The argument of the women on the tele is too real after what happened yesterday. But the show is addictive. No wonder Mel watches it. Between the real estate aspect and the personal drama, it’s sucked me in too. And it keeps me distracted from checking my holo every few minutes, fearing I missed Gen’s reply.

  I messaged her saying I wasn’t going to be at work today, and if she doesn’t respond—oh well. I tried. But the other part of me longs for her to reach out. Even something small. Something to prove we’re going to sweep this under the rug and continue.

  I’m not ready for the friendship to end.

  But I can’t have her trying to dictate my life anymore.

  However, I’m not sure if I have a job.

  Mel told me not to worry. That Gen would need time to cool off, and everything would be worked out within the week. I’m not so optimistic. Gen and I have had small tiffs before, but nothing like the fight yesterday.

  Our other fights didn’t bring me to sobs that wrack my frame, blending tears with rain, but yesterday’s did. I tried to collect myself by the time I got home. My puffy face gave me away. Mel asked me what was wrong as soon as I walked in the door, and the tears began again. Mel poured me a glass of wine while Zoe curled into my lap. Az blissed out on the speaker while I relayed to Mel what happened, her brows furrowing more and more with each word. I wish baring my soul and confessing my sins to Mel would have been enough to cure the aching wound within my heart. But curled up in bed, I watched the moon arc across the sky. With each passing hour, I examined what I said, trying to figure out if I could have reacted better. Handled it better.

  Because after the anger comes the grief. The constant idea that I was the one who did something, everything, wrong. That I shouldn’t have said certain things. That I shouldn’t have called her out.

  That I’ve ruined everything.

  The thing no one told me about grief—about trauma—is that it comes in waves. And each crest grows larger. Pulls me deeper. And it’s harder to resurface than the last time.

  My body aches more than it has in the past week. Not sleeping and worry threading my muscles tight takes its toll. Screaming in the rain didn’t help. I stretch out my right leg with a groan, drawing Mel’s eyes away from her texts to her mom.

  “Did you call the doctor?”

  “No,” I grumble. “Can I make it through the next few days first?”

  She lets out a slow breath. “Fine. I guess you’ve earned it for being a good person.”

  My breath hitches. The sins I spilled to Mel included everything from Evangeline’s plight, my bargain for Prism to leave Mel alone, and my own contract with Blake. It spilled out of me. The dam broke after the stress of the day. The words threaded around my throat, threatening to drown me in the worry that I was telling secrets I didn’t own. Mel cut me free and buoyed me through the storm. She was clear that it was my life and I’d do what I want. She supported me, as long as I told her everything that was happening. She wanted me to be safe. Wanted to be on my side.

  And I’ll do it, because she’s not taking away my humanity. She recognizes that I want autonomy over my life. I want to make decisions for myself.

  Gen didn’t give that to me.

  I check my holo.

  “Still nothing?” Mel asks. Zoe raises her head from Mel’s lap. The bot cat’s eyes are half closed from Mel stroking her for the past half hour. Az sits up from where he’s slumped on the speaker, enjoying the vibes from the argument bouncing free from the black box. When no command comes, he slumps back down, ignoring Sunny, who is moving to a new sunspot.

  “Nothing.”

  Mel reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It’ll be all right.”

  “But what if I’m fired?” I ask, voice small. Afraid to take up space. I pull a loose thread on the pillow next to me. “Then I’ve lost my job and my friend.”

  Mel sighs. “I texted Gen this morning as well and haven’t heard back. No answer may mean good things. Give her time. And, I’ll take care of you. We’ll be all right on my salary until you find another job.”

  I lean on her shoulder in answer.

  “You’re meeting someone from Prism today, right?” Mel asks, hand returning to Zoe.

  I want to get rid of the bike as soon as I can. Against better judgment, I messaged Blake last night saying I was ready for the trade. The instructions had come a minute later. Like she’d been waiting, poised and ready to strike.

  “Yeah, at a coffee place, thing.” I wave my hand, trying to pluck the word from the air.

