The outside of the warehouse is boring, blocky concrete. A faded sign once proclaimed “Geary Hovered Automobiles,” but it’s faded and tagged with moving graffiti. A stylized bunny holds knives and does a cartwheel above the old image of a hovercar, over and over again.

Malka opens the door before I can even knock. I can’t help it; I start and take a step back in alarm. She narrows her eyes and smiles at me. She’s wearing a long dress of artful folds, like a Grecian tunic.

“Hello, canary,” she greets me. “Come on in.”

I cross the threshold.

Inside, I expect it to be as dilapidated as the outside, but instead it’s bright and fresh as a hospital room.

Malka leads me down the long hallway. Her heels click on the tiles, her hips swishing back and forth. She glances over at me. “I’m glad you’re feeling recovered. We’ve missed you, the past few shifts. Could have used your expertise. Now you’re all Tested, though, we can trust you with more than the menial dreams, canary girl.”

Like Kim, she seems to be fond of nicknames, but there the similarity ends. Kim is warm and genuine, and everything about Malka is carefully engineered. She gives a throaty laugh and stops by a door. It opens with a soft exhalation of air. “In you go. Think of this as part two of your Test. What can you do with a juicier dream?”

I step in, my palms damp with nerves. Inside is a Chair, far smoother and sleeker than the ones in Mirage, or even in the training room at the safe house. A man lies down, strapped in. He doesn’t seem to be there against his will. Next to him is a second, empty Chair.

I look closer and jerk with surprise.

“Thought you’d recognize him,” Malka says, smiling. If I’m the canary, she’s the cat with the cream.

“This is … Mr. Mantel.” The owner of Sudice, Inc. One of the most powerful people in the world. He was technically my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. I’ve only seen him from afar a handful of times in my years working for Silvercloud. It’s so incongruous, seeing him plugged into a Chair in this secret Verve lounge run by the Ratel. Does the government know?

I put my hand up to my necklace, pretending to fiddle with it. While Malka gazes down at the man’s supine form, I press the hollow of my throat. One. Two. Three.

I swallow against the nausea and the migraine.

“You see why trust is important to us,” Malka says smoothly. “No one else may know that he comes here. And no one will learn of it, will they?” The tip of her tongue darts out to wet her red lips.