I slipped under the covers of my bed and despite everything, I was completely conscious that he was climbing into the next bed over. Heat fanned itself through my arms and legs, a feeling that I was pretty sure had nothing to do with the slight weight of the frayed blue comforter.
“Good night, Mila.”
“Good night.”
I clicked off the light and willed my body to relax in the darkened room.
Night vision: Activated.
With the help of one of my android functions, everything blazed back into view. Ugh, so not helping. Meanwhile, Hunter’s breathing turned rhythmic and slow and for the first time I could remember, I envied him.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Take that, stupid night vision. But the blackness only sent my tension skyrocketing. Because instead of seeing our motel room, now I was remembering a different one. The last time I’d stayed in a motel, Mom and I had been woken in the middle of the night by scouts from the Vita Obscura, an organization that wanted to gut me like a fish to see how I worked—and then sell my technology to the highest bidder. We escaped, but who was to say it couldn’t happen again?
A perfect image burst into my head. Mom tackling one of the men, binding his hands with a zip tie. Mom, back at Clearwater Ranch, her long blond hair pulled back into a practical ponytail as she headed to the barn.
Mom, staring at me as the light in her blue eyes faded.
A sob unfurled and I put a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle it. No good. The other bed creaked. I heard Hunter’s bare feet pad onto the carpet, and then a moment later his arms surrounded me.
I went rigid at first—I’d never been in bed with a boy or been held this tightly before—but as he whispered, “Shhhh, it’s going to be okay,” I gradually snuggled against him.
My back fit against his chest so perfectly, and oh god, he was so warm. I could feel his breath ruffling my hair. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to turn over and be face-to-face, to feel his lips graze mine.
I lay silently for a moment, summoning up the courage to do just that. Minutes passed and after a while, his body felt heavy against mine. Had he fallen asleep again?
A whirring in my brain, and then the red lights flashed:
Pulse: 48 bpm.
Breathing rate: 8 bpm.
Sleep state: Likely.
Leave it to my android functions to remind me that really, truly being with Hunter was something that would never be possible.
After ten minutes of lying there, motionless, I eased myself out from under his right arm, my body freezing when his breathing altered. But it evened out again, so I slipped to my feet, feeling his fingertips slide against my arm before falling away, the loss of physical contact both freeing and terrifying at the same time. A sharp pang almost made me climb back in and nestle up against him.
But the strange room, the noises, even Hunter’s presence—everything was foreign and the ghost of the past still hung over me. Sadness, anger, fear … a whirlwind of emotions threatened to consume me, and a giant android self-implosion was about the last thing I wanted to foist onto Hunter right now.
Grabbing the key from the bureau, I put on my shoes and crept to the door.
Sometimes, when my feelings overwhelmed me, I wondered if I shouldn’t try to emulate Three, just a little. My android twin never struggled with terror—or fear—or the heartbreaking pain that made your phantom heart feel like it might crumble to pieces.
Sometimes, when the agony of Mom’s loss felt like someone had picked up a saw and excised the most important part of me, I wondered if maybe Three was onto something.
Then I pictured Hunter’s sleeping face and the thought slowly disappeared.
Where are you going?”
My hand was on the doorknob when I heard Hunter’s voice, a little roughened by the bit of rest he’d had. A part of me wanted to stay here with him, but everything was closing in on me. I needed to get out of this motel room.
“I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d take a walk, tire myself out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Mila, it’s late. I’m not letting you go out there by yourself.”
His protectiveness touched something deep inside me. If there were any dangers out there, I was better equipped to handle them, but he didn’t know that.
“Besides,” he added, “you still owe me a date.”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. Our little trip to the carnival a few weeks ago had been met with continual interruptions, including horrific memories of a past I didn’t know existed. As much as I wanted to be alone, I also hoped maybe this time our date would be normal.
I heard him tying his shoes, tugging at the laces hard, and then his soft footfalls as he approached. I opened the door and stepped out.
I gulped down huge breaths of salty humid air—useless, since my lungs weren’t really lungs, though I seemed to have a hard time remembering that. Not many pedestrians were out at this hour. Weeknight, off-season.
Hunter shut the door behind us and tested to make sure it was locked. Then he stepped up beside me and threaded his fingers through mine. “Let’s head down to the boardwalk.”
As we walked along, a little orange dot blinked on a map before me, showing my trajectory and every street option nearby. I was thankful that my internal GPS system had finally kicked in again after conking out for a while post-escape. Not that I needed the GPS right now. Hunter was guiding me.
We reached the boardwalk. The fragrance of the salt air seemed heavier, and a cool breeze surged off the ocean, whipping my hair in periodic bursts. An almost-full moon dominated the sky, lighting patches of inky water with a soft, silvery glow.
“Thank you for coming out here with me.”
Turning his head slightly, he met my gaze. “That’s why I’m here.”
As if summoned by his sincerity, the truth bubbled up in my throat. Right here, right now. I could end the subterfuge. I wanted to. Desperately.
I glanced back out at the ocean, at the secrets churning underwater, and the moment passed.
“What about school?” I asked.
He tipped his head to the side. “Fall break. We have a week before we have to be back. Not a lot of time to find your dad, but enough maybe.”
Maybe, and if not, I couldn’t ask
