As Roan drove us through the city, I tried to suppress the panic that strangled my chest, but it wasn’t working. The fears running through my mind were too loud to shut down. How I was going to be arrested. Then executed. Or maybe they’d find out who I was, and the real fun would start. But I was worried the most about Mom.

I’d left her. I’d left her there at the diner to deal with my mess, and I wasn’t convinced she could handle it. What if she was arrested? What if they found out who she was? What if they killed her?

The only thing keeping me from running back to the diner was the fact that she wasn’t Aunare. If SpaceTech took her, she’d be held and questioned, but even if they did a scan, nothing would come up. They might not love her files, something might seem off, but she would always be human, and being human meant that she wouldn’t get killed just for breathing.

Plus, Declan was watching. He’d know what happened, and he’d help her. He had to help her.

But even knowing all of that, leaving her to deal with STPF didn’t sit right with me. Not even a little bit. That didn’t mean I could go back. Not if I wanted to live.

The good news was that I didn’t have a tracker. Declan was right to assume that my implanted chip was basic. The shady doctor thought it was weird that I didn’t want all the bells and whistles—we actually paid more than normal for him to implant something lower tech—but that was the only way I could handle having the chip. GPS devices gave off way too many signals.

Roan was the only person I knew besides Mom and me who didn’t have a tracker. He was even more against implants than I was, but only because he wanted to give SpaceTech as little insight into his life as possible. Roan’s chip was nearly as basic as mine. But even though we were without trackers, that didn’t mean SpaceTech wouldn’t find us.

I couldn’t stop running. Not for a while. Cameras could be repositioned. Satellites could be moved. And then they’d know exactly where I was.

I needed a plan. I needed to think. I needed to get my shit together. If I made one wrong move, I’d be screwed.

For everyone’s sake, I had to get away. One step at a time.

“How long until we get to the abandoned depot?” I said through the com in our helmets.

“Ten minutes,” he said after a second.

“Can you make it any faster?”

“I’m doing my best.” His voice was still snippy, and I knew he was still mad at me. He slid the bike into fourth and started weaving through side streets.