Page 51

“You fucking idiot,” Leander said, but there was no heat left in his voice. “You left yourself exposed for me? Why? You hate me.”

I went looking for the hate, because the hate was supposed to be the load-bearing wall of this entire arrangement, and I found the space where it had been. I opened my mouth with no idea what was going to come out of it. In twenty-two managed years, that had never once happened.

“Assets!” The booming voice cut through the night air.

We sprang apart. The reflex was faster than thought, Academy-installed.

Director Tegula stood in the doorway, flanked by two security droids. He held perfectly still, but a single vein throbbed at his temple.

“You were not dismissed,” Tegula said, walking toward us. “Get back inside. The Board is waiting.”

“We needed air,” Leander scoffed, the Sector 9 defiance flaring up.

Tegula stopped and turned his gaze slowly to Leander.

“You insulted Commissioner Koresh,” Tegula said. “You embarrassed this Academy in front of its primary financier. Do you have any idea what the Genetic Board does to assets that show ‘instability’? They reformat them.”

Leander tensed, his jaw set so hard the skin stretched white over the bone.

“You seem confused about your status,” Tegula said, stepping closer. “You are an asset. And assets that malfunction get decommissioned. The only reason you aren’t being sedated right now is because you need to do the photoshoot.”

Leander opened his mouth to retort, his fists clenching.

“If you say another word,” Tegula cut him off, his eyes sliding to me, “I will strip Cento of his rank right here. I will announce to the Board that he is unfit for command and send him to the barracks with the washouts.”

Leander snapped his mouth shut.

And there it was. Tegula had not threatened him with the Front, or any of the levers that worked on ordinary assets. He had reached straight past all of them and put his hand on me. The Academy’s newest data point was this: the boy from the trucks could be steered with my name.

“That’s better,” Tegula said, adjusting his cufflinks. “Pull yourself together, Cento. The official portrait session is starting. The Board expects to see the ‘perfect pair’ immortalized. Get on that stage. Look like brothers. Look like a phalanx of two. If I see a single gap in your unity, you will both wish you were dead.”

He turned and walked back inside. I stared at his retreating back while the threat hung in the cold air, settling over us both like the frost.

“I tried to warn you,” I whispered.

Leander looked at me. The defiance was gone, replaced by the realization of just how tight the leash was. He reached out and straightened my lapel, his knuckles brushing my chest.

“Let’s get this over with,” he growled.

The heat hit us the moment we walked back inside, all perfume, body warmth, chandelier glare after the honest cold.

Cameras surrounded a raised platform in the center of the room. The crowd parted, watching us step up onto the dais.

“Closer,” the photographer barked. “Director Tegula wants ‘Symbiosis.’ You are too far apart.”

I stepped closer to Leander. Our shoulders brushed.

“Closer still,” the photographer insisted. “Asset Regillen, hand on his shoulder. Asset Cento, turn inward. Look at him like he is your shield.”

Leander hesitated. Then his heavy hand settled on my shoulder, close to my neck, and the heat of his palm burned through jacket and shirt.

I turned toward him and placed my hand on his chest, right over his heart. It was thudding against my palm.

“Look at each other,” the photographer commanded. “Chin up. Eyes locked.”

Leander’s eyes were dark on me, adrenaline and the secret we had traded on the balcony sitting in them where the anger used to live. He knew I had sacrificed my safety for him. He knew I was vulnerable. Twenty-two years of being looked at, and this was the first time anyone had been handed the real thing to look at.

“Hold it,” the photographer said. “Don’t move.”