Page 439 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“They said he was secure.” Another message arrived. HE WAS. Then: UNTIL HE HEARD YOUR VOICE. Ronan stared. “What does that mean?” Saint sent an audio file. Vance played it. Ronan’s own voice. Perfect. Elliot, it’s me. Come out. I need you. Ronan went cold. AI. Voice cloning. The marine sciences building. Same trick. Saint had used Ronan’s voice. On Elliot. Another message.

HE REALLY DOES COME WHEN YOU CALL. Ronan couldn’t breathe. Vance shouted into the radio. “VISUAL CONFIRMATION ON MERCER NOW.” Static. Chaos. Then the answer. “Mercer not in cell.” No. Ronan grabbed Vance’s arm. “Find him.” “We are.” “FIND HIM.” Another transmission. “Secure stairwell door breached.” Ronan’s entire body shook. Saint had gotten Elliot moving. Using him. His voice. His promise. Another message. DON’T WORRY. Ronan stared. He hated those words. Then: I’M FINALLY GOING TO MEET MY FAVORITE. For three years, Saint had watched Elliot. Studied him. Spoken to him. Manipulated him. Loved him in whatever diseased way Adrian understood love. But they had never actually met. Until now. Ronan looked toward the stairs.

“Get me to him.” Vance was already moving. This time, she didn’t tell him no.

Chapter Thirty-Seven — Good Boy

GOOD BOY

THURSDAY · 12:08 P.M.

Ronan’s voice came through the intercom at 12:08. Elliot knew it was wrong at 12:09. Unfortunately, by then he had already opened the door. Elliot, it’s me. Come out. I need you. Five seconds. That was all it took. Five seconds for reason to become irrelevant. Five seconds for Elliot to forget that Ronan was supposed to be at St. Augustine. Five seconds for the words I need you to overpower every lesson Elliot had learned about reacting instead of choosing. The electronic lock released. Elliot stepped into the hallway. Empty. Red emergency lights glowed overhead. Backup power. No officer outside his room. No Ronan.

“Ronan?” Silence. He took three steps. Then stopped. Wrong. Everything. Wrong. Ronan had promised to come back. Not come inside. Not somehow gain access to a federal detention wing. Not call him into an empty hallway during a power failure. Elliot looked toward the ceiling speaker.

“Fuck.” A soft laugh came through it. Not Ronan. Saint. “Almost.” Elliot closed his eyes. Of course. “You cloned him.” “Yes.” “Again.” “Yes.” “You’re getting repetitive.” Silence. Then Adrian laughed. Real voice. No software. No distortion. Close. Elliot opened his eyes.

“Where are you?” “Come find me.” “No.” Pause. That answer apparently surprised him. “Elliot.” “No.”

“You came this far.” “Three steps.” “You came when he called.” Elliot’s jaw tightened. “Yes.” “Immediately.” “Yes.” “No hesitation.” Elliot looked toward the empty hallway. “Your point?” “You love him more than you love yourself.” “That’s dramatic.” “Is it?” “Yes.” Adrian laughed. “You were always funny when you were scared.” Elliot’s stomach turned. Always. Three years. Ronan had found the records. Vance told Elliot enough before everything went wrong. Saint had been watching since he was eighteen. Before contact. Before Tyler. Before Ronan. Before Elliot knew there was anything to watch.

“You knew me before the forum.” Silence. “Adrian.” The name changed everything. Saint went quiet. Elliot smiled faintly. There. Human.

“You don’t like that.” “You finally learned my name.” “Ronan did.” Another silence. Good. Elliot continued. “He found you.” “He found a room.” “He found your father.” The lights flickered. Interesting. “He found your projects.” Nothing. “He found Daniel.” Silence. “Mara.” Nothing. “Isaac.” “Stop.”

First command. Sharp. Real. Elliot felt his pulse steady. Adrian Cross. Twenty-nine. Serial killer. Manipulator. Abandoned son. Not omniscient. Not Saint. A man.