  “Shop?” Mel offers.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  My holo dings. I tilt my wrist and the message pops free. My heart sinks a little, but not too far. It’s Dom.

  Dom MF Higgs

  Any word from Gen?

  After coming clean to Mel last night, I told Dom too. She was much more blasé about the whole thing.

  Me

  Nothing. You?

  Dom MF Higgs

  Nothing.

  The time calls my attention. I need to leave to make it to my appointment with whoever Blake is sending. And then, after I’ve sold another piece of my soul, comes my date with Evangeline. Warmth tingles through my chest. I haven’t been on a date in so long. My last one was ruined by the person asking very invasive questions about my sickness before I found out what they did for a living. At least the breadsticks were good.

  “I gotta go,” I say, using the cane to stand.

  The argument on the tele has ended, and the show has moved on to showing a happy couple. Lame.

  “Want me to wait to finish the rest of this?” Mel asks, opening the remote app on her holo.

  “Yes, please,” I say. I’m in too deep. I have to watch the rest of the season.

  She switches the show over to a true crime documentary. “My mom will love walking in on this.”

  Even more reason to leave. Remove myself from the awkwardness that permeates the unit when Mel’s mom is here, especially in the presence of true crime. Mel and her mom try. But they’re playing pretend at having a bond.

  “Have fun with your mom trying to convince you to become a lawyer.”

  “Have fun in the cold.”

  I grab a heavy coat. The rain from yesterday drove all the heat out of the city, leaving nothing more than the cold husk of the decaying beast of the city propped up on neon-wrapped bones. Az sits up on the speaker, blinking a rapid green.

  “You’re going to stay here, lil’ bud,” I say.

  He darkens to maroon.

  “Sorry, but Mel will be here. And Zoe.” I don’t dare mention Sunny.

  He lightens to a sullen blue.

  The best I’m going to get.

  Outside the building, I’m thankful for the coat. A cold, bitter wind races down the street, funneled by the scrapers on both sides. It bluffs against the neon trees, bending them into impossible gymnastics. They teeter on the edge of breaking, each branch bending in plea for their lives. I make my way around the building to the small parking lot at the back. It’s in disorganized chaos with a semblance of parking spaces for the few cars parked. Most use the e-cars or have their personal bots able to convert, like Az. Few own cars anymore.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  They’ve become more of a status symbol, but not one that many hope to obtain.

  The neon pink bike is one of a few in the lot, more common than a car, even with the thirteen feet of snow we get each year, and I mount it with a groan. Again, I hook my cane through my belt loop. The engine roars to life with a press of a button and the LEDs of the bike flair to life. Traffic is light enough that I shoot out into the street without fear. The wind makes the bike hard to drive, but I’ve driven through worse. Like the surprise snowstorm that hit in May two years ago. Well, a surprise to me. Not to everyone else who checked the weather report that day.

  But today, despite the wind and cold, the city is alive.

  Early morning breakfast tacos slip through the taint of gasoline and motor oil to tickle my nose at a stoplight. Music blares from an e-car, and the rumble of a base from one down the street thumps towards us. Neon lights have brightened beneath the sun dressed in her gossamer dress of gray clouds, and call the eye to signs and ads. The light turns green, and I shoot off.

  A pharmacy holds court on the corner I take, offering both bright red and vivid green crosses to the masses. The large building offers a buffer from the wind to the restaurants on either side, where relief for the soul and stomach can be found. A promo screams the hours of the free clinic into the din of the street, a scrolling ad taking residence behind it, shooting commercial after commercial into the sky. A candy apple red rimmed door offers pleasures across the street from a Realtor, the corp vying for their space with glass windows that allows bright blue light to spill onto the sidewalk where promos for houses project under the feet of pedestrians.

  The wind rushes past my ears and sweeps my heavy thoughts away to float among the units stacked on either side of the street. Lights hang from balconies and outline windows, each a call that the residents are bright and are more than chaff to the monster they live in. That they, and I, are here to claim this place as their own.

