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  “Do you think I’m an idiot? I wouldn’t have left without something. But it’s encrypted.”

  Willow closes her eyes and actually smiles. When she opens them, her blues bore into my soul. “Where is it?”

  I shake my head and step back. “Lock me back up. I’m not handing it over.” Not that I could. Miller has it. Where is he? “I know what that information is worth, and I won’t give it up. Paragon needs to be exposed.”

  “What do you think we’re trying to do?” Willow asks. Her hand falls on my arm, but I jerk away. “Paragon is only a piece in a much larger puzzle. Ugene, the Protectorate is dedicated to exposing the truth and balancing things out in Elpis. Directorate Chief Seaduss has a plan, and we are trying to figure out what it is. Those in control need to be removed, and we need information like yours to make it a reality.”

  I have met this woman before. And I remember exactly where.

  Career Day feels like so long ago, years. So much has happened since I stepped off the bus, but I definitely remember Willow being there. She was part of the group of protesters outside the Convention Center. She was the one who put that flyer in my hands. Maybe she’s telling me the truth now. Maybe she does want to help, but after everything I’ve been through, I find it hard to trust anyone.

  “Ugene, please.” The tone she uses sounds patient, but her demeanor reflects the opposite. “Your information could help us link Paragon to the Directorate, and if we do that, we can tear down the entire broken system.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and stand as straight as I can.

  Willow huffs, turning to Doc, hands on her hips.

  I follow her gaze to him, and he’s staring straight at me like he can see through me. Or into me. The penetrating gaze makes me uncomfortable. I lift my chin, even though he makes me want to squirm.

  “Fine,” Willow says, at last, drawing my attention back to her. She drops her hands to her sides and starts toward the door. “Let’s get you to your quarters then. This way.”

  Once again, Doc’s gaze draws me in, locked in place. When I break free, I have to sprint to catch up to Willow.

  “You’re a Telepath,” I say when I match pace with her.

  “Sort of,” she says.

  The big Somatic—Chase, I think she called him—follows us a few paces behind. Where Willow’s steps are silent, Chase makes up for it with the loud thump of his boots against the smooth stone floor.

  “What do you mean, sort of?” I ask as we descend a metal staircase.

  “I mean sort of,” she says tersely.

  Willow stares at me, weighing me, sizing me up.

  “So, what is the Protectorate, anyway?” I ask when we reach a floor marked out as Level VII. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t have, would you?” Willow says. “The Directorate wouldn’t want the citizens of Elpis knowing we exist. Plus, if we’re doing our jobs right, you would only hear of us when you need us.”

  People in ordinary street clothes move along the halls with purpose as I follow Willow down a tunnel. I don’t recognize anyone, but that doesn’t mean any of them aren’t from our group.

  “So where were you when I needed you after Career Day?” I ask. “Where were you when the Directorate started kicking down doors and forcing people like Leo into Paragon’s program?”

  Willow’s expression shifts from stoic to sad. The slope of her shoulders swings downward ever so slightly. When she speaks, her voice is more tender than it has been so far. “We did our best to fight the Proposition, and when it passed, we struggled to keep up with the speed of the Directorate. They mobilized the Department of Military Affairs faster than we anticipated.” Willow shakes her head, and the ponytail whips behind her. Then she stops abruptly, staring at the ground. “We lost good people during the waves of arrests.”

  Chase rests a large hand on her narrow shoulder. I jump, forgetting that he still lumbers behind us. Willow looks up at him, forcing a smile, and her blue eyes shimmer with unshed tears.

  I know that look. I’ve worn it myself before. She blames herself for failing them.

  Willow blinks, and the tears disappear, her expression stoic once again. We resume the march as Willow guides the way through a steel door that leads into a rounded tunnel lined with rusting steel walls. Reinforcement rings support the weight of the walls around them. For some reason, this tunnel fills me with anxiety.

  “What about my friends?” I ask, trying to ignore the knots forming in my stomach. “When will they be released? What about Enid?”

