That night, as I head into the Komodo Club with Pressa, my thoughts still linger on the replay of my memories at the AIS headquarters. Pressa tugs on my hand, leading me deeper into the chaotic space. But even the flashing lights and pounding music can’t quite drown out my thoughts.
Maybe Daniel’s right. It’s possible that someone like Dominic Hann would cut deals like mine with lots of people. Maybe if I stay away from the Undercity, he’ll shrug off our encounter and just be content with the rounds I’d won him during the drone race.
The AIS director’s words echo in my mind. You are the closest thing we have to a lead.
I might be their best chance at capturing Dominic Hann. Daniel himself has been hunting the man for months. If I stay away from the entire situation, my brother will keep heading into the Undercity. He’ll keep putting himself in danger until he gets him. Didn’t he go deep into the same drone race pit that I was in? How many more situations like that before his luck runs out? Will there be a day when he doesn’t come home?
“Eden!”
Pressa’s voice cuts through the music and my thoughts. I blink and look down at her. She’s holding a drink out at me, and her lips are pursed in concern. “Are you sure you want to be here?” she says. “We don’t have to be at the club. Want to head to a diner instead?”
I shake my head and take the drink from her. “No, I’m fine,” I shout back. “Let’s stay.” I take her hand in mine and lead her closer to the stage.
If we weren’t hooked up to the Level system, there’d be no one onstage. But with our systems running, we can see virtual performers dancing up there, fantasies of people with wings hovering in midair, mermaids sitting on giant spinning hoops overhead, all surrounded by a ceiling of virtual ivy and swirling clouds. It’s a mesmerizing scene.
I force myself to stare at it all until it seems to consume me. Everyone
around me looks dressed up in some kind of virtual outfit. They’re colorful, even grotesque, and I’m grateful for the distraction as I join Pressa in a dance to a feverish song.
Here, she always lets herself go. Now she flashes a smile at me as she twirls. “We’re no longer in Ross City,” she exclaims. “We’re somewhere far away. I’m leaving the Undercity behind!”
I smile at her as she moves to the beat of the music, trying to sink into the fantasy with her. As we dance, she wraps her arms around my neck and I put my hands at her waist, pressing her close to me and feeling the thud of the music rush through us.
She tilts her head at me so that her bobbed hair falls in a sheet against her chin. “You’re looking for something,” she says, pulling me close enough to shout in my ear. “I can tell. What’s on your mind?”
I haven’t told her yet about my talk with the AIS. Instead, I just shake my head. “The race,” I reply, my words almost lost over the beat. “And who was sponsoring it.”
I half expect her to laugh it off and tell me not to worry so much. But instead, Pressa nods, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Keep this identity on whenever you leave the Sky Floors,” she finally tells me. She nods to the fake name and Level hovering over my head. “I’ve crossed paths with men like that before. They don’t play around, but I don’t think you’ve done enough to warrant them going after you. It might not be worth their while.”
I can’t tell if she really believes everything she’s saying. But it’s similar enough to what Daniel had told me that I feel a pinch of relief. I nod. “Right. Not worth their while,” I repeat, trying to take comfort in it.
She gives me a smile and goes back to dancing to the rhythm. “Try to relax tonight, all right?” She pats my shoulder. “You’ve graduated! Soon you’ll be off to the Republic!”
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I see a flash of sadness cross her face even as she exclaims it. Soon you’ll be off to the Republic! And Pressa will stay behind here, trapped in the Undercity. A pang twists my heart at the thought, and suddenly I’m very aware of how close we are. Her hair, smooth as silk, brushes the skin on my arm.
“Not that soon,” I shout back, trying to sound nonchalant about her answer. Trying to ignore the flutter that she’s started in my chest.
Pressa brightens a little at that, and the spark in her eyes is enough to make me forget that maybe our friendship won’t last forever.
In the mess of wildly dressed dancers, I see a shadowy figure. It looks
straight at me before it vanishes again into the throngs.
I slow in my steps and frown, then rub my eyes. Neon colors swirl around me in a haze. Am I seeing things now? I shake my head, then smile at Pressa and go back to dancing.
A few minutes pass. Then the shadow appears again.
This time it’s closer, and off to my left, but it’s distinctly the silhouette of a man, gaze pointed straight at me.
I freeze and whirl to face him. It’s there for another moment, long enough for me to catch my breath and nudge Pressa. I point in its direction. “You see that?” I gasp out.
“What?” Pressa looks toward where I’m pointing—right at the moment the figure disappears into the crowd again. “The dancers at the edge of the stage? Those are real people, not virtual figures. I hear if you want to go up there, you have to—”
“No. There was a shadow standing there.” I blink several times, as if the figure will reappear. “It was a man looking right at me. I saw him over on my right earlier.” I whirl in place again, scanning the crowd.
Pressa tenses too, sensing the change in my energy. But there’s nothing to show her now. Everyone around us is still in the throes of the beat, laughing and shouting and pumping their fists in the air. No sign of a mysterious figure. I rub my eyes. “Never mind,” I mutter. Pressa leans closer to me with a concerned look. I just try to give her a grin. “I think I’m just exhausted from
everything that’s happened.”
She looks unconvinced. To her credit, she looks across the crowd again, just in case she’d missed what I was talking about. Then she turns back to me and takes my arm. I try to take solace in the warmth of her touch. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s head to the lounge, cool off a bit.”
I nod numbly and follow her off the dance floor. We jostle past bodies all around us as we head out of the main atrium and into a narrow side hall.
I do a double take as we pass the lines at the bathrooms. A figure in dark clothes is leaning against the wall, and as we go, I swear he turns his head to follow us, his gaze penetrating. I look directly toward him. But I just see a group of giggling girls and boys, trading some secret among themselves.
My heartbeat starts to quicken. Dominic Hann’s men can be everywhere at once. He’s murdered people in the Sky Floors before. What if he’s here right now? Are they watching me?
But even as I think this, a part of me scoffs at how ridiculous it sounds. All I can remember is the genuine interest in his eyes and the charisma in his
words. Hadn’t he been so supportive of me? Why would he want me dead, if he seemed so interested in what I could make?
We reach the lounge. Pressa forces me to sit down, then grabs me a glass of water from the bar. “You look like you just witnessed a crime,” she says as she hands me the glass. “Everything okay?”
I take the glass and don’t stop drinking until the water’s gone. My eyes scan the room, searching for a shadow. Maybe I’m too tired to be here. Maybe it’s too much noise and too many people. “I think I need to go home,” I whisper, my eyes darting from person to person.
Pressa nods. “Okay.”
She gets up, and I follow her gratefully. The colors swirl around me, making me light-headed. Maybe the shadows are nothing but my own anxieties, or maybe I’m even lost in a nightmare. I’ve had dreams like this, where I’m stuck in dark hallways and trying in vain to find the exit. I keep looking for the shadows.
My thoughts keep lingering on them. Dominic Hann’s men, the whisper goes in my head.
It’s stupid. Why would he waste time following me around?
But as I stumble out of the club’s exit with Pressa, I see one last glimpse of dark figures behind us. There are two of them, both silhouettes with hands in their pockets, and their eyes are trained on me.
Virtual figures, I tell myself. They’re not real. I turn back around and hurry out with Pressa. But the sight haunts me, and I keep looking over my shoulder the entire way home, expecting to see them following close behind.
And even though I don’t quite believe it, the nagging whisper in my head keeps talking to me.
They’re coming for your brother. They’re coming for you.