  Greenery invades railings and patios to consume entire planes of the city, allowing the sky gardens to jump from building to building no matter the height. Steel walkways run between them, high above the street, with heated water under their iridescent skin to combat lake effect storms. And on the edge of it all, past the old raised bridge of the highway, rusted and jagged toothed; where the warehouses are taken over by mice and raves; into the depths of Old ‘Cuse, demanding space and noise, lies Gen’s shop and warehouse.

  But as much as I want to head there and make everything right, I turn right to find the bright white front of the café. I’m in luck that there’s a narrow parking space in front of the building. The offices on either side of the café are ringed in marching neon lights. My feet fall in time with the march, even with the cane, until I enter the café.

  It’s quaint with tiny opalescent tables and fuchsia chairs. A neon pendant light hangs over each table, high enough so that no one hits their head, but low enough to be intimate. Gentle piano music plays over the speakers, parts of it being gargled under the grinding of beans. It’s not at all the type of place I would expect Blake to pick. It’s absorbed the bright aspects of our society, something Blake has shunned.

  My holo chimes. I grimace but flick my wrist to free the message.

  Blake

  Sit down, your contact will be there soon.

  Right. Easy enough. I order and sit, as instructed, even if it rankles me to do so. I’ve never been good at following orders and having them come from someone as annoying as Blake doesn’t help.

  The red light above the table coats the Flick feed I’ve allowed to sprawl onto the table, tainting each of the pictures. My coffee arrives.

  “Thank you.” The words trail off. Standing next to my table, having dropped off my coffee, is the person in pink. They’re back in the outfit, in case there was any doubt that it was them, and behind them stands Robert in a garish bright pink suit to match. My mouth falls open, words deserting me.

  They both sink into the chairs opposite me. The person in pink lounges back as if they own the place. “Surprise.”

  Their voice is husky and flat. At odds with the brightness of their clothing and wig. Robert gives me a lopsided smile. On someone else, it would be charming. I find it repulsive. My pulse quickens. I reach for my coffee, hand trembling. Breathe. Just breathe. I can handle this.

  I glare at Robert. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to trade. So is she,” he says, jabbing his thumb at the person in pink.

  “And who are you?” I ask, leveling a hard look at the woman.

  “You can call me Aubrey,” she says. Aubrey smirks and leans forward to swipe a bit of the foam off of my capp. She pops her finger in her mouth. My mouth falls open at the audacity. I pull the coffee closer.

  “If this is another test—”

  “It’s not a test. We have an actual trade,” Aubrey says. “And we’ve heard you’re the person to go to for it.”

  I glare. “Heard from where?”

  Aubrey raises her brows in answer.

  Robert pulls a small tablet out of his jacket and sets it on the table with a delicate movement. It remains off, the black screen absorbing the red light overhead until it’s a warning. Hairs on the back of my neck rise. My heart slams against my ribs. I take a sip of my coffee to ground myself.

  “Why were you following me, Aubrey?” I ask, eyes sliding away from the tablet to Aubrey’s haughty gaze.

  “To gather information.”

  “For who?”

  “For me. And Blake.”

  I clench my teeth. I hate that Blake has been sniffing around for more information. Blake proved she could find out private information with ease, like when she obtained my medical records, so what is she looking for that she’d need a physical person to stalk me? Bile rises in my throat at Blake setting her sights on Mel. Or finding out what Evangeline and I are up to.

  “I need you to hack a program on that tablet,” Aubrey says.

  “What’s the program for?”

  “It’s a database,” Robert replies. He wrings his hands together, nervous about something. “You don’t want to know more.”

  “If you don’t hack it, there will be no more trades,” Aubrey says with a growing smile. “We’ll make sure of it.”

  Dammit. Blake holds all the cards. I sigh and grab the tablet. Robert leans back, eyes boring into me. Sweat breaks out along my brow. I hope I didn’t get myself into something I need help getting out of.

