Her reluctant smile and my stab at levity don’t erase the tension between us. Words have been said that can’t be taken back, and I learned a long time ago that words have longer lives than people.

We walk the rest of the way to the PAT station in silence. Thirty-eight years of being held back. Yeah, tough. But I had 260 years without a voice at all. You can’t even compare the two. We’re not even in the same stratosphere. Coddled? I’d trade places with her anytime. At least she still has family. I can never get mine back no matter how many laws are swept away. But what I’m mostly thinking is I’m not waiting around another thirty-eight years for the world to change. I’ve already done too much waiting.

When we finally return to the apartment, Carver is gone and Xavier is just leaving.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Home.”

It seems an odd thing to say. Like he’s clocking out from a typical day of work. It didn’t occur to me that he even had a home, unless he calls that abandoned basement where we met home.

“Me too,” Livvy chimes in. “I’m late.” She grabs her coat and heads for the door.

Where do Non-pacts live in the middle of Boston? They’re both in a hurry to get there. They leave, Xavier telling me the same thing as the night before. “Pantry’s stocked. Don’t leave.”

Good night to you too.

I look around. An apartment all my own. It’s something I would have bragged about in another lifetime. With everyone gone, the extravagant space that came at high cost to others is cold. It’s only an in, just like me.

One more lesson: Don’t be fooled by the fancy apartment, the expensive clothes, or even the promise of Favors. You’re only a pawn to help them achieve their goal. Nothing more than you were for Gatsbro. First and foremost, watch your own back. Their backs come second.

Secrets

For the first time since I’ve been here, Boston is the Boston I want it to be. Almost the Boston I remember, and ironically enough, it’s darkness that has brought me this gift.

This darkness is nothing. Barely dark at all. Only middle of the night darkness. Three A.M. darkness. Wind still on my face darkness. Sliver of moon darkness. I listen to the rustle of life. Probably rats in the bushes. Maybe a family of ducks. The sounds that darkness should hold.

I sit perched on the enormous gnarled root of a tree in the Commons. My fingers run along its knots and veins like I’m touching an old knobby knee. I’ve been here for two hours, almost forgetting why I came, taking it all in. The rest of the world is drugged. I watch while it sleeps. Calm. It gives me a sense of power.

I came to Boston, feeling tough, ready to take on a simple Favor. A loaf of bread for a Non-pact. Justice. Show off some of my newfound strength. Prove something. Be a man. Tough like my uncles who never let anyone walk all over them. But it’s already getting complicated. It’s grown from a simple ten-piece puzzle to a towering Jenga. Nothing is ever simple, or quick.

The wind picks up, blowing hair across my eyes. The bushes rustle. The nightlife is nervous with my presence. I stand, reluctant to leave, and look back at the Tudor Apartments directly across the street from me. It looks almost exactly the same as when I lived here, except that the building that it used to butt up to is gone, maybe a casualty of the Civil Division. Now a five-story office building built in Old Boston style replaces it. I came to watch the apartments, perhaps spot Secretary Branson coming or going, ready to lead me right to Karden, but not a single person has gone in or out of the building since I arrived. A few scattered windows glow dimly with golden light in the lower apartments, but the top two floors are completely black.

I turn to leave but then a flash of white on the roof catches my eye. It’s gone again just as quickly. A bird? It reappears farther away. Someone is at the edge of the roof looking out over the Commons. I duck back in the shadows of the tree so I can’t be seen. It’s a person. A woman, or a girl, I think. Nine floors up and in the dark it’s hard to see details. Raine? Maybe Dorian or Jory who work there? Someone else? I can see only the shoulders of her white nightgown and loose black hair tossing in the wind, and then she does the unexpected—she climbs up on the ledge and sits, her feet dangling over the edge, her gown whipping in the wind. Nine floors up.

Is she crazy? Is she going to jump? My mind races as I wonder what I should do. I take a step forward, but she just sits there, and then I notice she’s doing something with her hands. A bright color flashes in the moonlight. An orange. She’s peeling an orange and throwing the peels one by one to the sidewalk below. I stay in the shadows but slip closer, hiding behind a pillar at the entrance to the Commons so I can get a better look. I strain and my vision zooms closer. She pulls the hair from her face, preparing to eat the orange and I see.

It’s Raine.

Not the Raine from the files, the one whose face was all but dead to the world. I see an exhilarated Raine. She’s enjoying this. Her face is turned upward toward the moon. Not quite a smile on her face, but a happy defiance, like she’s on top of the world and commands it. I watch as she eats the orange, breaking the sections apart, savoring each one as she bites it in half. Her bare feet swing below her. Her gown ripples in the wind.

She’s beautiful. The thought comes to me whole and at once, like a surprise. She’s beautiful.

Why didn’t I see that when I looked at her file? Why did I only see a face that made the hair on my arms rise? Even now, I find that discrepancy disturbing. She’s a girl with secrets. And hobbies too. Hobbies that are much more dangerous than chess. And secrets that I need to know.