  Willow grimaces and nods. “She hasn’t left her quarters since her release. She refuses to say anything more until she sees you.”

  “And Miller?” I ask. Last time I saw him, he was barely conscious, suffering from a shot he took for me. “He was shot. Is he okay?”

  Chase speaks behind us. “I remember him. The John Doe. He’s in medical. Dr. Lydia has taken care of him.”

  “But is he okay?” I ask again. What if they scan him and find the drive? I can’t give anything away. Not yet.

  Willow stops and turns to me. “He will be okay, but his injuries are…serious.”

  “But it was just a shot,” I say.

  Willow rubs at her arm, uncertain. “Somehow, he lost his Power.”

  “Can I see him?”

  Willow and Chase exchange unreadable glances, then Willow nods at me and turns up a tunnel. I rush to catch up on her heels. If that drive in his arm falls into the wrong hands, we could lose whatever leverage we might have.

  4

  The Shield isn’t quite the maze of corridors like Paragon, but I still feel a little lost. Much like in Paragon, each tunnel looks much like the other. Willow knows exactly where she’s going, and her steps are not in the least bit hesitant.

  The stone tunnels have a very distinct smell like a combination of dirt and metal, mingling with the occasional scent of orange oil. Polished wooden planks cover the stone walls of the tunnels. Small tripod lights sit in recesses atop the wooden walls, fanning across the stone ceiling and filling the spaces with a comfortable light.

  The whole atmosphere reminds me of those dank underground lairs in superhero movies. Either the hero or the villain is stashed away in an underground lair to help avoid detection by the outside world. It allows access to some natural resources while offering a natural stone barrier that most powers couldn’t penetrate. Which is the Protectorate—hero or villain? And do these walls offer that sort of protection?

  Every ten feet or so, another room branches off. Some have polished wood doors, others steel. It’s a curious place.

  The Shield isn’t empty of people, either. Occasionally, someone will pass and nod politely or give Willow a status report: the water filters are no longer backing up; a batch of crops failed overnight; the kitchen flue system is clogged. Willow either says thanks or directs them to someone else to handle the problem. Such mundane problems.

  A big red plus sign painted above a wide doorway reads: MEDICAL.

  The space spills into a massive chamber as we march through the doorway. Beds form rows all around the room, each with a privacy curtain—though most of them are open. Less than a handful of beds have occupants. How many of them are from our group? Would I recognize any of them if they were?

  A woman with dark, cropped hair approaches Willow as we enter. She hands a glass tablet to Willow and I try to peek at it, but Willow moves it just enough to prevent me from peeking.

  “Dr. Lydia, this is Ugene,” Willow says as she reads the tablet. “He’s here for the PTPD patient.”

  I frown. “What’s PTPD?”

  “In a minute,” Dr. Lydia says, waving me off as her focus remains on Willow. “I have to press this again. I strongly suggest you pull Jayme from rotation. His condition is progressing.”

  “It’s too late,” Willow says with a sigh, handing the tablet back to Dr. Lydia. “He’s already out on rotation. And I highly doubt we could keep him here if we wan
ted to anyway. You know him.”

  The conversation is somewhat fascinating and were I not so eager to see Miller I would care a little more. Still, they carry on as if I’m not right here.

  “Does he know?” Dr. Lydia asks.

  Willow’s lips thin. “We will talk about this in a minute. Can you talk to Ugene about the PTPD patient?”

  Dr. Lydia takes the tablet and tucks it under her arm, finally acknowledging me, albeit grudgingly. “You are his friend?”

  “Miller? Yes.” Despite betraying us to Paragon in exchange for information about Murphy, Miller admitted that he considers me a friend. Since he took that bullet for me during the escape, my anger about the betrayal has dissipated…mostly. “What’s PTPD?”

