Page 23 of Wells

"Did it work?"

"Never made it past forty." A laugh slips out of me, and the realness of it catches me off guard. "But I always fell asleep."

"On the roof?"

"Yes, but never for long. When I climbed back into bed, I'd go straight to sleep."

"Were you lonely?"

"No, I had the stars and the cars."

He goes quiet, and I hear him breathe, and then, softer than anything he has said all night, "What were you trying not to think about, up on that roof?"

The question lands somewhere I am not braced for. Nobody asks me that. People ask if I am okay. Then they take the yes. He heard the thing underneath the story.

"My shitty home life. My father was never home, and when he was, he was a mean drunk. My mom hardly came out of her room. I spent a lot of my childhood alone, so I guess that's why I think about that kind of stuff a lot."

I never tell anyone about my childhood. I've never even told Locke about the desolation of the home I grew up in, the silence that sat over every room like a lid, the sense even as a small kid that there was a reason for all of it nobody would ever say out loud.

He is quiet for a moment. Then, lower than before, "I know that kind of alone." Something shifts in his voice, like he has caught himself saying more than he meant to. "I would have stayed up and counted them with you."

I believe him all the way down. Whoever he is, behind the black screen and the borrowed voice and the money he sends, he knows a piece of me I don't give anyone. For one reckless second, I want to climb through the laptop and comfort that feeling of aloneness I know all too well.

Then he clears his throat, and the careful distance slides back into his voice.

"I have an early day tomorrow, Midnight. I want to take you and this to bed with me now. You can hold me as I count the cars."

"I'd like that."

I let the quiet sit for a second. "Sleep tight, Midnight. Don't let the bedbugs bite."

"You always say that." A pause. "Why?"

"My aunt used to, when she tucked me in. She was my dad's sister, my favorite. I always loved it when she would visit because my dad was on his best behavior and my mom put on her happy face."

I don't hand people my family, but the roof is already out of my mouth, so this follows it before I can think better of it.

"Are we still on for Saturday?"

"Sure."

Sure would be dismissive delivered by anyone else, but I take it as a term of endearment from him. I know he looks forward to these calls as much as I do, but he would never admit it.

The call ends with a soft click, and the green light goes red. I sit in the chair and stare at the empty monitor, my pulse still racing.

I reach behind my head to undo the mask. The elastic snaps, pulling free from my ears. The cool air hits my damp forehead. I drop it onto the desk and remove the wig, running my fingers through my real hair.

Midnight has gotten under my skin, and I'm not sure if I should be worried about that or grateful he fell into my lap. As long as it stays like this, it isn't a problem.

Something tells me I can't be that lucky forever.

SEVEN

Wells

The Float's Skirt: Every float hides its chassis and the riders' feet behind a painted skirt, so the crowd sees only the spectacle riding above. The city was shown a mugging. What ran underneath it was never meant to be seen.

I zoom in on the third slide and tap the cluster map Cera built around the Singapore breach. The chart breaks the risk into tiers, colors sorted by threat level, each node sized according to potential exposure.