Persistent knocking startles me awake. Timour’s arms tighten around my waist, warmth from his bare chest seeping into my back. His chin rests on my shoulder while he whispers in my ear, “Are you expecting someone?”

“What time is it?” I question groggily.

Timour pulls out his portal. “Zero-five-forty-two hours.”

I groan.

“I can get rid of them,” he says, sitting up and taking all the heat with him.

“Wait.” I grasp his forearm. “What if it’s—?”

More knocking rattles the door. “Ailee?” calls an agitated Huxley. “If you don’t open the door in five seconds, I will.”

“Shit,” I say under my breath, scrambling off the bed to stand up and adjust my tank top. “Stay hidden.” I tell Timour, gesturing for him to get out of the door’s view. He’s not happy but does what I request, positioning himself on the bed’s edge.

For a split second, I pause. Did Huxley discover that I entered the lab? What will he do? Cracking open the door, I flinch against the bright hallway lights. I blink my eyes a few times and make out Huxley’s familiar smirk. He’s impeccable as always in black leather, looking like he recently decided to join a hovercraft gang.

My eyes shift left and right. The guards are gone. “Where’s the fire?” I question. “Impending death is the only acceptable justification for you waking me up this early.”

His eyes twinkle. “Funny. What about rescuing you from possible impending death? Does that qualify?”

“Elaborate.”

“We caught the guy.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Intribot guy?”

“Yep.”

“Was he working alone?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“And you know it’s him?”

Huxley nods. “The DNA match is exact, so unless he has an unregistered twin running around… On top of that, he’d been in hiding for over a week.”

“Oh, well, that’s great news.” I smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” says Huxley sincerely, “but I also came here to ask if you wanted to witness the interrogation. It begins at zero-six-hundred hours.”

“Is it standard protocol for the victim of a crime to be present during the interrogation?”

“Nope. But I’m Boss, so I make the rules. Besides, the court system here works a little differently compared to the UE. He’ll probably be convicted today, and I just thought you’d want to be there for closure.” He holds up his hands. “I completely understand if you don’t want to see him. I simply wanted to grant you the option.”

Bursts of anger, confusion, and fear dash through me at the prospect of glimpsing my attacker, and I attempt to conceal my anxiety by quipping, “You couldn’t do the interrogation closer to noon?”

Huxley sees right through me. “We’ve been keeping him up all night, trying to tire him out.”

Taking a deep breath, I finalize my decision. “Can you give me two minutes?”

He nods.

Back in my room, I quietly explain the situation to Timour while I put on a beige trenchcoat, not bothering to change my tank top and shorts. I’m beginning to believe the code words are merely a way for Felix to monitor my engagements with Huxley—Felix can probably surveil Huxley efficiently all by himself—but steering clear of the Quartermaster’s wrath, I message him “Lunch at 12:00.” I doubt he’s awake.

After I brush my teeth and untangle my hair, Timour gently seizes my wrist and asks, “Are you sure you wish to see him?”

Tired, I smile. “You know me. My curiosity is unquenchable.” My fingers smooth his forehead creases.

Finally, he orders something I never thought I’d hear him say, “Stay close to Boss.”

“We’ll be behind the one-way mirror,” I reassure, even though I don’t know what the proceedings will consist of. Shooing Timour back onto the bed, I walk out to the hallway. When the door closes behind me, Huxley’s chest is suddenly in my face.

My heart stops beating.

“Is the Liansan in there?” asks Huxley, blue eyes frosty.

Swallowing, I curtly reply, “Don’t ask me questions you know the answers to.” I push against his chest, but I might as well be pushing the ground.

He backs me into the door, lips capturing mine like I’m his possession. His property. Palms graze up my thighs, and I make this sound in my pharynx that mortifies me. Turning my head away, I cover my mouth with both hands.

I wiggle free of his entrapment and stalk toward the elevators.

“What?” Huxley calls, following. “You scared your boyfriend will overhear?”

“There’s no need to throw it in his face,” I elucidate.

“You didn’t deny that he’s your boyfriend.”

“He’s not.”

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I’m assuming the interrogation room isn’t on this level.”

“You’re right,” he snaps. “It’s in the dungeon.”

“Of course you have a dungeon.” I halt by the elevators I frequently use, but before I can tap on the button, Huxley snatches my hand and pulls me back into the hall.

“We need to keep going,” he explains. “Those won’t take us down far enough.”

It’s maddeningly silent for several minutes, and only when we reach a closed, vintage door—obstructing us from the hoistway—does he release my hand.

While we wait for the elevator, I lean against the wall, ignoring Huxley. I hear his footsteps as he nears and plants himself in front of me. My body bathes in his shadow, but I refuse to look at him, the fake sunflower in the corner demanding my attention. “Ailee,” he addresses, his gaze caressing, “I know you care about him. I would never hurt somebody you cared about. Not physically, at any rate.”

