired, though. The K600s are kind, but it's just not the same. My attempt at family was disastrous, too, fraught with mistakes and betrayals I will never repeat. As a result, I fear I'm destined to be alone the rest of my life.

Depressing, even for a fake human.

I wander upstairs, thinking I'll go for a run on the treadmill before bed, but something is going on. Guards race down the hall—some artificial, some human. They tear through the second floor in a cacophony of boots and barked orders.

Port, the human security captain, sees me standing at the head of the staircase and shouts, "Quinn! Intruder! Check the bedrooms."

I hold in a sigh and nod. Seven years of this crap, and they still see me as a utility player. Good enough, since I don't want to draw attention to just how powerful I'm becoming. Maren's idea of a "more stimulating" project won't even come close to stressing my capabilities, although I'll make her think it does.

Besides, I hardly care that someone is running amok in the house—asking me to help find the intruder is such a pointless exercise—but compliant is my middle name, so I trot to the first door. It's locked. Then again, it's always locked. My K600 friends speculate that it holds Maren's sex toys. I find that funny, because she's such a ball of frustration, I can't see her being uninhibited about anything, least of all a secret sex chamber.

I open the second door and step inside. The room's completely dark once I shut the door behind me. Or at least it would seem that way to a normal person, but I'm far from normal. I see well outside the human range, and I detect a faint glow coming from under the bed. A rogue K600?

So that's what they're after—an escapee. Well, I'll help this one get away and tell Port the rooms are empty.

Whistling, I go to check the bathroom and feel the air behind me stir. The artificial is on the move. "The windows are rigged with an alarm," I say. "And the lights in the garden would turn on the second you hit ground, anyway."

"Who are you?" a girl asks.

That voice... It's older, harder, but I _know_ that voice. It's the voice of all my dreams.

I start trembling and slowly turn. The glow she emits isn't quite enough to be sure, so I flip on the light switch and nearly fall to my knees.

She's seven years older—well past seventeen now—and beautiful, but I'd know her anywhere. "Lexa?"

She's wearing tight fitting black clothes that make me feel both hot and cold, and her hair is tucked inside a cap, but it's _her_. She even still smells faintly like cookies.

Lexa brandishes some kind of tool at me. "Who are you?"

I can't believe it. _She_ found _me_. She has no idea who I am, which explains a lot about her disappearance, about why she never made contact with me. My Lexa never would've left me behind. But I'm not bitter—there was a reason. She would've come back if she'd been able to remember, and her memories can be restored over time. Doc will know what to do, if I can make contact. All that matters is that she's here, and that we leave the compound together. I just have to make her trust me. That's my gift, right? I'll help her escape and convince her to take me with her.

Then I'll help her remember why she trusted me all those years ago.

Our time has come. At last.

Read on for a sneak peek of UNSTRUNG (Unstrung series, Book 1)

# UNSTRUNG: Chapter One

The safe unlocks with a quiet click. Moving slowly, just in case there's a tripwire I haven't disabled, I open the door and reach inside. The chip rests in a foam-lined box. I ease it free and slip it into a small pocket inside the gear pouch strapped around my waist.

Robbery number sixty-three: success.

I close the safe, then start a cautious trek back to the window. I'm careful to retrace my steps, traveling the exact path I used to come in. So far I've bypassed a laser tripwire net, a few pressure plates, and a motion sensor. Kind of disappointing. I thought one of Precipice's labs would be more heavily secured, and I like a challenge. This room is too easy—just four wide lab tables with thick, black tops, some data equipment on the counters and the wall safe. A few terminals even provide a soft blue glow to work by. Nothing to get in my way or force me into the motion sensor's path. Much, much too easy.

Which means something's wrong.

I take a deep breath, trying to refocus. C'mon, Lexa. Time to concentrate, girl.

