I meet the team who will be watching us from outside Xanadu. It’s only four people, because they’re still containing how many within the SFPD know about Tila and me. I recognize the Indian-American officer who helped bring us in that first, awful night. Her name is Officer Jina Shareef. Her handshake is firm. Officer Oloyu is there, though he’s only helping part-time. The rest of the time, he’s up wherever they’re holding my sister. I want to ask him how she’s faring, but I’m afraid of the answer. The other two have worked on undercover operations, including with Nazarin, many times. Their names are Detective Lucas and Detective Tan. Both have the large, blocky look of bodyguards, and of men who know how to use a gun. The officers will be watching surveillance, and all four will be posted near the Xanadu, a hovercar at the ready if we need a quick escape.

The morning of the party, I read through the notes one last time. I don’t think there’s anything more for me to learn from them. The puzzle pieces have fallen into place.

All we know of the Test is it’s another lucid dreaming assessment, perhaps to let Tila into the next level of the Verve lounge. No one knows what the Test exactly entails. Not Nazarin. Not the SFPD. Not Tila, though I expect she had some inklings that never made it onto the pages. We’ve done all we can.

But we won’t know if it’s enough until I pass or fail.

Tila was after Ensi. The leader of the Ratel. Though I still don’t see why, or how she could ever have thought she could take him down. All I can do is get closer to the quarry at the party in Xanadu.

17. Taema

SEVENTEEN

TAEMA

The Xanadu is just off Union Square.

I wonder who the billionaire Alex Kynon really is, for it’s a pseudonym wrapped in many layers of bureaucratic red tape and obfuscation.

I’ve wandered through Union Square so many times, especially around Christmas. Tila and I would always come here to see the lights. The giant Christmas tree in the center, the man-made ice rink where people zipped to and fro on old-fashioned ice skates. The city tries to trap the past like an insect in amber. It doesn’t really succeed in capturing a sense of what it must have felt like—not with those hypermodern fashions the men and women wear as they bustle about, actually shopping in person for the sheer nostalgia of it, droids following behind carrying their wares—but I do appreciate the effort.