“He can’t—” Quanta’s fingers smudged against the glass. “It doesn’t work. They can’t clone me. Right?” She turned to me, disgust and fear and heartbreak warring in her bright eyes. “It won’t work. They can’t survive.”

Jesus. I leaned against the closest desk, steeling myself to look at the facilities with objective eyes.

Cold. Calm.

I didn’t feel it, but I had to pretend. I had to look the horror straight in the eye. Not all the tanks were filled, but none were collecting dust either. Trays of clean surgical equipment and active screens dotted the lab. They might not be at capacity at the moment, but this was ongoing, which meant…

“Move.” I pushed the nearest researcher aside, commandeering her workspace.

“Tell me this isn’t possible.” Quanta moved to my side and gripped my arm, trembling. “The clones don’t survive. They never did. That’s why they kept me…”

I wished it were that easy, but as I flicked through the screens of data, my throat constricted.

Bloody Christ.

They weren’t surviving.

Not all manifested Quanta’s powers, but the few that did? Darren kept them alive just long enough to make their only moments of consciousness living hell.

They died suffering. Screaming. In pain.

Darren used holo projection to draw the visions out until their minds broke.

The staff huddled in the corner, whispering, but none could decide what to do now that the subject of their research was standing in front of them. The guards would be on us before they resolved anything.

Breath ragged, Quanta tapped the research station next to mine.

The files contained thousands upon thousands of screen caps from the holo sessions. Most were blurred and chaotic, but the companion files made my chest contract.

They staff were cross-referencing the frames with satellite images. Astronomical charts. Facial recognition scans. Digital photos. Anything to locate the subjects of the visions in time and space.

And it was working.

A map spanned the back display wall, filled with digital pins placing the information they’d cobbled between Quanta’s clear mental pictures and the clones’ hazy copies.

The current target was a blue-haired girl, and her past locations traced a line across what used to be the United States. Emma Jean Boyd. A Red. Pictures of her known accomplices were pinned as well, each matched from Quanta’s sessions. Hunter Marquez. Oliver Park. Dexter Miles. Monalisa Stalimanti.

Smaller maps showed the locations of other known or suspected Reds and Ravens. I had to get the information to Eva as soon as possible or more would die.

“No.” Quanta clapped her hands to her temples. “This can’t—It’s not—I never saw…”

My heart ached.

After all Quanta had sacrificed. Darren had turned her mind and body against her. Frame by frame, they were picking apart Quanta’s secrets. The Ravens’ secrets. Bringing twisted versions of her to life just to make them suffer.