As the first rays of sun light the sky, Kyran arrives.

Laying snuggled on the couch with my head on Garrett’s shoulder and my arm flung across his chest, I crack my stiff neck, then bolt upright. Rubbing my bleary eyes, I get my bearings. Rayelle is asleep in a chair, and Garrett stirs, sitting up beside me. I scramble to create as much distance between us as possible.

“What happened?” I ask.

“We fell asleep,” he says, running his fingers through his hair, seemingly unfazed. “Hey, Kyran. We could use your help. We only have a few hours to teach Rayelle how to get Nicki’s ring off her finger…”

Waking Rayelle, we all four huddle around the coffee table, and I offer my hand up for lotion again. And again. And again.

As the day wears on, dread seeps through me.

We’re never going to get this.

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-One

March 20X6, San Francisco

“I’m so excited,” Nicki says, surrendering a hand to the manicurist. “I’ve been wanting to go to Ring Around the Rosie, but my dad thinks it’s too dangerous.”

“What’s so dangerous about it?” I ask, hyperaware of Nash’s presence behind me. He’s sitting next to Garrett in the salon lounge, but there might as well be a wall between them the way they’re ignoring each other. Scanning the room for an exit, I plot my escape should I need one. My feet are coated in a goopy mask and stuffed in plastic bags, and I picture myself slipping and falling on my butt, my pink dress flipping up to reveal my tool garter, should I need to run. It’s not an ideal strategy, and I wiggle my toes, impatient for them to be free.

“Nothing. He just doesn’t like me going out in public,” Nicki says. “He’d keep me locked in our VR room if he could.”

I eye the ring on Nicki’s finger, watching the manicurist remove the acrylic chips from her nails and start filing.

“How did you get him to let you come, then?” I ask as my manicurist finishes filing my nails and holds them up for my approval. Rayelle appears over her shoulder, her eyes visible above the white mask she wears but disguised with matching black starbursts.

“Massage?” she asks.

My heart knocks so loud in my chest I’m sure everyone can hear it. Before we left, Rayelle managed to get the ring off my finger a few times without me feeling it. Her success rate was nowhere near 100 percent, but it had to be good enough. We were out of time.

“No, thank you.” I nod my approval at the manicurist, and she glues my chips on. “I wish my joints weren’t so sore,” I say as an aside to Nicki. “Everything hurts.”

“You’re going to feel a million times better once you get the transplant. I promise,” she says.