Propellant class: high-risk.
The room she was in was turning into a chemical trap.
It felt like one spark and I would lose everything.
I rerouted additional processing to the local fire-suppression controls, just in case.
43 /SIRENA
Any curiosityI’d ever had about what it might be like to be a pageant queen had exited stage left an hour ago.
I had no idea how anyone could go through all this—ever. It was awful. There wasn’t enough ventilation in the room, and I kept wanting to cough, except I wasn’t sure wherecoughinglanded on the compliance scale.
But I was scared, too—of what it meant now that it was all coming to an end—as the women added their final polishes and baked my nails dry.
Nex’s mind flitted from topic to topic. I held on to it in the background, like a comforting hum, while he analyzed sensory input from his new body, wondered how exactly going to the bathroom worked, and skimmed a memo—addressed to Marek—from Voss’s assistant, reminding him to wear his suit for the introduction today.
Apparently anauctionwas too crass.
So it would be a debutante ball, featuring me, the compliant half-siren.
Smile,Nex warned, as the female scientist neared.
“Finally pretty!” she crowed.
I gritted my teeth behind my lips.
When I finally got to hurt people—she was going to be one of the first.
She disappeared right around the time the Hollows were finishing my hair—they did it half-up and half-down, with the box on my head poking out like an errant bloom from a flower crown—and she returned with a dress on a hanger.
It was long, white, and low-cut—and the back had a trailing iridescent overlay, like the tail my mother had when she was in the sea.
“Put it on,” the woman demanded, and then, to the Hollows, “help her.”
They did as they were told, and together we squeezed me into the dress. It had a high waist, which gave the flowy bottom a virginal look until I moved and the thigh-high slits on both sides slid open. She also produced gold cuffs to complete the look, but no shoes. No pockets. No dignity.
“Follow me,” she said—and I didn’t need Nex’s help to understand her.
44 /NEX
I foundmyself in front of Marek’s closet, panicking.
He had several suits, but I didn’t know which one Voss expected me in—and I couldn’t risk choosing wrong.
In the end, I picked the one that looked most official, a black suit, with hardly any wear—all the while keeping an eye on her.
They were dressing her like a fantasy. Soft light. White silk.
Armorless.
I was her only protection.
My fingers fumbled trying to knot the tie, as whatever muscle memory Marek had once possessed died with him.
The tie resisted me.
Not for lack of knowledge—I’d uploaded three tutorials.
