“Good.” So many of them were orphaned in one way or another. Their families were dead, or had disowned them, or had to be kept at arm’s length in order to protect them. Hell, a few of them were exactly like Rainbow—they’d never had families at all.
It was the one thing Richter had stolen from Gray before he ever even knew the man’s name. Not his future, or his potential, or even his peace of mind. He’d struggled through and found all of those things, after a fashion.
But never a family. Not until he’d been assigned to the Silver Devils. They crowded around his bed, eager to reassure themselves that he was still here. And he was—there, alive, and going to be just fine.
Gray mostly hated himself for not knowing how he felt about that.
November 13th, 2080
I believe Richter knows. Worse, I believe he’s gathering proof. Contingencies must be set in place.
He will not have Marjorie.
The Recovered Journal of Birgitte Skovgaard
THIRTY
Scanning books had lost some of its charm.
With Gray still oddly withdrawn and silent, Maya had retreated to her safe haven. Box after box sat stacked against the wall, waiting for her to lovingly digitize and catalog their contents. Thousands of books that had waited underground for decades, alone and forgotten, would finally flow out into the community again.
Usually the potential of it excited her. But she’d finished the cookbooks and moved on to gardening without feeling the spark. The 2030s rooftop gardening craze had provided ample how-to guides that would be in hot demand come spring, but Maya couldn’t find her usual enthusiasm.
She’d saved Gray’s life. And now she wasn’t sure he had actually wanted her to.
So much for miracles.
The scanner beeped softly. She set aside Upcycled Container Gardening and replaced it with 24 Gardening Containers You Already Own. She didn’t even have to think to start the process all over again. Press the button. Check the entry. Confirm the metadata.
This had been more exciting when her algorithm was buggy as hell.
“I’m glad you’re finding my gift useful.”
Maya didn’t even jump. Maybe she was just too tired to be startled. Which was probably a good thing—if she’d pulled a gun on Ava, she would have lost a few fingers. “It’s very nice,” she said without turning around. “If I tell you how nice it is, will you promise not to buy me a citrus juicer?”
Ava appeared in her peripheral vision, dressed in her usual chic business-casual black—a blouse with a neckline cut deep enough to show off her necklace that matched Nina’s, wide-legged black trousers, heeled boots, a sleek leather belt, and a statement buckle so large Maya was pretty sure the prong doubled as a throwing knife.
Ava leaned one hip against the counter and picked up Upcycled Container Gardening. “You shouldn’t be so hasty to reject the juicer, you know. I saw one last week that recycles the rinds in order to 3D print biodegradable cups.”
“I don’t need biodegradable cups,” Maya said patiently. “I have normal glass cups. You wash and then reuse them. Multiple times.”
“If you insist.” She paged through the book, speaking her next words without looking up. “You seem sad.”
Great. Her distress had reached levels so perilous even Ava had noticed. Maya’s eyes burned, and she bit the inside of her cheek hard. She would not cry in front of this woman. “In case you didn’t notice, I’ve been through some shit.”
“I know.” A brief pause. “Did Nina tell you much about our sister?”
“About Zoey?” Her curiosity finally piqued, Maya turned on her stool to fully face Ava. “Some. You were all designed to be good at different things. Nina was the fighter, you were strategy, and Zoey was…”
“Our heart.” The corner of Ava’s mouth barely ticked upward. “You all think Nina is warm and loving, but even she could seem harsh and pragmatic compared to Zoey. Zoey was light. Zoey was everything good in the world.”
“I never really understood that,” Maya admitted. “Why make someone like that and give them superpowers? Seems like it’d be impossible to get them to go out and do bad shit for you.”
“You of all people know better than that, Maya.” Ava finally closed the book and set it aside, turning the full force of her gaze on Maya. “How many of the people in the TechCorps are completely convinced that every day they are working to advance the greatest good?”
Too many. Of course, the greatest good for them somehow never took into account collateral damage. “Are you trying to make me even sadder?”
“No. I’m trying to…” Her brow furrowed and she made a frustrated noise. “I’m not Zoey. Or Nina. I can’t soothe you with hugs and soft, comforting words.”
“Uh, no shit,” Maya retorted. “Trust me, Ava. Last thing I expected from you.”
“But I can tell you the truth.”
Oh, God help her. Maya wasn’t sure she wanted whatever truths Ava had to offer. But the quickest way to get rid of her was probably to just let her say her piece. She could curl up in a ball and cry once Ava tired of trying to connect. “Sure, let’s hear it.”
Ava met her gaze squarely. “What’s happening with Gray isn’t your fault.”
It hit her straight in the chest, and tears filled her eyes. Maya wasn’t sure why she hadn’t expected it—Ava always knew exactly where to hit to cause the most pain. Except she wasn’t looking at Maya like she wanted to cause pain. If anything, Maya’s tears seemed to agitate her.
“It’s not your fault,” Ava repeated, her voice soft. “You didn’t do the wrong thing by saving him.”
To her horror, a sob welled up in Maya’s chest. She tried to choke it back, but the question tearing through her came out in a broken whisper. “Then why is he pushing me away?”
“Because it hurts,” Ava whispered. “It’s so hard to give up a dream. You have to kill it every time it tries to take root. You have to tell yourself over and over again that you don’t get the future you want more than anything. You have to salt the earth in your own heart.”
Maya had never done that. She’d accepted the risk, she’d promised Gray she was okay with it. But she’d never torn out hope by the roots. She’d held on, daring reality to take him from her.
Gray hadn’t had that luxury. He’d had to face his own mortality.
“And then,” Ava continued, “one day someone hands the dream back to you. This tiny, fragile seedling. And you have to find a way to plant it in barren soil and keep it from dying. And that hurts, too.”
An ache totally unrelated to Gray settled in Maya’s chest. For a moment, with her expression unguarded and her eyes soft with remembered pain, the resemblance between Ava and Nina was uncanny.
And that was the dream Ava was talking about. The dream of finding her sister alive. Ava was clearly still struggling to find fertile earth to shelter the awkward, feeble seedling of that dream. The fact that she was here, making an obviously difficult effort to comfort Maya, said it all.
Weirdly, it did make Maya feel better. If Ava, in all her dysfunctional glory, could come back from the edge, Gray would find his feet. She just had to hold on.