When the grand inquisition is over, they allow me to go into the bedroom to make a last call to California before they confiscate my phone tab. I only get to talk to Miesha. Jenna is putting Kayla to bed.

“Everything okay?” Miesha asks.

“Yeah. Fine.” My heart pounds knowing what I do about Karden, but I can’t tell her. It would be too cruel to give her hope if it does turn out to be just a rumor. Or worse, what if he did just take off with the money and leave her to rot in prison? I can’t get that possibility out of my mind. And even if he is alive, we may not be able to find him. She lost him once. I can’t let her lose him twice.

“You don’t sound fine. You want me to come out there?”

“No! I mean, no, that’s what I need to tell you. This Favor requires that I lie low for a while. I won’t be able to call. Maybe not for a month—”

“What?”

“Don’t shout, Miesha!”

“I think I should come out there. I don’t like the way—”

“Miesha, stop. I’m not a kid. I’m way older than you, remember?” I laugh, but it comes out forced.

I hear her grunt. She knows she’s powerless right now and would do me no good here anyway. She’s weak and still recovering from being hit with Gatsbro’s tazegun.

“Tell Jenna,” I say. Silence slips between us. Only with Miesha can it mean so much. “Is she all right?” I finally add, almost hoping the answer is no.

“Jenna’s fine, Locke. Fine.”

I’ve always hated that word.

More silence and a knock on my bedroom door.

“I have to go, Miesha.”

She hates good-byes more than I do. “Remember Dot,” she says. “If you get a chance, that is. And you’re in a Cab. And—”

“Got it. Dot.” She didn’t need to remind me. I would never forget Dot. Our words dwindle away but the word good-bye never passes over our lips. We both need practice at that.

I walk to the door to go back out with the others but pause instead, leaning my head against the cool slick wood, looking at my feet, my hands against the door like I’m holding the world out. Maybe I am for just a few minutes. I see my mother, my father, my old bedroom, a quick flash. A letter fading on granite.

Locke. The sound of my name on their lips. Good-bye.

“Locke?”

“Coming,” I call and step into the bathroom and turn on the water.

I splash water on my face and when I come out of the room, Carver is standing at the door ready to leave. “Xavier will wrap up a few more things with you. Stay put. We’ll see you in—” He stops, spotting my coat lying on the back of a chair. He shakes his head. “Almost missed that.” He snatches it up in his hand and leaves.

I don’t say anything. I know. It might peg me as a Non-pact, but the coat is almost the hardest thing to give up. I remember Allys frowning the first time she saw me in it. Some people wear them for protection, others with purpose.… You wear yours like you own the planet. That’s how it made me feel. It felt like armor, like I was through apologizing for being different from everyone else. Like I was claiming my rightful place in this world.

“Over here, kid.”

Xavier shows me the code to lock the door if I leave. “But don’t leave. Not yet. You can use your iScroll to enter the code too.”

“From how far away?”

“The moon. Forget to feed the cat, you can let someone in wherever you are. But don’t. Carver, Livvy, and I have the code. That’s it. Not even your Assistant can save it. You have to keep it up here.” He taps his finger on his temple. “If anyone else other than us tries to come through that door, you toast ’em.”

Does he think I have special frying abilities? That I’m more Bot than I am human? I could argue the point with him, but I don’t.

“What do you need in Manchester?” he asks.

His question catches me off guard. “Need?”

“Carver gave you his word. There are plenty of people who will do whatever you ask, just so you get this job done. We need all of your concentration here. So what do you need there?”

Assurance. And I’m not sure I want that task left to some Non-pacts who can barely read. A flash of guilt hits me. I remember the line of land pirates armed with rifles who showed up to drive off Gatsbro and his goons. They saved my neck. “There are labs in Manchester. I need to know what’s stored there.” I tell him about Gatsbro Technologies. “Kara and I sat on a storage shelf for 260 years because no one knew there were copies of us there. I need to know with certainty that there aren’t more copies of us waiting for someone to come.”

“And if there are?”

If there are. I haven’t devised a plan beyond knowing. “If there are—”

What? What do I do then? I stare at his scar where it intersects the corner of his lip, the dip, the crease, where whole meets wreckage, staring at skin, pores, division. I feel myself slipping for the first time in weeks. If there are. Would that Kara be different? Would that Locke be different? Would I be a better or worse version of myself? I pull myself out of those dark endless hallways before I have gone too far, snapping my gaze from his scar to his eyes. “If there are … bring them to me.”

“Done. Now get some rest. You do rest, don’t you? We’ll be back early. The pantry’s stocked.” He grabs his coat and heads for the door.