It's no good; the nagging feeling I'm in trouble won't shake loose. The Quad's businesses aren't usually lax on security. Their systems are top-notch and with the cops in their pockets, it takes an audacious thief to break into a Precipice Industries building. Honestly, I'm the only one crazy enough to take this job, but being seventeen means I'm allowed to do stupid things, especially for a good paycheck.

I'm almost back to the window when a cool breeze ripples across my skin, like the climate control system has started. Immediately, a blue light clicks on in the ceiling and my whole body goes numb. The beam has me flash frozen in place. Skies, what is this? Why can't I move? My mind's screaming for me to get out of here, to run, but it's like my legs don't understand the commands.

I push against whatever is holding me still, willing it to leave me alone. As if it hears my thoughts, the blue light turns off and I can move again. It's too late, though—the alarm starts shrieking. I dash for the window and slide onto the ledge. My heart slams in my chest, almost like it's trying to reboot, which is bad since I'm on the eighth floor and the ground is far below. There's no time to catch my breath, no time to calm down. I pat my gear pack, feeling for the data chip in the little pocket deep inside. At least I got what I came for. Making it home with my prize in hand will be a different story altogether.

It takes thirty seconds to test my climbing anchors, clip onto my cat-line and swing off the ledge. It takes another thirty seconds to rappel down the side of the brick building. The alarm is still shrieking overhead. From the dark of the alley, each light that comes on in the windows makes me move faster. At one point, a member of the night watch peeks outside. I flatten against the wall. This is going to be a close one. Maybe the closest yet.

A bead of sweat runs down my chest, trickling its way into my navel. It's torture, but I stay pressed against the wall. Another bead follows the first, then another. I want to wipe them away so badly I have to grit my teeth to stay my hand. If I get caught...no, I can't think about that right now. I _won't_ get caught.

After the guard moves away from the window, I punch the release on my climbing anchors, jumping clear as they fall to the ground from the roof. My cat-line comes down in a tangled wad. No time to fix it. I shove the whole kit—anchors, line and descent vest—into the saddlebag compartment on the back of my hover bike. She comes to life with a gentle hum and the propulsions on the bottom glow a faint purple. I special ordered that color because I like a little flash. If I'm going to get caught, I'll do it with style.

I'd rather not get caught, though.

Sirens wail in the distance, closing fast. Hunched over the handle bars, I ease the bike onto the street behind the lab, then kick it into glide mode. The shadows of giant skyscrapers bear silent witness to my flight. In the clean order of Triarch City, I'm the one bit of chaos those buildings and their perfect little occupants might experience in the next week. Maren—the Quad's leader—sees to that. Square pegs like me don't fit into her world order.

Which is why the sirens are getting closer.

I kick the throttle into flight mode as I enter the ramp to the highway. The hover bike runs like molten glass and I streak down the dark street in a burst of orange light. Streetlamps become laser beams, their flashes the only indicator of just how fast I'm going. This time of night, there isn't much traffic; good thing, because this run is dicey enough. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't like endangering innocent people in the name of a job.

I hazard a look in my side mirrors. Flashing lights give chase. Stars, they've sent a hover tank after me. I have a jamming signal built into the bike's computer, which keeps them from seeing me on their scanner. They have to rely on a visual search. Not easy to do—the tanks have to fly much higher than my bike, and they aren't as fast. I have to hope speed's enough to keep them at bay. My capture would make the cops' night, what with the reward and all. I shiver, thinking about what awaits me in jail, especially since my boss wouldn't bail me out. I'd be on my own.

The highway curves around the lake and I lean into the turn, zipping past the last monorail station. Beyond the empty train platform, the road stretches dark and cold, leading to the warehouse district on the far side of the lake. Once I cross the bridge, I'll be in the home stretch. I hit the boosters and the hover bike lurches forward, the thrusters throwing off a brilliant yellow glow that's reflected in the water under the bridge. The flashing lights drop back.