“You killed them.” Adrian laughed softly. “They failed.” “So you killed them.” “They left.” There. Exactly what Ronan had figured out. Elliot looked toward the camera.

“Caleb left.” “No.” “He did.” “He broke.” “You tried to make him kill his brother.” “He wasn't ready.” “He told his brother.” Adrian’s voice hardened. “He betrayed me.” “Nathan?” “Unstable.” “Lena?” Silence. Elliot frowned. “Lena left too.” No answer. Interesting. “Is she alive?” Adrian didn’t respond. Elliot’s chest tightened. Three alive. Nathan had said three. Caleb. Nathan. Maybe Elliot. Lena—

“Did you kill Lena?” Silence. Then: “She disappointed me.” Cold. There. Four. Daniel. Mara. Isaac. Lena. Saint’s body count. At least four. Elliot stared at the speaker.

“How?” “Does it matter?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because you spent months pretending we were the same.” Adrian laughed. “We are.” “No.” “You killed five.”

“Yes.” “I killed four.” There. Confession. Elliot’s pulse sharpened. Cameras. Facility systems. Maybe recording. Good. Adrian continued.

“You’re better.” “No.” “More efficient.” “No.” “More beautiful.” Elliot’s stomach turned. “No.” “You chose people who deserved it.” There it was. Permission. Again. He could almost remember how good those words once felt. Not anymore.

“They deserved consequences.” “Yes.” “Not me.” Adrian went silent. Elliot swallowed. That sentence hurt. Good. It should.

“I decided I got to be the consequence.” “You were.” “No.” “You still believe they deserved what happened.” Some. Maybe. That was the ugly truth. Elliot wasn't going to become a different person just because he confessed.

“Yes.” Adrian laughed softly. “There you are.” “But that doesn't make me right.” Silence. Adrian hated nuance. Interesting. Everything had to be binary. Good. Bad. Strong. Weak. Loyal. Failed. Stay. Leave. Ronan had complicated everything. Maybe that was why Adrian hated him. Elliot looked toward the end of the hallway.

“Where are the officers?” “Busy.” “Did you kill one?” Pause. “Yes.” His jaw tightened. Five. Saint had five too now. Fitting. Elliot hated that thought immediately. No. Not fitting. People weren’t numbers. Ronan would say that. No. Elliot said it himself.

“What was his name?”

Adrian went quiet. “What?” “The officer.” “Why?” “You killed him.” “Yes.” “What was his name?” “I don’t know.” There. Difference. Elliot remembered every name. That did not make him better. But Adrian had reduced even his own victims to function. Failure. Obstacle. Project. Elliot had done something similar. Maybe that was another thing he needed to stop.

“Where are you?” Adrian laughed softly. “Now you want to see me.” “I want this over.” “You’ve wanted to see me for months.” “Not anymore.” Lie. Partly. He wanted the face. Needed it attached to the voice. Needed Saint reduced to human scale. Adrian knew.

“Come downstairs.” “No.” “Elliot.” “Come to me.” Silence. Elliot almost smiled. “Scared?” The speaker clicked off. No response. He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. Then footsteps. Not behind. Ahead. Slow. Unhurried. A man turned the corner. Elliot stopped breathing. Adrian Cross looked ordinary. That was the first thought. Not terrifying. Not monstrous. No black clothes chosen for dramatic effect. No mask. Dark hair. Pale eyes. Thin face. Maybe six feet. Federal maintenance uniform. Badge clipped at the waist. Stolen, probably. A smear of blood near one cuff. Not his. Adrian stopped approximately twenty feet away. They stared at each other. Three years. Hundreds of messages. Five murders. Four projects dead. Ronan. Everything. And Elliot’s first spoken thought was:

“You’re shorter than I expected.” Adrian blinked. Then laughed. Real. Elliot smiled faintly. Good. Human. Adrian took one step closer. Elliot stayed.

“You look exactly the same.” “No, I don’t.”