Frank lays a hand on my shoulder, sitting me on the sofa next to Dani. I take their icy hand in mine and try to wake them, glancing back at Gemma occasionally in wonder—what is she doing here? What place does she have in this tower?

She clasps her hands in front of her, standing straight-backed, as if standing to attention, ready to be called. Maybe she works for Sinclair, I reason. It wasn’t unusual for college students to take internships, a way to get a foot in the door with the industries of their choosing in Central Square. And Gemma seemed well connected.

Perhaps it was a perk of dating Harding’s son…

Frank clears his throat. “Sinclair, you need to know what’s going on down in your little kingdom. You might not see it or have any part in it, but people are being treated like shit. And it’s all down to him—” he jabs a finger towards Harding. “—He takes innocent people and turns them into free labour for Emotiv. The Abandoned? The unwanted outcasts of the worker class are just people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Sinclair’s frown deepens. “Dennis, is this true?”

Harding, who has been standing to attention, nods curtly. “The Abandoned are criminals, put to work in Reform as a part of our rehabilitation program—”

“Bullshit!” Frank yells. “You dose them, work them into the dust and you spit them out when you’re done with them. They’re nothing more than free slave labour to you.”

Harding shakes his head, like a teacher disappointed in his student. “There is far more to the story than you claim, Frank. These people have committed crimes against Skycross—”

“Name one crime,” Frank grunts. “Tell me one genuine crime you’ve booked someone for and show me an abandoned who’s been rehabilitated in reform.”

“It’s a pity,” Harding shrugs, affecting the resigned air of a tired professor, bored with explaining the same old theories to students every day. “But it’s true, there aren’t many. Those that see the error in their ways are given a free pass out of Skycross. We enable them to start a new life in another—”

“That’s more bullshit and you know it Harding,” Frank growls. “They’re left in reform to rot. How long has John been in there? Fifteen years?”

Harding’s face rearranges itself into a mask of pity. It’s so sudden, so practised. There isn’t a shred of empathy within him.

“John was an unfortunate case,” he says with his affected sadness. “He’s possibly beyond helping at this point. But he’s safe where he is.”

“Safer away from the wardens, you mean? And those who were loyal to him when he was in your shoes? What happened to them?”

The dots connect, and I drop Dani’s hand in shock. “What? John was—”

“The Head Warden, years ago,” Frank says, keeping his eyes on Harding. “Before this piece of shit took his place.”

Sinclair stands up at this. “Now, now, there’s no need for that. Dennis came highly recommended—”

“By you.” Frank turns now, directing his anger toward the stuffy VIP. “Why did you want him in a place of power, Sinclair? If anyone’s benefitted from this, it’s Emotiv. Business has really boomed for you in the past decade, hasn’t it? All that free labour.”

From the corner of my eye, a sudden movement catches my attention. I glance over at Gemma, who still has her hands folded neatly in front of her. But now they aren’t clasped together, they’re signing frantically at me.

I saw what happened to Caleb. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want any of—I had no idea dad was involved to begin with. But then Caleb and I—talking and I—looking into it and then the warehouse—Kyla I’m so so sorry. I knew you’d be in trouble—should have done more to warn you—so scared.

I shake my head and sign back at her, struggling to keep up with her frantic, miniaturised movements. Slow down. Your dad?

She nods at Sinclair.

Gemma Sinclair. It didn't even cross my mind. To be fair, even if I knew her family name, I probably wouldn’t have connected her with Emotiv. Sinclair was a name I knew, vaguely, before all this, but I didn’t know or care much about the upper workings of Skycross. I was too involved with my own life, my own problems, to learn about the people at the top.

Frank and Sinclair continue their back and forth, and it’s becoming obvious that they have no desire to give in to our demands. “You’re right. Business is good.” Sinclair nods at Dani and Lena. “And I would hope, for their sakes, that it will continue to be so.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Frank bristles, balling his fists at his sides. “That a threat?”

I glance back at Gemma. What can we do?

Don’t. Say. Anything. She moves from the window, walking towards a door at the back end of the living area.

“Gemma?” Sinclair calls after her. “Where are you going?”

“I thought I could get you some refreshments, father.” Gemma smiles innocently. “Some whisky, perhaps?”

Sinclair considers this for a moment, before nodding at her. “Yes. Four glasses. And don’t forget the water.”

Gemma gives him a curt nod, shooting me a warning glance, and disappears through the door without another word.

He didn’t thank her, or say please, or even smile at her. I try to imagine how I’d feel if my mother spoke to me like that. Her dirt-smeared face from the alley, full of concern and love, hovers in the back of my mind, and I feel a pang of sympathy for Gemma. I figured she had something to do with Harding’s trap in the warehouse, and us going to reform, but I’d never exactly despised her for it. She’s just as tied up in this mess as the rest of us.