I peek up at his expression, and sure enough, he’s smirking. “And what’s brought about this change of heart?”

“It’s not a change of heart.” Stroking my hair, he clarifies, “You’ve been good. Following orders—well, some orders—and staying out of trouble. As long as you continue to stick to my rules, I will never hurt anyone you love.” He grips my chin, forcing my head to tilt up as his eyes drill into mine. “But let’s get one thing straight. If I find out you’ve been lying to me, about your relationship with Timour, about your progress at work, about anything… all bets are off. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nod. “I haven’t been lying to you.” But I have been omitting things.

He scrutinizes my expression. The elevator dings, and satisfied, Huxley gestures toward the opening doors. “After you.”

* * *

I don’t know what I expected my attacker to look like, but the appearance of Leonid Yon—the suspect—catches me off guard. Long, black hair parted at the middle frames a venerable face, while dark circles from lack of sleep mar otherwise unblemished skin. His beard is patchy with specks of gray, and he’s clad in a black jumpsuit, making it impossible to discern his figure.

Most troubling of all are his eyes. Kind, brown eyes that remind me of a baby owl.

Huxley and I stand in the dark room along with a couple other Cosmic spectators, observing the brightly-lit interrogation room through the one-way mirror. Leonid, Nupan, and Blaze are in that bright room. Holding an elec, Blaze guards the door. Since Leonid’s hands are fastened to the arms of his chair, Nupan has to place the brain scan on his head.

She’s about to inject a white fluid into his arm when he questions in a soft, hoarse voice, “What is that?”

“Truth serum,” she states.

“That won’t work on me. I’ve been building up a tolerance.”

“You mean you’re an addict.”

Leonid shrugs awkwardly. “Call it what you want. Bottom line, it won’t work on me.”

“We’ll see about that.” Nupan sticks the needle into his vein and administers the drug. Leonid tenses but doesn’t pursue his argument.

An uneventful hour passes as Nupan asks questions including: Why did you target Sergeant Chambers? How did you get access to her room? Why use an intribot? How did you train the intribot? Who are you working with?

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Leonid just stares back, silent.

Turning to Huxley beside me, I whisper, “Is he refusing to answer because of the truth serum?”

“No,” Huxley replies, “truth serum forces the individual to talk. The guy should at least be in a dopey state, but look—his eyes are focused. The serum is ineffective against some drug addicts. My guess is he’s not talking, because the polygraph can pick up when he lies. Clearly, he’s guilty.”

The door to the dungeon hallway opens, and Thomson walks into our dark room. “Hey, Ailee.” Casually stopping next to me, he nods at Huxley. “Boss.”

“Gunner Bale,” returns Huxley, “what are you doing here?”

“Heard you caught the bastard.” Thomson’s eyes widen. “Is that Leo?”

“Yeah, Leonid Yon. You know him?”

“Yea—no. Well, kind of. He’s a mechanic. Not from my team, but I met him at a conference earlier this year. This is super weird. What have you guys found out so far?”

“Nothing,” I respond. “He hasn’t said a word for the past sixty-five minutes.”

“Seriously?” exclaims Thomson. “How ‘bout I go in there? I’m sure I could convince him to talk.”

“No,” says Huxley immediately, “you have a personal vendetta against him.” He glances at me. “Same reason why I’m not in there.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Nupan repeats her question, “How did you sabotage the security cameras?” No answer.

I take a deep breath and offer, “What if I go in there?”

Huxley reacts, “What?”

Thomson inquires, “Why?”

Shrugging, I explain, “Maybe he’ll decide he wants to say something. At least you’ll be able to record his reaction if he recognizes me.”

Thomson starts, “No offense, Ailee, but why would—?”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Huxley cuts in. “Are you sure? I can let you in, but I need to know you’re certain you want to do this.”

I steady my emotions. “I’m sure.”

Holding my gaze for a few moments, Huxley nods, agreeing, “Okay.” He strides toward the door—the barrier between the dark and light rooms.

“Wait a second.” Thomson follows him, protesting, “She could get hurt.”

“He’s cuffed to a chair,” I state. “I’ll be fine.”

“I mean like, you know, psychologically. Emotionally,” Thomson adds.

Huxley raises his eyebrows, as though the Gunner just spouted absolute nonsense, and says, “Nupan and Blaze are more than capable of protecting her.”

“No,” I say, and the two men halt in their tracks. “I want them out. I need to talk to him alone.”

The men share a look. Something passes between them, and Thomson nods.

“Alright,” Huxley agrees.

Well, that was easy.

Too easy.

“You feel any bit threatened or uncomfortable, you walk out. Got it?” Thomson says.

“Or you can call for us, and we’ll come get you,” adds Huxley.

I nod.