The exit ramp at the end of the line comes up fast. I cut back on the throttle and grind my way onto the side streets, taking a hard turn between two steel-sided warehouses. At the end of the alley, I drop the bike into glide mode and the thrusters change back to purple. Another hard turn—more slowly this time—and the bike pops through the narrow doorway into Turpin's building. The metal door rolls down automatically once I'm safely inside. Holding my breath, I cut the engine so the cops won't know I'm here. It takes a minute or two for all the sirens to pass into the distance. When they do, I permit myself a sigh of relief. Just the one.

I pull off my helmet and toss it in the corner, where it clatters against plastic boxes used to maintain our front as a snack foods distributer. My boss likes to joke that we sell crackers during the day and steal chips at night. Never found that funny, to tell the truth.

"You're back early," Jole's voice echoes through the warehouse from the overhead speaker.

"Ran into a problem."

"Huh," he says. "Guess that's why the boss told me 'full measures.'"

I give the camera in the corner a put-out look. "Seriously?"

"Sorry."

Grumbling, I prepare to strip. My hair streams down my back, damp with sweat earned during the chase. Pissed at the formality or not, it feels good to peel off my leather jacket, boots and tight, black jumpsuit. I hate the jumpsuit, always feeling like a wannabe ninja wearing the thing. Occupational hazard.

In my tank and boy shorts, I pad barefoot across the concrete floor to a door marked "authorized personnel only," and pose for the security camera. Hand on my hip, I blow Jole a kiss.

"You know your charms don't work on me," he says.

"Yeah, yeah. Next time I'm out, I'll pick up a boyfriend for you."

"Really? That would be great. I like broad shoulders and a nice smile."

"Don't we all?" I ask. "Now, could you open the damn door?"

The lock clanks open.

I enter a pea-green hallway and stop when the door behind me relocks. My skin crawls with the tingle of a full body scan before a light flashes up ahead. We're going all out with security tonight. The boss must be feeling extra paranoid. What, does he think I've been compromised. Or worse, _copied_? Who'd they expect? One of Maren's Bolt girls? Sure, she has an army of artificial humans, but it's too expensive to copy real people just for the sake of spying on mid-level criminals.

The scan finishes and a green light flashes. "See? Real girl."

"That's what the cellular detector says," Jole answers. "Keep walking."

I pass through the second door into a clinical white hallway—the clean room—so Jole can scan me for electronic tracking devices. I don't know why, but the clean room always gives me the shakes. Something about the whiteness of it. White floor, white ceiling, white...

"Lexa? Turpin wants to see you. Now."

Jole's voice reverberates off the hard walls and shakes me loose from whatever hold the white hallway has. I'm in trouble; that's enough to get my attention.

He buzzes me through the last door and the smell of mildewed tile seems like a reward after the night I've had. The locker room's showers keep the air humid; I can almost feel the warm water on my shoulders. But no, a soak will have to wait, because Turpin's summons has to be answered. Sighing, I pull a pair of jeans and sneakers out of my locker. "Now" doesn't mean "right this second" when I'm in my underwear, no matter how pissed off the boss is.

The adrenaline has worn off and getting dressed takes a lot of energy. Exhausted, I head for the stairwell with low expectations.

Turpin lives on the third floor of the warehouse, and his digs look less industrial than mine or Jole's. The boss has carpet, even in the hallway leading to his office, and old-timey wall sconces with yellow light bulbs put off a soft glow. I pause before the heavy steel door, trying to gather my excuses into a bouquet of half-truths before the yelling starts.

"I know you're out there," comes Turpin's muffled shout.

Well, of course he does. Cameras never lie. I push the door open, head downcast, hoping he'll think I'm being contrite.

"Oh, cut the crap, Lexa," Turpin says the second I cross the threshold. He sits up straight in his antique leather chair, hands folded on his wooden desk. "You wouldn't know humble if it tackled your ass."

Surprised into laughing, I look up. Turpin glares back and asks, "What happened tonight?"

