“Instincts.”

“Remember how that felt,” she says.

I nod, memorizing the rush that sparked in my brain, the almost-audible burst of wind that accompanied the answer.

“I wonder…” She pauses, thinking out loud. “If you could hone your instincts so that when you think of someone, you get an impression of where they are and what they’re doing…”

“I don’t know… Is that even possible?”

“It might be. With practice. Are you willing to experiment?”

What events would I have to relive to get to that level? Exhaustion overtakes me, and I rub my eyes. “Yes. But not tonight. I should be going.”

“Of course. Another day.” She shows me to the door.

Before I go, I stop, not wanting to go outside if Weiss is lurking. “Does Weiss come by often?”

“No. It’s unlike him.”

“He’s super creepy. Do you think he knew I was here?”

“No… I actually have another theory.” She grips the doorknob but doesn’t open the door. “I’ve been experimenting with the idea that when people with higher brain function like yourself—and Garrett—are in a meditative state, you receive what you send out. Like if you send out fear, you receive fear. If you send out hate, you attract hate…”

Maybe that’s what happened in Tahoe. I sent out hate and brought the evil to us. My throat constricts at the notion. Rosy memories surface—me and Deena as little girls—sleepovers and secrets and dreams. The good times blot out the bad, and I’m drowning again. Nobody should ever get close to me. But I fight to surface, to forgive. It’s not your fault. That’s not who you are anymore… I force my focus to Allard.

“…but if you send out love, you receive love,” she continues.

Letting out a bitter laugh, I swallow my tears. “No danger of that.”

“You never know.” She squeezes my arm. “And if it’s okay, I’d like to do some more brain scans soon to see if our work is increasing your connectivity.”

“Sure,” I say. “Anytime.”

“Thank you. Now, don’t worry about anything else tonight. Go get some rest.” After wrapping me in a brief hug, she shows me outside. “I’ll set something up soon. I wonder if I could get some scans of Garrett, too. It would be interesting to compare the two of you.”

“That would be fascinating,” I say, injecting sweetness into my voice before disappearing into the night so I can go bang my head against a wall in private.

Chapter Eleven

October 20X5, Keystone

Two twists to the right, one to the left… I trigger the pin, hold it in place with my L rake, and feel for the next one. Deep in the vault, I’m attempting to steal the Pink Star, a fifty-nine-carat pink diamond that sold at auction for Ä83 million. According to the plaque on the glass case, the collector who purchased the diamond is actually the proud owner of a 3-D printed replica. The original stone was stolen by a Keystone Disconnect years earlier, when it was on display at the Smithsonian, and that’s where it lives now—in the Vault’s version of the Smithsonian’s special exhibit hall. The collector never came up with the currency to purchase the stone, anyway, and the replica resides to this day in Sotheby’s inventory.