I glance at Sinclair, puffing out his chest as he rants about rising labour costs to Frank.

No, Gemma is even more tied up in this than most of us. Would I have done the same, in her position? Who knows.

A few moments later, she returns with a tray. On top of it sit four pristine crystal glasses, cut with diamond patterns that glint in the firelight. Next to them is a large crystal bottle filled with liquor and a clear jug of water.

Gemma gives me a meaningful look, and a tiny shake of her head, as she walks back to her father and places the tray gently at his side.

Again, he doesn’t thank her, or even acknowledge her existence. Although I get the feeling that might change, once he takes a few sips of that water…

“So, Frank? What will it be? Will you give up this endless tirade against the company?”

Frank opens his mouth to speak, but I get in first. “What’s in it for him?”

Sinclair blinks at me, suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

I stand, holding a hand up to silence Frank, and tapping him on the shoulder two times, hoping he’s at least slightly aware of Ike’s secret code.

No.

Whether or not he understands my meaning, Frank stays silent, waiting for me to explain myself.

“Well,” I speak deliberately, slowly, walking in a circle around the inside of the sofa and admiring the firelight as it flickers in the metal grate. “You’ve already made threats—indirectly—against Dani and Lena’s safety…”

“I have said no such—”

“I did say indirectly. But you haven’t given us your side of the bargain. Excuse me, Mr Sinclair, but you’re hardly in a position to make demands right now.”

He falters at this, the first glimmer of doubt registering on his face. “Whatever do you mean, dear girl?”

“Hasn’t he shown you the tapes?” I nod at Harding. “Your wardens are on our side now.”

“That’s not… That can’t be? Dennis?”

Harding glares at me. “We have had… a small number of defectors, sir. But a deal can be struck.”

“Yes,” I say quickly, not bothering to correct Harding’s lie. “It can. But a deal has two sides.”

Sinclair turns back to me, the initial dismissive attitude replaced by blank confusion. “What do you propose?”

“Safe passage for all of us, outside of Skycross. New IDs, new bracelets, and clean records.”

Sinclair nods. “That can be arranged. And in return, you’ll all tie this to the Premier Sheridan? Emotiv has had no involvement.”

I square my shoulders, not daring to look Frank in the eye. I can’t bring myself to say the lie out loud, but I manage a small nod, which seems enough for Sinclair.

He breaks out in a grin. “Excellent. I’d say this calls for a toast.”

I nod again, heart pounding in my ears. “I’d say so.”

Frank steps forward. “Wait a minute, Kyla—”

“Frank,” I turn my back on Sinclair, though Harding still has a good view of my face. I’m careful to keep my expression blank, but I look right into Frank’s eyes, willing him to understand. “Let’s just go. We can’t win this, but we can get out of here. Start again.”

My gaze flicks to the right, where Gemma stands behind me. Frank’s eyes follow, resting on her for a moment before a sudden understanding dawns on his features. His shoulders slump and he nods slowly. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.”

Sinclair gives a satisfied chuckle, pouring a measure of whisky into each glass. “Excellent. I think you’ll find that Sheridan will serve the perfect foil. She’s always been useful. And if people are as angry as you say they are—” he tilts the bottle towards Frank, “—then she will have a lot to answer to.”

Once the whisky is served, Sinclair lifts the water jug, turning to Gemma. “Bottled?”

“Of course, father.” She nods, avoiding eye contact with me.

He inspects the liquid, swirling it around in the jug and sniffing it slightly. I freeze, aware of a shuddering sensation starting in my stomach and working its way out to the rest of my body, making me feel weak.

Drink it. Just drink it already.

After a few painful moments, Sinclair gives a little shake of his head and pours a small amount of water into each glass, swirling it around as he hands one to Harding, me, Frank, and takes the last for himself.

“A toast.” He lifts his glass, and we all do the same.

I’m aware of Harding’s eyes on me the whole time. But it won’t matter. Just like Ike, the cocktail we hold will only exaggerate the feelings we already have for Skycross.

Empathy for the people stuck in reform.

Understanding of the pain people have endured in this city.

And the rest? Honesty, Compliance, Bliss, Serenity…

I glance at Caleb, who smiles back at me with a brief nod before dissipating into a cloud of black, swirling smoke.

It’s worth it. Just this one time.

I lift the glass to my lips first and drink deeply. The whisky hits my throat like fire, intensified even more by the water. But I can’t taste any trace of the syrups that I know are in there. Will this small dose be enough?

Seemingly satisfied by me drinking first, Harding and Sinclair drain their glasses.

Frank sips his, watching them both closely. “We should air something to the city,” he says slowly. “Something to explain what’s happened here today.”

“Good idea,” Sinclair lifts his glass to Frank before pouring another hefty drink for himself and Harding. “How can we do that?”

“Get some Composure,” Frank says calmly. “And Lena can arrange everything.”