Darren runs his hands over my shoulders, his voice a soft whisper against my hair. “Trust me, Quanta.”

Other pasts I didn’t want to remember fought for my attention, but I beat them back—barely. When the chess set was visible again, I was panting.

Get it together. At least I managed not to dry heave. I regretted falling for Darren every day, and I couldn’t forget him when I was always in reach of his oily fingers. Worst decision ever, but I’d been weak at fourteen—or whenever it was—and creepo Darren was ten years older than me and a Green Helix. His brain was suped for science, and he’d spent his whole career studying me… And my weaknesses.

Now his chemical-green eyes bored into me, and as his brow furrowed, a dirty-blond lock fell over his forehead. I knew that look. He wanted to know what I was thinking, and he’d cut it out of me if I didn’t cooperate.

I scrunched my eyes, but all I could see was the gaping blank where my future was supposed to be. Not reassuring, but I managed to square my shoulders as I stepped through the door.

Just because I couldn’t see what was coming didn’t mean it was the end.

…Right?

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

ALTAIR

My watch vibrated as I reached for a batch of cell cultures. I closed the incubator and tilted my wrist to check the touchscreen.

One message from Senator Orpheus.

I hadn’t spoken with Father in weeks. Whatever he wanted now, I doubted it would be pleasant.

I swiped the message over to the glassy display above my workspace wall and let out a heavy sigh at the greeting in digital calligraphy. An official invitation to Altair and Cassiopeia Orpheus, from Senators Rashad and Mei-Lin Orpheus.

We request your presence at tonight’s reception.

Data on the time and location were followed by a bolded notation and not-so-subtle warning to my sister: formal dress required.

Nothing from them in weeks, and now I had an hour to get home, get changed, and wrangle Cass into a gown. If the invitation were paper, I would’ve ripped it in half.

But I couldn’t afford even small rebellions. Not when I was playing the dutiful senator’s son. If they wanted me there, then I’d go to their event and pretend to smile until my teeth cracked.

All the better to undermine the system on my own time.

After I cleaned my workspace and made a few last-minute notes, I headed through sterilization to strip off my lab gear. At seven p.m., the locker room was near deserted. Only one of the research assistants—Daria Poole—remained, hurriedly touching up her lipstick in her locker mirror.

She spotted me in the reflection and did a double-take. “You’re going home? Before midnight?”