When Huxley opens the door to the bright room, I remain hidden behind the wall. Blaze throws me a curious glance as he passes, but the detective lowers her gaze to the floor. Maybe she’s disappointed about not making any headway.

Straightening my posture, I stride into the bright room. I think the door closes behind me, but I can’t be sure, because when Leonid raises his eyes to meet mine, I’m distracted by his audible gasp.

He recognizes me alright.

My pace slows as I get closer. Battling the urge to run, I soundlessly lower myself into the interrogator’s seat. His brown eyes follow my every move.

“Oh, God,” he finally breathes. “You are so young.”

It takes me a few seconds to slow my heart rate. “You know who I am. You’ve seen my pictures. How old did you think I was?”

“I—I know you are seventeen, but…” he doesn’t finish that thought, and I’m glad. I don’t want my confidence stripped down by the man who tried to murder me. “How did you get caught up in all this?”

I involuntarily smile. “You stole my question. You’re the one who’s in trouble, sir.”

“So I have heard, but my motives are honorable.”

I lean forward. “What are your motives?”

He changes the subject, “You are UE royalty. How much is Boss paying you that you would willingly work for an enemy?”

The smile leaves my face. “We don’t use that term.”

“Which term?”

“‘Royalty.’ It’s not accurate.”

“I apologize,” he says, voice softening. “I meant no offense.”

I study his expression, blinking when I realize he’s being sincere. “You seem like a very kind man… so why did you try to kill me?”

Remorse enters his eyes. “The truth is I did not want to, but I had no choice.”

“Did someone force you to target me?”

“No. I acted alone.”

I don’t speak for a couple minutes, hoping he’ll reveal more. But perhaps I should’ve learned this earlier: Leonid Yon is extremely comfortable with awkward silence. So I ask, “Why did you have no choice?”

His lips thin into a grim line. “Because you invented NeuroQueue, and you are recreating it for Boss.”

I freeze. It’s as if all the puzzle pieces have fallen into place except for one—one that is in plain sight but just out of reach under the low-rise cabinet. I see the missing piece, but I can’t retrieve it, not without some special instrument.

The man cuffed to his chair in front of me is that special instrument. On one hand, I’d give a limb to know what Leonid knows. On the other hand, this is the worst possible place to find out what NeuroQueue’s true purpose is. Just beyond that one-way mirror observe Cosmics who’d have no problem shutting the suspect up.

And perhaps me along with him.

Leonid pulls me out of my thoughts, “Tell me, why did you name it ‘NeuroQueue’? I understand the ‘neuro’ part, but why ‘queue’? Does it have something to do with making people fall in line?” He chuckles like it’s an inside joke between us, but I don’t find any part of what he said funny.

I shake my head cautiously. “It’s not that deep. The other researchers and I were deciding whether to use stacks or queues to store information—for the very basic, temporary stuff—and we eventually settled on using deques. But we thought ‘deque’ sounded too harsh, and scientists from other departments were pronouncing it ‘de-queue’ instead of ‘deck.’ So then we figured, since deques are simply double-ended queues, we’ll call it ‘NeuroQueue.’” I recognize stupefaction sinking into Leonid’s features, and I quickly wrap up my explanation, “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a placeholder. We didn’t plan on commercializing something that could be used for unethical purposes.”

“A feather can be used for unethical purposes. It is the intention, not the availability of weapons, that leads to a crime.”

Choose your next words carefully, Ailee. “That may be partially true, but I know personally I’d rather somebody shoot me in the head than have control over my body.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He leans in so close, I wonder if those restraints are tight enough around his wrists. “Then you comprehend what NeuroQueue is capable of, but are you aware of Boss’ intentions? How much do you really know about him? About his operation? I have a wife and kids back home in Liansa. I joined the Cosmics so that I could support them, yet they repay me by taking control of our bodies, as though we are cattle—ripe for the picking.”

I have no adequate response.

His gentle eyes harden as he states, “You do not care. You do not have anyone you love who is Liansan.”

I open my mouth to retort, to tell him he’s wrong. That I do have someone I love who’s Liansan, and that even if I didn’t, of course I would care. But I don’t get the chance.

A high-pitched whistle zips through the air. I raise my gaze in confusion, questioning with my eyes whether Leonid heard the same sound. He stares at me blankly, and I tilt my head. Abruptly, his body slumps forward in his seat, blood trickling down his left temple.

That’s when I spot the bullet hole.

I scream.

I’m reaching across the table, attempting to find a pulse in vain—he’s without a doubt dead—when arms wrap around my waist and yank me away.

Looking up into blinding eyes, I shout, “Don’t touch me!”

“Ailee, you need to calm down,” Huxley commands evenly. I elbow him in the abdomen and punch him in the shoulder. He doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Let. Me. Go. You killed him!”