  The tablet wakes with a gentle touch. There is no passcode. In the middle of the screen is a singular app. It has no label and is a singular white square against the black of the background. With a sigh, I select it.

  A crude command prompt pops up. “What is this? Blake said I could turn down anything if I didn’t like what it was.”

  “I told you—”

  “Is it illegal?” I poke the tablet with every word to drive home my point.

  Aubrey considers with a finger to her lip. She points it at me. “No, at least not as far as you’re concerned. But, if you want to implicate yourself in something, please, keep asking questions.”

  I pick up the tablet, and type in the command window. “What information are you looking for.

  A sly grin takes over Aubrey’s lips. “I want to understand what Evangeline has influenced you to do.”

  I fight the frown that threatens to invade. Shit. Are they suspicious of Evangeline? Of her trying to leave Prism? My holo pings.

  Blake

  Quit asking questions and work.

  I glance around the shop, but no one is paying us any mind, and Aubrey hasn’t messed with their holo. Nor has Robert. He sits, eyes turned to my work. I shake my wrist, freeing the keyboard from my holo.

  Me

  You’re being super creepy.

  Blake

  Careful, is that any way to speak to your employer?

  Me

  You don’t pay me. And I have a job.

  Blake

  Do you? I was under the impression that you and Genevieve weren’t speaking. If you want employment, we will have to renegotiate terms.

  I type out the words fuck off, and delete them. I’m alone without any friends or backup, and while murders as a whole have dropped, despite what Mel’s shows would have people believe, I don’t trust Blake not to off me if I push too far.

  Maybe I need to stop watching true crime shows with Mel.

  I hit run on the code, testing it. This isn’t something I would do without a dedicated computer and the web to find answers to things I can’t figure out, but here I am. I don’t brick the machine though so I’m doing something right.

  “What has Evangeline told you?” Robert asks, cradling their head in their hand.

  “Not much.” Time to play coy. “Just the things all the rumors say. Why, should she have told me the organization’s deepest darkest secrets?”

  Aubrey glares.

  I shrug.

  Half an hour of silence later, I’ve created a mess of code that should get them what they want. I run it, and the pure white background of the program populates. I turn the tablet’s screen off, not wanting any info on what I accessed for Prism.

  “Done,” I say, setting the tablet down before them.

  Robert turns from the window where he’s been watching people on the street.

  Aubrey lifts their eyes from their holo. “Are you?”

  “It’s not a brute force hack. The code wasn’t completely secured so I went in through a backdoor. I have some place to be and that’s quicker than trying to get in some other way.”

  “Right, the date,” Aubrey mumbles, her head bent to the program.

  A chill slips into my veins. “How did you know about that?”

  Aubrey sighs, bored with my questions. “Nothing you say is sacred. There are a ton of people who work for us. People you wouldn’t suspect. And everyone is trying to curry favor with the boss. She asks for something, and people deliver.”

  “And why is she so interested in me? Why is she texting me?” I ask.

  Aubrey huffs out a laugh. “Because of Evangeline. She really hasn’t told you anything. Ask her about it. She’ll hate to tell you.”

  I pull back. Why would Evangeline hate to tell me something about Blake? She’s been fairly open about her life with Prism and the organization. Still, there’s something about how Aubrey said it that makes me worried.

  Aubrey rises from the table. “Everything we need is here. Robert, hand it over.”

  Robert pulls out an envelope. It’s a thick handmade paper that can be found in the Amish communities. He hands it across the table. With my heart caught in my throat, I take it.

  Inside, there are two tickets to enter the Dark Sky Nature Park. A place to view the stars on Earth. I’ve been before, and it’s a nice experience, but not the same thing as walking among the stars.

  I hand over the key to the motorcycle. Aubrey takes it and places the key in their pocket. “Pleasure doing business with you. If you see me again, which you will, ignore me. I’m a fly on the wall. If you see Robert, say hi.”

  “If Robert comes near me, I’ll scream.”

  Aubrey laughs. Robert frowns.

  I hope I haven’t made a huge mistake.