Theft and assault. Perfect. This was going to be so much fun to explain to Chubs.

“You call that being careful?” Roman said.

“I actually call that a citizen’s arrest,” Priyanka said. “I was just doing my civic duty in God’s country.”

“Did you at least kill the security cameras?”

She gave him a look. “You think this is the kind of joint that has working security cameras? A better question is if I stole the illicit bundle of drug proceeds out of his pocket, because, yes, I did.”

She tugged out a large roll of UN-printed dollar bills with their signature pale-blue paper and holographic security foil and tossed it to Roman, who caught it with an unhappy look.

“This isn’t going to get us much,” he said. “Maybe a tank of gas or two.”

“You’re joking,” I said, reaching for it. The weight of the bills alone told me it was at least a thousand dollars. “And anyway, you can’t keep that….It’s…evidence.”

“When was the last time you had to buy anything?” Priyanka asked. “Everything costs a hundred dollars, an arm, and a leg these days.”

“I buy…” I began to say. What had I bought recently? A scarf—a present for Cate’s birthday. But of course I wasn’t paying for food, or clothes, or gas. I was an employee of the government living in government housing. That made me lucky and grateful, not out of touch, like she was implying.

I met people almost every day and heard their stories. Things were tight with everyone while people reentered the workforce and new companies opened their doors. If a dollar didn’t buy much now, it would again soon.

“Things,” I finished lamely.

“Is this dirty money?” Roman asked, turning back to her. “Traceable?”

“Let me put it this way: either the guy is an employee of Leda Corp moonlighting as a crappy motel manager in the middle of nowhere, or he’s in deep with whatever network is set up in this zone.”

“Network? Like a crime network?” I asked. “You really do have a vivid imagination.”

“Okay,” Priyanka said. “Keep believing that. I, on the other hand, am going to believe what I actually saw: he was better stocked than most pharmacies. In either case, you should be thanking me. Now it can all be returned to the bosom of democracy and justice along with everyone’s favorite Psi sweetheart, Suzume. You’re welcome, America.”

“Hilarious,” I told her.

“I know, right?” she said. “But you won’t be laughing when I tell you that their phone lines are down.”

The words trickled through me, slowing the blood in my veins as they sank in. Roman cast an anxious look my way.

“You’re sure?” Roman asked.

Priyanka shrugged. “Must have been a storm or something.”

Of course. Anger shot through me, blistering hot. She had to have shut it off somehow. They were never going to let me call for help, not before they got whatever it was that they wanted from me.

“You’re welcome to test it yourself,” Priyanka said, all innocence.

“I think I’ll do just that,” I said as I climbed down from the truck.

“How did you reopen the cut on your head?” Roman asked, reaching over to inspect it. Priyanka shooed his hand away with her free one.

“Calm down, I’m fine. It’s a flesh wound, et cetera.”

“Did he hit you?”

She looked insulted.

“No. I mean, he put up a fight…” Priyanka began. “Well, a li’l fight. A cute struggle. It made me giggle.”

“You hit your head on a door frame again, didn’t you?”

Priyanka’s full-wattage smile dimmed, but her words didn’t slow. I could see her pulse fluttering in her throat again, too fast to be normal. “I’ll have you know I hit my forehead on the window when he jumped out of the bushes squealing at me like a little troll.”

“Wasn’t there also supposed to be good news?” I asked.

Priyanka reached into the partially torn pockets of her dress. Hooked on her index finger was the loop of an obnoxiously large wooden keychain, and a silver key. “I got us one of the bigger, and I’m assuming less shitty, rooms. I’m guessing we have about an hour before the manager wakes up and gets enough of the duct tape off his mouth to start screaming.”

Oh God.

Roman looked to me, as if waiting for my approval. I gave a reluctant nod.

Just this once…I thought, feeling smaller and smaller as I trailed after them. I remembered what this felt like, too: breaking the law, turning yourself invisible to avoid getting caught. My hands shook so hard that I had to press them flat against my sides.

I could do this again. Just this once.

Just one more time.

As Priyanka passed by me, an expected spark of electricity brushed up against my mind.

I angled toward her again, spreading that silver thread of my power out, letting it feel for a connection.

It found one.

There was something electrical in Priyanka’s pocket besides the cell phone I’d taken from the kidnapper. Something with power in its battery.

She turned toward the motel, leading the way. Roman subtly slowed and drifted back so that he was a step or two behind me. He marched me forward like the prisoner they believed I was.

But in the soft, milky light of early morning, I let a small smile touch my lips. I knew what that power signature was.

Another, different cell phone.

A chance.

Present Day

THE CAR SMELLED LIKE DAYS-OLD french fries and drove like it was slouching toward its millionth mile. The engine clogged and churned pitifully each time I sped up, and the brakes screeched as I slowed. It did have a full tank of gas, but that was only because I’d shown Roman how to use the motel’s garden hose to siphon from the other car in the parking lot.

This was a routine I knew. Find a car. Siphon gas. Change the plates. I latched onto the familiar steps, because I didn’t want to think. Anything was better than mentally replaying what I had seen on the television.

Me, killing that Defender. Me, sending out a bolt of bright electricity that ripped through the speakers and tech booth, making all of them explode in turn.

I’d been hoping one of the reporters on hand had captured the attack on camera. At least two of them had, but both videos were set from behind the Defender who had approached me with the gun. Only someone recording from my right would have captured what actually happened.

I couldn’t shake it, even as I stalked down the interstate to retrieve the truck’s license plate and swap it with the one on the gray sedan we were taking. Of all the cameras there rolling…there had only been that one angle?

By the time I had the license plate in place, Priyanka and Roman were already in the car, the supplies in the trunk along with the water bottles and snacks Roman had selected from the vending machine.

No one said a word as we drove east using the car’s dashboard compass. It was at least an hour before we knew where we were: Nebraska. Over a thousand miles from the attack in Pennsylvania, which had occurred three days ago.

The men had held us for three days while the rest of the country, the UN, its peacekeepers, the Defenders, and local police searched for me. While they sent out drones to scan blocks of cities and highways for any sign of me. While my face was plastered on newscasts and, I assumed, on the few social media sites that the interim government had approved access to.

The search is still on for the Psi responsible for the deaths of seven people….

It was another hour before cars started appearing, cities began sprouting up, and the highway widened around us. I felt like an ant caught under glass; unable to move and slowly being burned alive by the sunlight.

I swallowed hard, reaching for the water bottle in the cup holder. Roman opened the cap and passed it over. I drank it down, crushing the plastic as I finished, but it did nothing to ease the ache in my throat.

“Are we going t

o talk about this, or are we just going to ignore the fact you’re a wanted fugitive?” Priyanka asked from where she’d sprawled across the backseat. “I’m fine with either, I just want to make sure that we’re all on the same page. Also, I’m bored.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m glad you have the luxury of being bored by this situation.”