His pulse beat harder just remembering it, the fear that had shot through his veins, that did again now. Somewhere, ERD and the rest of DHS was out looking for him, looking for Bobby and Alfonso and the rest of the boys. And they had resources he didn’t understand. He couldn’t imagine a future where he stayed free.

He only hoped the boys had made it. That Bobby had made it. That maybe ERD was so focused on him that they weren’t chasing the kids.

And that when ERD did catch him, he didn’t get too many other people hurt in the crossfire.

Cheyenne and Angel had won the argument. Tempest had been over-ruled. But she’d made it clear it was temporary. Rangan couldn’t stay here forever – they all agreed on that. He had to figure out some way to move on.

Until then Tempest demanded certain precautions. The windowless cell of a room that Rangan slept in. Curtains drawn tight around every other window in the Bunker. An end to the normal stream of visitors to the Bunker while Rangan was here. And others precautions yet.

He reached for some now. A thin hat that covered his short hair, reducing the odds of leaving some of it as evidence. Nitrile gloves for his hands, so he wouldn’t leave prints or skin flakes with his DNA. He was already wearing the long sleeved shirt and long pants that covered the rest of his skin.

He’d balked at wearing a mask. Cheyenne and Angel had agreed it was overkill. Tempest, unsatisfied, had installed DNA-ripping scrubbers in the ventilation system.

He looked down at himself. There was no reason to delay. He put his hand on the door, and let himself out, into the hallway, then down it, and into one of the common workrooms of the Bunker.

Cheyenne saw him first. She was leaning over a carbon composite printer, watching something extrude from it, her long dreads tied behind her head, her muscular dark-skinned arms bulging in the sleeves of T-shirt. She looked up, gave him a nod. “Yo.”

Rangan nodded back. “Yo.”

Cheyenne pretended not to notice his night terrors, pretended not to notice how lost he was, pretended he didn’t owe her anything for saving his life a week ago.

He appreciated that. Cheyenne felt steady.

He saw Tempest across the room, tapping away at a console. The mane of bright red curls he’d noticed the first night was gone. A wig, a disguise, beneath which was shoulder-length brown hair, now pulled back . Her green eyes met his, and she looked away. Her mind was sealed up shut against him.

“Hey, Axon,” the one who called herself Angel said from across the space. “Ready to flex your coding muscles?”

Rangan put on a game face, thought brave thoughts, and went to pay for his keep.