  “Post-Traumatic Powerloss Depression,” Dr. Lydia says. The creases on her forehead wrinkle up, appearing out of place for someone who can’t be much older than thirty. “He came in with a gunshot wound, but the shock his body underwent wasn’t from a bullet. We’ve never seen anything quite like this, though we have seen people who lost their Power before. Most of those cases have been through injection or extreme stress. Was he injected with anything that you know of?”

  I shake my head. How much should I tell them? “He jumped in front of that bullet for me. Then he fell to the floor and started seizing, thrashing. I thought he was dying. I…I think that whatever took his Powers was in that bullet.”

  “What?” Willow’s eyes widen, her small frame tensing. She clutches her fists at her sides.

  “Are you certain?” Dr. Lydia asks.

  If these people are fighting against those bullets, they have a right to know. “Pretty certain. I mean, I can’t imagine what else it would have been.”

  “Willow…” Dr. Lydia gives her a meaningful glance, and there is something I’m missing here.

  “I need to contact the team,” Willow says, then adds before darting out of the room, “I’ll send someone to escort Ugene to his quarters.”

  “Where is Miller?” I ask. Despite my growing curiosity surrounding that whole situation, I am still here for a reason. “I want to see him.”

  “I’ll take you to him, but you need to understand something first,” Dr. Lydia says, now hugging the tablet against her chest. “Your friend isn’t well. Miller’s reaction to losing his Powers is no different from that of anyone else. Physically, his body is fine. He’s healed. But his mind is sort of…incomplete. Splintered. No one handles it well.”

  I frown. “How often do people lose Powers around here?”

  “Not very,” she says, glancing over her shoulder momentarily, then lowers her voice. “They say that having their Powers removed is like having a piece of their soul ripped out like they’re broken. The depression that these victims typically suffer is different from what we know. And thoughts of death are not uncommon, and often extreme. This Miller isn’t the guy you knew. He will be more withdrawn, even in a crowd of people.”

  “He was always that way,” I say, smirking and making a lame attempt at humor to lighten the situation. It falls flat.

  Dr. Lydia shakes her head. “No, Ugene. This will be worse. I usually recommend counseling for patients like this. He won’t eat. The sooner we can get him back into everyday life, the sooner he will recover.” Dr. Lydia places a warm, reassuring hand on my arm. “He can get through this, but he will need his friends.”

  I nod dumbly. What am I supposed to do for him? “If I can get him up, is he free to leave?”

  “Yes, but he will have to be with someone at all times, and he will be kept under observation.” Dr. Lydia offers a consoling smile. “This way.”

  I follow Dr. Lydia along the rows of beds to Miller’s. The curtains are drawn back so he can easily be observed no matter where the doctor is in the medical bay. She leaves the two of us alone.

  “Hey, man,” I say when I reach the edge of the bed.

  His eyes are open, staring at the ceiling. Seeing the weakened state of him, a sense of guilt turns my stomach. How could I suspect this guy is a spy? He doesn’t even look like he’s eaten in days. He either isn’t the spy, or he’s a really good method actor.

  My voice generates no reaction in him. Does he blame me for what happened to him? Is he angry? I lick my dry lips and sit on the edge of his bed, careful of the IV going into his arm.

  “Miller?” What can I possibly say? What do I hope to gain here? The bandage over the healed wound in his shoulder makes my throat tighten. “I heard what happened. I…” The whole situation puts me at a loss for words.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Miller says, his voice hoarse, emotionless.

  I open my mouth but telling him he didn’t need to jump in front of that bullet for me would only rub salt in the wound. He’s like me now. Powerless. I fall into silence, staring at the monitor sharing his vitals. They all seem normal.

  The two of us sit like this for a while, avoiding looking at each other. I know I should say something, but what? What could possibly make up for this?

  Miller rolls on his side, his back to me. Steady breathing makes his side rise and fall. I wait for him to say something or to roll back over, but he doesn’t budge.

  “You still awake?” I ask.

  “Only because you keep talking,” Miller mumbles.

  “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through right now,” I say. “But don’t forget why you wanted out of Paragon in the first place. Do you think this is what Murphy would want you to do?”

