“Monica,” the senator says in a judgmental tone. “I told you this meeting is–”

“One I should attend,” she says smoothly. “Looks like I got here just in time.” She examines everyone but me. “You were about to make a decision you would later regret.”

“I was executing a plan designed to maximize safety.”

“Whose safety? Hers?” She flops a limp-wristed hand toward me, as if she isn’t even going to bother to use enough energy to condemn me. “I think we’ve had more than our share of Jane, anyhow. We don’t need more.”

“Her car was firebombed, Monica. Less than two hours ago.”

“Mmmm.”

“We need a safehouse for her. We’re still unwinding what happened.”

“Maybe Jane rigged her own car and set up the car bomb herself.”

Just when I think I can’t be more horrified, I am.

“What?” I squeak, wondering how she made that leap of logic.

“If it wasn’t her, it was one of the people she works with.” Her eyes narrow. “In fact, it’s a clever way to simultaneously draw attention away from what you’re really doing and get sympathy. I didn’t peg you for being that clever, Jane.” She gives a slow golf clap, two quiet claps, letting the silence scream at me along with her eyes.

How can someone use silence like a sword? Yet she does.

“I never–I didn’t–”

“We confirmed the identities of the car bombers. They were shitlords on a pro-state secession forum,” Drew tells her.

“A pro what?” Monica asks coolly, eyebrows as high as Botox allows.

“They want to create their own U.S. state and then secede.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Monica declares. “What does that have to do with Jane and her scheming?” Before Silas or Drew or anyone can answer, she turns to the senator. “Good grief, Harry, how can you let her come here? Especially when Lindsay is visiting?”

“I’m well aware that Lindsay’s here. In fact–”

The door opens smoothly and in she walks. First, her eyes seek out Drew’s. He’s tense, clearly in protective mode, but emotion fills his eyes.

I wish a guy would look at me like that.

Without thinking, I glance at Silas, who is watching Monica with a raw intensity, like he thinks she might make a violent move.

Not really, but that’s how he looks.

“Speak of the devil,” the senator says, giving me a tight smile without making eye contact. I know the smile is for me, because I hear Lindsay make a small gasp when she sees me.

“Daddy,” she says softly. “You didn’t tell me Jane would be here.”

“See, Harry? You’re upsetting her,” Monica admonishes.

Lindsay turns on her mother. “Since when have you cared about my emotional state at any given time?”

“Lindsay, sit down,” the senator and Drew say at the same time, but in completely different tones.

Lindsay remains standing.

I almost applaud.

“Actually,” she says with a sigh, turning to me, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You are?” It’s an echo chamber in the office as every single person at the meeting says the same two words.

“I am.” She looks down, then right at me. “I’m so sorry about your mother’s death.”

“Oh, Christ,” Monica groans. “You’re offering sympathy to Jane about the woman who delivered you to those monsters? Right in front of your father, in his office? The woman betrayed him in every fundamental way!”

“That’s enough, Monica!” The senator stands up and walks around the conference room. I expect him to grab her arm but he doesn’t, standing next to her, saying a short sentence in her ear. She turns a sickly shade of pink.

Her eyes dart to look at me.

I’m trapped. Triangulated. Caught in yet another one of these crazy dynamics between real live human beings who don’t view me as fully one of them. It’s the cornerstone of the last six months:

I am an enemy.

I am a target.

I am guilty by association.

My blood is tainted by my mother.

“Thank you, Lindsay,” I say, the only words I can summon through the buzz of all the nonverbal activity flying through the room. “I really appreciate it.”

Empathy, compassion, plain old niceness comes through the look she gives me–for less than a second.

Then the frozen mask comes back.

“Why are you here?” She doesn’t make eye contact.

“Because your father called a meeting.”

“I heard about the car bomb.”

“You mean the one Jane set up?” Monica snaps.

Lindsay’s eyebrows drop in confusion. Drew’s jaw tightens, his sigh obvious. Monica is all hard edges, her words a whirl of sharp knives, but Drew has bested her.

“Jane what?” Lindsay asks her mother.

“Oh, please, Lindsay. If you want to gain sympathy for yourself, what do you do? Create a diversion.”

“You think Jane rigged her own car and set it on fire at a shopping center in Santa Barbara to gain sympathy, Mom?”

“It’s not out of the realm of possibility.”

“Just like I cut my own brake lines last year?”

Monica goes pale under her makeup.

“I never said you did.”

“You didn’t have to. My fingerprints were all over the brake lines, right? You and Daddy assumed. It was all part of Nolan Corning and his plan. Set me up to look like the unstable one. Set me… up,” she says haltingly, looking at me.