I choke on a laugh. What _had_ happened? "I got in just fine, through the eighth-floor window, like you told me." Now for the tricky part. "The laser cutter worked perfectly—but don't tell Jole. His ego doesn't need stoking. Anyway, I found the safe, decoded the lock, and took the chip. I was on my way out when I ran into a new type of security protocol. I saw this flash of light in the ceiling and was paralyzed for a moment. When I could move again, the alarm went shrieking all to hell."

Turpin's face becomes guarded. "I've never heard of a security measure that paralyzes someone. Are you sure you didn't imagine it?"

I glare at him—my imagination isn't that good. "No. It was like my feet were glued to the floor. I couldn't move."

He takes off his glasses. So what if we can cure blindness; Turpin likes anachronistic things more than perfect eyesight, which also explains the wool sport coat and the gray hair even though he's only forty.

"Maren didn't have anything like that when I worked at Precipice," he says. "I need to put out some feelers, see if I can't figure out what this new safety measure is."

"Thanks." If anyone can find the source of the trip light, it's Turpin. In a previous life, he'd been a security expert. The best thieves are always halfway legitimate, working right under the noses of their marks. "So now what?"

"You lie low for a few days."

I stare at the ceiling, supplicating to the crown molding for intercession from this vile punishment. "A vacation! Maybe I should screw up more often."

"This isn't the time for sarcasm." Turpin shoves his glasses onto his face. "We're close to cracking Maren's defense systems and our clients aren't known for patience. Your little mistake may have cost us weeks, maybe months. Do you want to explain to our employers why we're behind schedule?"

Oh, Stars, anything but that. Being in the same room as our clients gives me the creepy-crawlies and their bodyguards always breathe down my neck like they'd enjoy sending me to the afterlife. "No, I wouldn't."

"And I trust you wouldn't like the Quad to catch you, either, right? We stole plans for the K400s. They may be early-gen artificials, and obsolete, but they aren't going to give us a pass on this. You want to end up in their hands?"

The ice in his tone matches the cold feeling in my stomach. Suddenly the clients don't seem so frightening. "Certainly not."

"Then you're grounded until further notice," Turpin says. "Jole could use some help cracking the chip—that'll be your assignment during downtime. Find out what the K400 data can tell us about later models. Until we make the handoff, stay inside."

Holding in a snort takes effort, but I give him a nice, obedient smile. Turpin knows that working on tech is my least favorite chore. Helping Jole is punishment, pure and simple. The sick thing is, I know I deserve it. I failed.

"Yes, sir."

I turn slowly and close the door with a quiet snap once I'm in the hall. How did I mess up like this? I pride myself on being the most careful "acquisitions expert" Turpin has ever had. With measured steps, reeking of discipline for Turpin's cameras, I stroll to the locker room for my shower. Greeted once again by the smell of mildew, I take a seat on the metal bench.

It's only then that I let go and punch the locker door.

# Other Books by Kendra C. Highley

The _UNSTRUNG_ Series:

UNFINISHED (#0.5)

UNSTRUNG (#1)

UNFINISHED (#2, coming 2015)

TBA (#3, coming 2016)

The Matt Archer Series:

MATT ARCHER: MONSTER HUNTER (MA1)

MATT ARCHER: MONSTER SUMMER (MA1.5)

MATT ARCHER: BLADE'S EDGE (MA2)

MATT ARCHER: LEGEND (MA3)

MATT ARCHER: BLOODLINES (MA4)

MATT ARCHER: REDEMPTION (MA5)

SIDELINED (Entangled Ember press)

Author's Note:

First, I'd like to thank my awesome beta readers: Becca Andre, Kristen Otte, and Ryan Highley. Also, a big shout out to my editors, Shelley Holloway and Cassandra Marshall. Finally, a huge thank you to Glendon at Streetlight Graphics for the amazing cover art. You guys rock!

Feedback is always welcome in the form of reviews or via the contact page on my website. Thanks for reading, and be on the lookout for UNSTRUNG #2: UPRISING, coming in 2015. If you want more information about upcoming releases, including publication dates, visit my website: www.kendrachighley.com

