The Drafter

Silas? she thought, feeling his stark determination as he manhandled her memory of the night back to the forefront of their joined thoughts, but she refused, seeing within him a faint image of a wind-calmed boat stuck in the middle of a lake, of laughter and music—and a toast to a future success. In a sudden wash, she realized it was Silas’s memories she was seeing, a shadow of their joined past during the year they’d spent together preparing to take Opti down. They’d both been there, Allen and Silas, countless nights spent over take-out and schematics and personnel files, of flirting banter at the rifle range, and the keen bite of testing each other’s dexterity skills in the gym. Allen had been there too, but she’d agreed to the year-long preparation because of Silas. She’d loved him, but he hadn’t loved her back, and she had no reason to say no when the year of preparation was over and the game was ready to be played. She had loved Silas, and she’d agreed to let that die. Wanted it to, maybe, when he hadn’t noticed that she’d fallen in love.

You loved me? Silas thought desperately, and she groaned when he wrenched her thoughts back to Overdraft, flipping through them with a frighteningly cold intensity, burning everything to ash. Memories of the night at Overdraft flared into short-lived, doomed existence, ugly emotions feeding them as oxygen fuels a flame. And though the memories were destroyed, the emotions lingered to coat her mind like smoke on the ceiling. It should have been cleansing, but all that grew from the fading memory of the night was a heavy depression. She’d done this to herself. She had forgotten love. And for what? Glory?

Jack was right. She was a bad person.

Her fight to be free collapsed into a soft trembling.

“Is she okay?” Allen whispered, and Silas’s hold on her eased, both the arms he had wrapped around her and the mind he had entwined with hers. Her heart ached as he let go. She was alone. She’d done it to herself.

“That depends,” Silas said, and the cool air of a deserted bar touched her skin where there’d once been warmth. His arms slipped away, and she huddled on the floor where he left her. The scrape of his shoes on the yellow floor serrated through her as he went to get her coat and draped it over her. “Give her a minute to catch up.”

Catch up. That was a good idea. She felt as if she’d been away for a long time and had come home to find everything changed. She was the one who was different, the truth making her feel ugly and ashamed. Forehead on her knees, she wondered what she was going to do now.

Tilting her face, she saw Allen and Silas sitting on the hearth. Silas’s back was bowed in fatigue or sorrow, or maybe both, she couldn’t quite tell. Allen looked guilty. Did he know she remembered him? Did he know she knew about the year they’d been together, the three of them planning and agreeing to this? That she’d asked him to destroy all memory of it?

“Thank you,” Allen said raggedly. “That construct you put in her felt self-aware.”

“It was.” Silas didn’t look at her. “There were enough latent memories of Jack for it to be fully realized. It had to be for it to be flexible enough to keep her sane until the memory could be defragmented. It’s gone now.”

What kind of monster am I that I could have given up on love so easily? For glory? They remembered her, and all she had was disjointed images. But if not for them, she’d still be Opti. She would have continued to accept the lies she’d molded about herself, be what Opti said she was. She was the sum of what she’d done, and she’d done so much that was ugly and wrong.

Exhaling, she pulled her head up, knowing she must look hideous with her hair mussed and her eyes red. “Jack is gone,” she said, edging up to sit on the low hearth, feeling his absence to her core, shivering as she recalled his breath on her neck, the way he made her feel powerful, dangerous—alluring.

Peri was at a loss, not knowing what to do next—not today, tomorrow, next week, or even five minutes from now. When she’d known nothing, she’d had goals and ideas. Now that she knew the truth, she was detached, distant, drifting aimlessly. Numb. Not remembering love.

Silas poked at the fire, and she flushed as she remembered hitting him with the iron. Peri, you’re better at this than me. You want to take a go at it? Had there been firelit nights between them? She didn’t remember any.

“You never would have done any of those things if you’d known the truth,” he said, and a lump filled her throat. It was hollow psychobabble bull. She didn’t believe a word, and anger began to edge out the numb feeling. She had blinded herself. Jack had been right. She’d enjoyed it.

Allen handed her a drink, his phone pressed against his ear. She took it by rote, uncaring. “Yes, she’s fine. A little depressed, but what did you expect?” he was saying, talking to Fran maybe? She’d been the one to okay this long-running, deep-undercover op. Peri still didn’t believe she’d ever been alliance. She must have been someone else five years ago. Naive. Stupid, certainly.

She stiffened at the clank of the fire tools, pulling her coat tighter about herself when Silas sat beside her. “You’re a good person,” he said.

“Am I?” she said bitterly. Her past suggested otherwise, as did the growing ache inside her. She missed it, God help her, she missed it.

He ran a hand over his stubble, his eyes on Allen hunched over his phone and walking away as he talked in a terse, hushed voice. Nudging the door to the back room open, Allen slipped out. The silence grew. Peri’s thoughts went to Silas holding her on the floor. She felt no shame for having fought him. She’d been out of her mind, and he’d known it. “Thank you for fragmenting the timeline.”