Nupan appears on our right, holding up a syringe. “I can tranquilize her, if you’d like, Boss.”

Huxley glares at her. “Detective. Not helpful.”

She shrugs, her leer saying “your problem, then” as she struts back to the dark room.

Huxley pulls me tighter against him, rapidly eating away any progress I made trying to extricate myself. “It wasn’t us,” he says. “It was the AI.” A couple of unfamiliar Cosmics arrive to carry the dead body. A blood drop splatters against the smooth floor as they leave, and I think I’m going to be sick.

After composing myself, I narrow my eyes at Huxley. I could play dumb. I could pretend to have no idea what Leonid was talking about… but something tells me Huxley would notice whether or not I’m obscuring my true thoughts. So instead, I demand, “Tell me what the hell is going on, or I’m not working for you anymore.”

His countenance darkens.

“Is what he said true?” I query. “About Liansa?”

“Of course not,” he replies, firm. “Don’t listen to a word he said. The guy’s crazy. I told you what NeuroQueue is for—my people. I wouldn’t waste that kind of technology on a bunch of lowlifes. You can trust me on that.”

“Then why did you kill him?”

He loosens his stranglehold around my waist and runs his palms down my arms. He crouches until our eyes are level with one another. “We didn’t kill him,” he exaggerates his speech. “It was the AI. Leonid confessed. The AI determined that he was guilty and carried out his penalty: Death.”

“You can’t blame this on the AI,” I counter. “Someone had to program it. Who?”

Red flashes in my peripheral vision, and I turn my head to watch Thomson step forward sheepishly. “Me,” he admits. “I programmed it.”

I thought I was in control, but I realize I’m not when Huxley becomes the only thing preventing me from collapsing. “Why?”

Thomson exchanges a look with Huxley, and my vision sharpens. “He confessed, Ailee,” the Gunner explains, tone pleading. “He got what he deserved. He’s gone, and you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

I don’t speak. I can’t even look at anyone. Huxley and Thomson grow concerned, and shell-shocked, I let Huxley tow me out of the interrogation room. As we walk down the dungeon hall, Huxley doesn’t hear the conversation in the dark room far behind us, but my golden ears pick up a few lines:

“But Ailee, I worry about you psychologically. Emotionally. Bodily,” Blaze says in a high voice, imitating Thomson. “Good job, rock.”

“Shut up,” Thomson snaps. “I didn’t have time to override it. Not after what Leo said.”

And then we’re too far away for me to make out the rest of the dialogue.

“I should take you to Nalani,” Huxley states as we stop by the dungeon’s sole elevator. “Have her check you out.”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Besides, I have work today.”

“Work can wait.” His fingers entangle in my hair. I meet his gaze, and his brows furrow. “I’m pulling you out of NeuroQueue.”

I forget to breathe. “Why?”

“I’d rather not wake up one morning to your dead body. Who knows how many Leonid Yons are on this ship.” If NeuroQueue is truly for Huxley’s people, then why was Leonid so convinced he’s planning to use it against Liansa? As though Huxley can read my mind, he grabs both sides of my face and implores, “You believe me, right? Leonid may have seemed like a normal guy, but he was a nutjob and a drug addict. You can’t rely on anything he claimed.”

I nod several times. “I believe you. I’m just tired.”

He nods too. “Go sleep. Relax. I’ll tell your manager that I’m reassigning you. You’ll start Monday.”

“You’re serious. You don’t want me working on NeuroQueue anymore?” Then what is my purpose on this ship? Can I go home? Should I go home? “We’re three weeks away from launching.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not risking it. It’s safer for you to work on something else. And in the grand scheme of things, what’s the difference between three weeks and six weeks?” He simpers. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they give you credit when it’s complete.”

I plaster a smile on my face that I don’t really feel, because part of me speculates my safety isn’t the only reason he doesn’t want me near the project’s labs. “Okay. But the next job better not be something boring.”

He smirks.

As the elevator ascends, I laugh at Huxley’s jokes and let him kiss me. Because my mind is clear, and I know that they were lying. Thomson, Nupan, and Blaze might not be privy to everything, but they certainly know more than me and Felix. Or they’re Huxley’s lapdogs. They wouldn’t kill Leonid in front of me—messily—simply because he was guilty. In a parallel universe, Leonid would’ve revealed how he got access to my room and how he was able to secretly manipulate the intribot, thereby allowing the Cosmics to implement those necessary improvements to security.

But instead, because I was present, they determined him to be a threat. Not a physical threat, but one that could divulge classified information to the daughter of a UE Admiral. And in that event, they would have to kill me, igniting a war—an official war—between Cosmics and Empiricals. However, I’m not delusional. Such a war wouldn’t erupt by virtue of my father’s love. It’s merely the principle.

Fortunately, the final puzzle piece didn’t die with Leonid.

It won’t die with me either.