It wasn’t the best expression of gratitude ever. Blackburn didn’t seem to care. “I wasn’t going to let you die, you little fool. Now sit down. Let’s see if we can give you a sense of touch. This won’t be specific, Raines. You won’t distinguish between lukewarm and warm, but you’ll be able to feel a cold sensation and a heat sensation.”

Tom lowered himself into the seat, and Blackburn beckoned for him to prop his hands up on the table.

“This all depends on whether you’ve learned to distinguish between hot and cold, soft and sharp on your own. I need the neural associations firmly in place if I’m going to manipulate them.”

Tom nodded impatiently. “Yeah, cold is kind of this slow, vibrating feeling, and hot is this fast one. Sharp is this tiny bunch of pinpricks, soft is a spread-out bunch. I can tell.”

“Close your eyes.”

Tom closed them. Then Tom felt his fingers placed on something that prickled in a way he’d begun to identify as cold.

“What is this one?”

“Cold.”

“Very good. Now we’ll substitute the electronic signal, fool your brain into thinking you feel cold like you used to. Keep your eyes closed.”

Code flickered across Tom’s closed eyelids, and his fingertips felt the cold—a terrible cold that throbbed right up his finger into his knuckles. He yelped and withdrew his hand, his eyes snapping open.

Blackburn raised his eyebrows at his reaction, and held up the thing Tom had been touching. An ice cube.

“That was too cold,” Tom said.

“You’re sensitized to it.”

“No, you set up the finger wrong. It felt way too cold.” He didn’t want to go on, but Blackburn thumped the table with his knuckles, so Tom reluctantly put his hands down again.

As Blackburn readied the next sensory test, he remarked, “I hope you’ve noticed that I haven’t pressed you about the situation with Joseph Vengerov.”

Tom tensed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“I know he wants something from you.”

Tom dragged his gaze up to Blackburn’s, uncertain how much he should say. Blackburn grew irritated. “There is no point in testing your senses if you keep opening your eyes. What do you know about my time?”

Tom closed his eyes. “Infinitely more valuable than mine.”

“What do you know? You do learn sometimes. Sharp or soft?”

Tom’s finger brushed something that felt like a tiny bunch of pinpricks. “Sharp.” When he opened his eyes, he confirmed it—it was the edge of a knife. He found himself staring at it. The words spilled out of him in a great rush. “Vengerov really would’ve killed me. Right? He would’ve done it. Just like that.”

“If he wanted to kill you,” Blackburn said, tapping on his forearm keyboard, “I wouldn’t have gotten to you in time. He was trying to scare you.”