I glare at him. “You’re not helping.”

“I like watching you work,” he says, but thankfully, he shuts his eyes.

I focus on a spot over his shoulder, this time imagining Simon, trying to visualize the Corvette without having any idea what it looks like. I’m grasping at straws. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” I say, my mind reeling. “We’re screwed.”

“Keep trying. You’re our only hope, Obi-Wan.”

Nerd. But warmth washes over me at the fact that he can reference movies that are a hundred years old.

The wall screen clicks on, and we both jump, knocking heads. I’m certain we’re done for. The screen illuminates, casting us in soft blue light, before clicking off. A second later, it clicks on again before going dark.

Rayelle.

“Now,” I yell. “Go. Open the fridge.”

Garrett throws open the door.

Holding our breath, we wait for an alarm, for bullets.

Nothing happens.

“Is the box in there?” I ask.

He pulls out an ancient-looking gold jewelry box covered in symbols. Mesmerized, I momentarily forget where I am, running my fingers over the etchings, studying them, noticing the distinct outline of a key in the center.

“Give me the ring,” Garrett says.

I slip it off my finger and hand it to him. He inserts the stone in the lock and twists it to the right. Nothing happens. He twists to the left. Nothing. To the right again. Still, nothing.

His face goes pale. “I don’t think the ring is the key.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Five

March 20X6, Menlo Park

“It has to be!” Snatching the ring out of his hand, I examine it. “The stone is red. When Nicki wore it, it was always blue or purple.”

“It’s biometric,” he says, his jaw dropping. “It must change color based on mood—only someone calm can open the box—and it’s probably connected to Simon’s AMPs. We need to get it back to blue before he gets an update on her mood.”

“How are we going to do that?” The ring trembles between my fingers.

“Put it back on. It’s probably red because you’re agitated. Try to calm down.”

“I don’t want it reading me. You put it on.” I thrust it toward him.

He frowns. “You already had it on. Besides, it won’t fit me. Hurry up and put it on. We don’t have time.”

“Lucky you,” I mutter, slipping the ring back on my finger. It flares to bright orange.

“Take some deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He massages my shoulders.

“Would you stop?” I push his hands away.