Eames sinks to his knees. He squats in front of the girl, his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay, P?”
“I’m fine,” she says, a stubborn edge to her voice. Her blond hair is darkened by the pool water, and she has icy blue eyes. She shoots a look at me. “Are we safe here?”
“As safe as anywhere right now,” I say. I walk to the small dining room table and pick up a chair to wedge against the door.
I’m grateful that my visor shrouds my gaze. It is far easier to lie with your mouth than your eyes. And I fear what mine might say.
One person is dead. There are five criminals in the building. My grandmother—who can’t know I’m here—is in the next apartment over. And now I’m responsible for two civilians.
This isn’t the worst situation I’ve ever been in, but it’s definitely in the top five.
I need to call Prefect. Preferably somewhere that the civilians can’t eavesdrop. But before I can slip into the bedroom, Eames takes a step toward me.
His expression is one of gratitude and wariness.
“Who are you?” he asks. He doesn’t trust me. Which makes him smart—I could be anyone. That’s the whole point. As a wraith, Icanbe anyone.
“My name is Augusta Pine.”Lie.“I don’t know what’s going on.”Truth.“Who are you?” I have to pretend not to know; civilian visors can’t scan electron-ink tattoos.
Eames’s dark eyes are ablaze with adrenaline, but his voice is steady and quiet when he answers. “Eames Ahlberg. This is my sister, Piper. We live with my aunt on the eleventh floor.”
I nod. “Okay. It’s probably safer for you to stay here. We can stay hidden and call for help. I don’t think they saw us—they don’t know anyone witnessed the murder.”
As I speak, I roll my fingers, activating my ringware. In the corner of my visor, I swipe for my smart-dye app. My pink hair is far too visible, far too memorable. I should program it to a darker color, one that will blend in with the shadows. I choose a burnt umber, then hit the command to switch the color. The smart-dye begins to shift at the roots, dark brown swallowing up the pink.
The new color reaches the tips of my ears when a shrill noise screeches through the air.
We all flinch. It’s an alarm—a fire alarm. It screams through the building, then goes abruptly silent.
The smart-dye freezes in place. I look at myself in the glass door—the tips of my hair are still bright pink. That isn’t supposed to happen. The dye is connected to the app via the Wi-Fi. Nothing should disrupt the connection. Unless—
The apartment’s TV flickers on, but there’s only a dead blue screen. Then, a calm automated voice emanates through the apartment’s virtual assistant.
“ALERT,” the VA says. “THIS IS AN ALERT. A MANDATORY SHELTER IN PLACE HAS BEEN IMPLEMENTED. PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE YOUR APARTMENTS.”
There is a quiet whisper of metal sliding into place. It takes me a moment to realize it came from the door—probably from all the apartment doors. Emergency dead bolts are locking us in.
“PLEASE REMAIN IN YOUR APARTMENTS,” says the VA’s pleasantly automated voice. “PLEASE REMAIN CALM.”
Eames and I look at each other.
And then we both go for the door.
I wave the back of my hand across the door’s sensor, waiting for the familiar play of light across my knuckles.
Nothing happens.
“Apartment,” I say, my voice fraying. “Open the front door.”
The VA speaks from its spot in the corner. “Apologies, I Wouldn’t. Request denied. Mandatory lockdown has been implemented. Please stay calm and remain indoors.”
“Does that mean someone called the cops?” asks Piper, sounding hopeful.
I consider that possibility for half a second. But then I shake my head. I look at myself in the small mirror hanging by the door. My hair is dark brown at the roots andbright pink at the tips. The connection between my ringware and the smart-dye went down at the same moment the lockdown did.
Which means it isn’t just the door.
“No,” I say. “I think the killers just hacked the building.”
