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Am I really willing to give that up for hot sex with a robot? Abe’s becoming more to me than that, but if I end it with him soon, how heartbroken would I be? If I compare Abe to the role of committee member, I’ve wanted the job way longer than I’ve wanted Abe. Simply in terms of time spent yearning, I should choose the job, right?

I continue pondering this on our walk home from the town hall. I feel Ziggy trying to send me his thoughts, but I block them out, too focused on this choice I’ll have to make. Abe must sense how distracted I am because he takes my hand and pulls me into his side without saying a word. Just offers the comfort of his tall, wide frame while placing a gentle kiss against my hair.

The sting of tears has me biting the inside of my cheek, trying to push it down. My phone buzzes in the pocket of my blazer, shifting my attention at the perfect time.

Ilana: Ezra is awake! Come to the hospital!

“Oh my god,” I say with a gasp. “Ezra’s out of the coma! We have to go, right now.”

The screech of tires from around the corner fills the air, and I turn just in time to see a man on a motorcycle heading straight for us.

“Who is th––”

“Emma, move!” Abe shouts, shoving me out of the way seconds before the motorcycle slams into him, sending his body flying about ten feet in the air before landing with a loud crash on the pavement.

“Abe,” I cry out, crawling over to him. My vision is slightly blurred, but I can still make out his crumpled form several feet away. He shoved me hard, and my palms are scraped up, but I feel nothing beyond intense, nauseating fear. He’s not moving. I know he’s a machine and most of him doesn’t feel pain, but one of his legs is twisted the wrong way and some of the skin on his face is torn.

Emma, don’t, Ziggy sends.

I look around but don’t see him. I’m glad I can hear him, though. He must’ve run off and is hiding somewhere safe.

He’s coming back.

That’s when I hear it. The motorcycle’s engine as it makes a tight U-turn and heads back toward us. I shift my body to face it fully, to get a better look at the driver. He’s wearing a black helmet and matching leather jacket. Dark jeans. A short, thin frame. Beyond that, I can’t see any defining characteristics.

I know I should move, but I don’t. Mostly in defiance. He wants me? Let him come. I’m sick of seeing the people I care about get hurt. I sit back on my ass and sink my hands into the grass, letting my eyes fall closed and the dirt cake the raw, shredded skin of my palms.

My focus turns away from how close the bike seems and toward the sounds of nature surrounding me. I open myself up to it. Embrace it with all five senses. Then, just as the motorcycle sounds close enough to cut me in two, I send my rage, my impatience, my exhaustion, every emotion that’s been weighing on me since that first attack, I send it into the ground. It responds with a violent shake, and I smile the moment my eyes blink open to see the wide horizontal crack separating me from him.

He pumps the brakes on the bike, sending the back of it fishtailing to the left just in time to avoid the sharp edges of the newly formed crevasse.

We stare at each other for what feels like a long time. I can’t see his eyes through the helmet, but his neck is exposed between where the helmet ends and the collar of his black T-shirt begins. If only I could summon a fireball small enough and throw it with accuracy to hit him right there. Unfortunately, my fireballs are still too big and my aim imperfect, so that won’t work. He revs the bike’s engine a few times. A clear threat. But for what? Is he planning to jump the crater I made?

Shots fire, and I see Otto racing toward the biker on foot with his gun in hand, finger on the trigger. The biker launches his bike into a quick turn, avoiding any lethal shots to his body. A pity.

I take the momentary distraction as an opportunity to check on Abe. I scramble over to him on my hands and knees, my ankle dragging behind me. I think I may have twisted it.

“Abe!” I call out as I reach him.

He lets out a labored groan as I place a hand on his chest. Just below it is a hole about six inches wide, exposing the wiring inside his stomach.

“Emma,” he whispers, reaching a hand to my cheek. “Are you hurt, my darling?”

“Me?” I reply, tears streaming down my cheeks at the sight of him, then even harder at his selflessness. “I’m fine. But y-you…you’re, um…”

“Nothing a few hours in the pod can’t fix.” His words are slurred and his voice is thick with exhaustion, which I didn’t think he was capable of feeling. His right eye is also glitching out, blinking way faster than the left, like the rate of a hummingbird’s heart.

I’m worried there’s damage to his head that isn’t visible. That’s where his CPU is located. Beneath the light that traces his cheekbone, a section of his synthetic skin is torn off and dangling near the corner of his mouth. There’s a steel replica of a human skull now exposed, making him look like the Terminator.

“Emma, come on,” Otto says as he runs toward us. “We need to get you out of here.”

“No. Abe,” I say, gesturing toward my kind, sweet bodyguard. “I’m not leaving him.” Nothing else matters to me right now. I need Abe to be okay. If he’s okay, I’ll be okay. I place a protective hand on him as I’m facing Otto and slice the inside of my wrist on a jagged piece of metal. “Fuck!”

“Emma,” Abe says, wrapping his fingers around my wrist to stop the bleeding. “Go. Get to the forest.”

“The forest?” How’d he know that was my plan if the attacker ever found me?

He shoots me a sly grin. “I pay attention.”