Silas watches her with a dawning expression, one that shows layers of rapid thought. He blinks furiously, then looks at me, swallowing hard, intelligent eyes reflective and alert.

“When bad people are after what they want, they’ll do whatever it takes to make innocent people look bad,” I say quietly.

“That’s exactly what manipulators say to throw people off their tracks,” Monica huffs. “Just because you weren’t convicted doesn’t mean you didn’t do it, dear.”

That dear might as well be a curse word.

“Monica,” the senator says in warning.

“You make it sound like I have so much power that I can somehow hide true evidence that implicates me. As if I have some insider protecting me. If I had that kind of power, I wouldn’t be in this crazy position in the first place!”

Monica’s eyes go even colder as she looks at Harry, then me. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” she says to him with a glare that feels deadlier than it should.

Now she’s talking about my mother.

“I’ve told you everything I know about what happened with John, Blaine, and Stellan. And yes, I was Lindsay’s informant when she was on the Island, but I was only feeding her information that someone else gave me. I don’t have the technical skills to go into the darknet and do what he did.”

“Who is he?” Monica demands. “You refuse to tell everyone.”

“I don’t know.” It’s true. I don’t know. I have my suspicions, but I don’t have evidence.

“You know damn well how this looks to everyone in this room. Just as Lindsay’s mess–”

“Quit calling it that, Mom! It’s not my mess.” Lindsay reaches for Drew’s shoulder. His hand comes up, clasping hers. “It’s Nolan Corning’s mess.”

Monica starts to speak but bites her lower lip, eyes narrowing as she looks at her daughter. “Semantics don’t matter.”

“They do when you’re naming the scandal after the victim,” Drew interjects, his voice full of venom.

“Fine. We’ll just call it Anya’s mess, then. Or Jane’s mess. Let’s call it what it is–you two colluded with someone to bring down Harry and his entire political career.”

“I told you, I–”

“Shut up.”

I do.

“And now you’re here because your car got bombed? Do you have any idea how much PR work it’s going to take to distance this from Harry’s campaign?” Her tongue moves between her upper teeth and skin, flaring her full red lip.

“That’s why we’re here,” Marshall says, the undertones of his words not subtle at all. “This is a briefing meeting for how to accomplish that.”

“Do a better job this time than you have for the last six months,” she says softly.

“We’re done,” the senator announces, using his body to herd Monica out of the room.

Everyone starts to stand except for Drew, who watches the scene calmly, eyes calculating. Lindsay shakes her head, her mouth tight.

“Stay,” Drew says to Silas, who starts to stand. “The meeting’s not over.”

“But–”

“You can’t just usher me out and–” Monica’s objections to the senator are cut off as he closes the door behind them. Low growls of anger come through the door as vibration, the two arguing. In less than ten seconds he returns, resolute.

Without his wife.

“Do you really think I rigged my car with a firebomb?” I ask the senator.

He freezes, halfway to sitting, but doesn’t look away. “No.”

“Because you think I’m telling the truth?”

“Because Silas was with you the entire time and there was no room for error.”

No room for error. Everything I do, then, has a potential for error.

I am an error.

But at least they don’t seriously believe I bombed my own car.

“It would be easier, frankly, if you had,” Marshall comments matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?” His words aren’t getting through. I start to shake, unable to control it.

“Your reputation is already shredded. People will believe anything negative about you. If you’d really planted the explosives yourself, you’d be portrayed as even more mentally unstable.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I say sadly.

Lindsay gives me a sharp look. Drew rolls his eyes.

“Enough speculation. We need to act.”

I can’t stop shivering. I don’t even try to pretend I’m cold. When was the last time I ate? Had water? My only private moment was a washcloth scream a few minutes ago.

I need a remote log cabin, no internet, and a month to do nothing but sleep.

“It’s decided, then. Jane will take the guest house by the pool. Marshall, downplay this and point the finger at the unstable fringe. Don’t make it political–nothing left wing or right wing. Just pump up the idea that internet culture and violence have reached a fevered point. Maybe get the news shows to broaden coverage to other unstable elements online. Dilute the message.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And watch poll numbers.”

“Always.”

“Jane, you can move your belongings into the guest house, and–”

I hold up my phone and purse. “What belongings?”

The senator looks shocked. “What do you mean?”

“Everything I own was in my car.”

That shuts everyone up for half a minute.

“Everything?” Lindsay looks at me.