  He doesn’t move. I find it hard to reconcile this lump with the Miller I know.

  “Our purpose hasn’t changed, Miller.”

  Still, he does nothing.

  “Come on, man,” I say in the most commanding voice I can muster. I cross my arms beside the bed. “Get up.”

  “Get lost.”

  “I’m not moving until you get out of this bed and come with me. I’ll stay until you get so annoyed you leave the room just to escape me if that’s what it takes.”

  Miller half-shrugs. I have no idea who this guy is. Miller is stubborn and strong and blunt to the point it’s often painful. He isn’t the guy that lies around in bed feeling sorry for himself.

  “You still have it?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” I noticeably relax. We still have an ace in the hole.

  Miller flops his arm out toward me, staring in the other direction. “Take it.”

  I push his arm back over his body again. “Not now. Not here.”

  Maybe having it with him will give Miller a reason to stick around and not consider death too seriously, as Dr. Lydia warned.

  Miller doesn’t respond. He just lays with his back to me. What do I do, drag him out of the bed?

  “Miller…talk to me. Please.”

  His breathing is shaky as he rolls on his back. Still, he refuses to look me in the eye. I can almost hear him swallow the lump in his throat. “Losing my Powers… It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced.”

  I have no idea what losing a Power is like. I never had one to lose. But the misery in Miller is clear. I hate seeing my friends suffer. I hate seeing anyone suffer.

  Everything inside of me is in a vice grip. How could Paragon do this to anyone? I feel like I might be sick. My blood heats up just thinking about it.

  “It hurt worse than all the tests. Worse than…than losing Murph. I wanted to die.” Miller’s voice quivers. “My insides were on fire and something inside of me was trying to rip out.”

  Anger boils hot inside of me, like a volcano ready to erupt, one prepared to burn Paragon to the ground.

  Miller licks his dry lips, his voice strained so tight I can hear him fighting off tears as he continues. “The last thing I remember is the pain. Then I woke up here.”

  To my surprise, Miller breaks down and starts crying, smothering the grief by pressing his hands to his face. Seeing someone so tough break down like this makes my stomach twist and only adds fuel to the inferno burning in my veins.
I do the only thing I can think to do. I lay a gentle but firm grip on his nearest shoulder and just hold it there as he struggles to collect himself. Dr. Lydia is right. Miller needs counseling.

  I rub my free hand over my mess of hair like the action can shake answers free. The reality of this entire situation presses down on my shoulders. I have the drive, with the encrypted video files. But even if I could get them unlocked, what would I do with them against Paragon? Especially if Paragon is in the Directorate’s pocket—or the other way around. I can’t broadcast it because the Directorate has control of the media. I’m well aware of this because Bianca’s dad is in charge of the network.

  Miller is staring at me now, his tears quickly coming to heel. Is he looking for an explanation? No. Miller wouldn’t just assume I know anything more than he does. He’s waiting for me to say or do something clever.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s the best I can offer. “If I knew how to reverse what they did to you, I would.”

  He nods. Miller knows me well enough to realize that it’s true.

  “Look.” I pull my hand away from his shoulder. “I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but this…” I wave a hand from his head to his feet. “This isn’t you. The Miller I know wouldn’t be able to stay still for this long. You wanted to bring all of Paragon down, but you can’t do that from a bed. You wanted to find Murphy. He’s alive out there somewhere, Miller. You said so yourself. You lost your Powers, but you can still find him—we can find him.” I hold out a hand. “Time to get up.”

  Miller stares at my hand for so long I’m afraid he will refuse. But then he grasps my hand feebly. He still seems reluctant, but at least he’s sitting up now. I pull him to his feet, but he’s been bedridden for so long his face pales from the sudden movement. He stumbles a step to the side, catching himself on the edge of the bed, and I jump forward to help steady him.

  Miller pulls the IV out of his arm and drops it on the bed. I slide his arm over my shoulder and help him toward the exit. Miller isn’t out of the woods yet, but at least he is up. That’s a start.