At my words, Hideo meets my gaze. He smiles.
He types several commands that are invisible to me, then runs it through a Henka Games program. A key forms in his hands, blacked out and ever-shifting, its own surface coated with the same endless patterns. I look on as he takes the key and presses it back against the cube.
The surface of the cube suddenly stills. The infinitely repeating fractals that cover it vanish. Then, in a flash, the cube disappears—replaced by a message.
It only says one thing.
1300PD
My gaze hitches on it at the same time Hideo’s does.
“Pirate’s Den,” we say in unison.
To a normal person, 1300PD would be meaningless. But to me, it’s a scheduled event. The 1300 is 1:00 p.m., written according to a twenty-four-hour clock—and PD stands for “Pirate’s Den,” an abbreviation I know well. It’s a notorious gathering place in the Dark World.
The event is tagged for March twentieth.
“Well,” I say. “Guess I know where I’m going this week.”
Hideo considers the message for a moment longer before giving me a questioning look. “You’re headed in alone?”
“Youcrack the fractal shields.” I lean back on my bed and cross my arms. “It’smyjob to walk with the criminals, Mr. Tanaka.”
At that, he smiles a little. “Hideo, please.”
I tilt my head at him. “You insist on calling me Miss Chen in public. It’s only fair.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “I try not to give the tabloids more gossip than they can handle. They’re particularly aggressive at this time of year.”
“Oh? And what gossip is that? That we’re on a first-name basis? Scandalous. It seems like the tabloids are already making up their own gossip about me, anyway.”
“Would you prefer I call you Emika?”
“I would,” I reply.
“Well.” He nods. “Emika, then.”
Emika.Hearing him say my first name sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. “I’ll keep you updated,” I decide to say, shifting to signal an end to our call. “Should be enlightening.”
“Wait. Before you go.”
I pause. “Yes?”
“Tell me about your arrest from a couple of years ago.”
He’s been doing research on my record.I clear my throat, suddenly angry that he’s brought it up. I haven’t talked about my arrest in years. “It’s old news,” I mutter as I begin to launch into a summary of what had happened to Annie, how I’d hacked into the school’s directory.
Hideo shakes his head, stopping me. “I already know what you did. Tell me about how the police knew it wasyou.”
I hesitate.
“You’re far too skilled for them,” Hideo continues. He studies me intently, his expression the same as it had been when he’d tested me during our first meeting. “They didn’t actually catch you, did they?”
I meet his gaze. “I confessed.”
Hideo stays silent.
“They thought Annie did it,” I go on. The memory of sirens, of me walking into the principal’s office where the cops were gathered, of Annie’s cuffed wrists, her tear-streaked face looking up at me in shock, comes back to me now. “They were going to arrest her. So I turned myself in.”
