“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” I tell him. “But … as long as you’re around me, you’re going to keep getting hurt. Over and over. Some of your people want to kill me,” I say, making him flinch. “And some of my girls want to kill you.”

To this, he shrugs. “Yeah, well,” he says. “I’m starting to get used to that part.”

“What are you doing here, Jackson?” I ask. “What do you want from me?”

“Want from you?” he asks, offended. “First of all, I wanted to make sure you didn’t get kidnapped by a bunch of monsters. That was number one. Secondly …” His brow furrows. “I didn’t just sit around in the hospital. I got out early and drove to that damn school. But you weren’t there. Thankfully, you weren’t there.”

“You went back to Innovations?” I ask, my eyes widening.

“Yeah, a few times. But just to the fence,” he says. “But there was no Running Course. There wasn’t much activity that I could see at all. Didn’t even see another girl.”

“Did you see anyone?” The mention of the other students has sent me reeling, a reminder that they’re still trapped there.

Jackson tries to think. “Uh … I saw a couple of men in suits, professors maybe. And a skinny guy, graying hair, glasses. He wandered around outside for a bit. For a second, I thought he saw me, but he went back inside.”

“Anton,” I whisper, feeling sick. I don’t want to picture the analyst, but I’m helpless. His face pops into my mind, his smile. His whispered lies.

“There’s more,” Jackson says, nudging me when I’ve drifted too far. I focus on him again. “I found some paperwork that belonged to my mom,” he continues. “And it’s why I’m really here, Mena. It’s important and I knew you needed to see it.”

“What kind of paperwork?” I ask. I should have figured Jackson would keep researching. He’s good at it. He’s reckless about it.

Jackson’s mother was part of Innovations before they opened the academy. When she found out what Mr. Petrov was doing with her technology, she wanted out. Instead, she ended up dead.

“I left the papers at the hotel, so I don’t have them with me,” he says. “But I’ll be a hundred percent honest, I don’t entirely understand what they mean.…”

He seems extraordinarily worried, and that concern transfers to me. “Just say it,” I demand.

“It was about your … your shelf life.” Jackson winces and meets my eyes. “A design decision.”

Although he must not like the word choice, he has no idea how horrible those words are to hear. Reminding me once again that I’m a product built for consumption.

“What kind of design decision?” I ask.

“It was written a few weeks before my mother died,” Jackson says, looking away to stare at the field. “It was mixed in with the other paperwork where she stated that she didn’t want to be part of the school anymore. Their defense for using her programming was the guarantee that systems would only be active for fifteen years.”

I straighten. “What does that mean?” I ask.

“I’m not done.” He swallows hard, lowering his head. “My mother didn’t think that was good enough. So she … She designed them for seven.” He’s quiet, but my skin is prickly—a chill racing up my arms and down my back. “I’m not sure if that design went into effect. It was an option. One you need to be aware of.”

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“It implies that your system will shut down at the seven-year mark,” Jackson says. I can see that he’s uncomfortable thinking of me as a machine. He’s not alone in that. “It was devised as a way to keep you from overdeveloping. Becoming sentient. It also played into the business model. An incentive for investors to keep coming back to … upgrade. Like any major appliance. If you lasted forever, there would be no repeat customers.”

“But we age,” I say, my voice quiet so that no one can overhear this truly bizarre conversation. “We have human organs—I’ve seen them.”

“It’s not your body that fails,” he says. “It’s something …” He taps his temple.

“What will happen at seven years?” I ask. I’m not exactly sure how long I’ve been alive, but it’s been at least three years. Does that mean I only have four left?

“I don’t know, Mena,” Jackson says. “But I have the papers, and I’m happy to drop them off at the apartment. Is there someone who can fix this if it’s true? I know the doctor is …” He flinches. “The doctor’s dead, so … he can’t help. What about that analyst guy?”

“None of those men would help us,” I say. Jackson’s face falters, and I’m sure it’s fear in his expression. I’d hate to think it was pity. After a beat, he nods to himself.

“I’m not going to just give up on you,” he says, as if I’d argued the contrary. “I nearly died at that school too, you know. Going inside there. Maybe you didn’t need to be rescued like I thought, but I did show up for you. Fuck, I drove the getaway car with a busted leg,” he adds.

And the last comment makes me smile, a lull in the tension. He did come to save us, even though we had already gone through hell to save ourselves. He found out what we were, but he got us out of there anyway. He’s always shown up for me, even though I didn’t do the same.

“I might know someone,” I tell him. “A hacker.”

“A hacker?” He sounds almost amused. “You’ve been meeting hackers out here in the world? I bet he’s fucking impressed.”

“She. And yeah, she is. I don’t know yet, but she might be able to work on this,” I say. “Give us an update or something. She has other ideas that might tie in.”

Thinking on it now, Raven might have seen the flaw when she looked at Annalise’s programming. She might have found it and not even realized.

“Okay,” Jackson says, sounding confused. “I can drop off the paperwork later. There might be details she understands. And I hope I’m wrong, Mena. But it’s best to check, right?”

I nod that it is. Although I’m worried, I’m not sure this is as urgent as Jackson thinks. No one, including Leandra, ever mentioned a seven-year shutdown. Jackson probably read the paperwork wrong or it was never initiated. But we will definitely make sure.

“Now …” Jackson looks around the bleachers. “What the hell are you doing at this prep school? Is someone here involved with the academy?”

I smile because he’s pretty smart. Jackson always has a way of cutting right to what I’m thinking. And I have no reason to hide my mission from him now. He’s already dragged himself into it again.

“We’re looking for an investor,” I say. “One of the original investors, I guess.” I pause, looking at him. “Your mom never mentioned anything about original investors, did she? In any of her papers.”

“No, not that I’ve seen. In fact, Petrov is one of the few names ever mentioned.”