“The rest is still seized as evidence, or if it’s free for me to take, no one knows where it is. So many agencies and committees have reviewed it...”

“That’s not fair,” she replies, looking at her father, who doesn’t return the favor.

“None of this is fair, Lindsay. Not one bit of it,” I whisper.

Drew stares me down. I turn away and shut up.

“All you own is what you’re wearing, your phone, and your purse?” the senator asks, his breath slow and steady, his gaze filled with concern.

“Yes.”

He nods his head. “Good.”

“Good?” I squeak.

“Not good that you’re left with no belongings, but good in that you’ll be easier to move from place to place.”

Losing every item I own has now become a logistical benefit to the powers that be.

I stand. I’m shaking so hard, I see strange dots in my vision. I have never fainted in my life. Not once. As I get to my feet, my hand brushes against a manila folder, pushing it off the edge of the table. It’s the lightest of touches but it does the trick.

Sometimes that’s all it takes.

One last tiny, insignificant act can tip the scales.

“No,” I say, not sure what my no means. No, I can’t faint? No, I won’t be moved like a chess piece, an object in other people’s game?

No, this isn’t happening?

No.

Just… no.

“No, what?” Marshall asks.

“No, I won’t continue to be moved from place to place. Do you realize I’ve been homeless for more than six months? I’ve lost everything–everything! My mother is dead. All her belongings are considered evidence. All my money and hers is considered government property now, and I know I’ll never get it. I have nothing. Nothing!” I shout, looking straight at the senator.

I’ve tipped.

My phone buzzes at that exact moment, the sensation so unexpected, I let out a high-pitched scream, all the stress centers in my brain being pushed at the same time, in unison, until I become nothing but a million live nerves. My body isn’t under my own control anymore, so it shakes and jerks, my throat tight and all awareness beginning to fade.

I am not fainting.

I am just disappearing.

My brain stops linking me to the other people in the room. I don’t know how else to describe it. Their words are spoken. Their muscles stretch, their lungs draw air in and blow air out. They move in angles and lines, waves and particles, as we share the same air, the same planes of existence, the same layers of the room.

But I am not quite there.

“You can’t,” I gasp, pressing my palms into the oak conference table so hard because I want to leave a mark, to do something with so much pressure that it relieves some of what was inside me, “take away every part of my life and expect me to comply. You can’t expect me to do whatever you say just to preserve my life. If the only reason you’re protecting me is because you think I am a danger to you or someone else you care about, then,” I say, pointing to Silas’s firearm, “just take out the gun and shoot me. Now. You can do it, you know. You’re all powerful enough. Silas could kill me right here, right now, and you’d all make up some story about how unhinged I am. How I attacked the senator.”

He recoils.

“Even better!” I shout. “Marshall and Marcy and Victoria could spin it so that I attacked Lindsay. Yes–let’s go with that.” I whirl on her. “In a fit of rage, I turned unpredictable and your security team had to take defensive measures. What a great story. It fits so many narratives, doesn’t it?”

“Jane, that’s not what we’re doing here,” the senator says, looking at Marshall with an expression that is clear: Fix this.

“You might need medical attention,” Marshall says. “The firebomb obviously caused physical damage, but there could be head trauma.”

“Oh, stop. STOP! You’re just finding more ways to control me. I’m not a thing! I can’t continue to live like this. It’s bad enough being shamed in public. But you’ve kept me on the run, hidden away, and for what purpose? I have no life. It’s been systematically stripped from me.”

“Because of your own actions,” Drew reminds me.

“Because someone has made it look like those were my actions!”

“Not this again. The whole innocent act,” he replies.

“It’s not an act! I would think that you, of all people, would understand what it’s like to be set up by forces beyond your control and unfairly accused of doing something you didn’t do, Drew!”

Lindsay gasps, giving me an open look that makes me feel human again.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to me,” he says with contempt dripping from every pore.

“You can’t stand the idea because it introduces doubt, doesn’t it? And when you have doubt, it might make you wrong. Quit taking everything at face value. You know what it’s like to be a victim of that,” I shoot back.

Drew rears on me, his body an angry system designed to shut me down. He’s smart enough to know I have a point, but stubborn enough to decide that it doesn’t matter, because his one and only calling is to protect Lindsay.

Who is watching me with a critical, evaluative expression.

“Calm down,” the senator snaps. “Both of you.”

“I am about as calm as you can get, sir,” Drew insists.

“You’re inflaming her. And she has a point.”

“Sir?” Drew’s incredulous look is matched by Silas’s.

“There are people who believe Jane is innocent.”

I wonder if he’s becoming one of them.