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Chapters (23)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. CHΔPTER ONE
  5. CHΔPTER TWO
  6. CHΔPTER THREE
  7. CHΔPTER FOUR
  8. CHΔPTER FIVE
  9. CHΔPTER SIX
  10. CHΔPTER SEVEN
  11. CHΔPTER EIGHT
  12. CHΔPTER NINE
  13. CHΔPTER TEN
  14. CHΔPTER ELEVEN
  15. CHΔPTER TWELVE
  16. CHΔPTER THIRTEEN
  17. CHΔPTER FOURTEEN
  18. CHΔPTER FIFTEEN
  19. CHΔPTER SIXTEEN
  20. EPILOGUE
  21. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  22. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  23. Copyright

If I had learned anything growing up, it was that there were no guarantees in life. But that didn’t mean you simply sat back and never tried. I shivered. My expensive leather jacket did little to ward off the chill wind flying so high, but my chest was warm. I could feel my heartbeat against Daiyu’s back. We were near the base of Yangmingshan when Daiyu steered the airped onto a wide road, shutting the system and kicking down the stand.

After the rush of air against my ears and the hum of the airped’s propulsion system and engine, the sudden silence seemed loud.

“We’re here,” Daiyu said and waited for me to get off the airped before she slid off.

I glanced around. We were on an empty road that wound upward toward the mountain, untraveled because no one visited the haunted peaks anymore, after the earthquake and fires. I saw nothing but then glimpsed the curve of a dome hidden behind a thicket of trees set farther back.

“Come on,” she said. Daiyu walked toward the trees, and I followed.

We soon reached a large clearing, cut back to accommodate the structure I had glimpsed from afar. The building was made of ivory stone, smooth and circular, with a domed roof. A square vestibule was set at the front, with wide silver doors. It reminded me of the old-school observatories I had seen on the undernet, back when astronomers could actually study the stars and solar systems from within our cities. Now the skies were too polluted from Seoul to London to Mexico City.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s my senior project,” she said and gestured toward the entrance. “You’ll see.”

“You built this for your senior project?” It must have cost millions.

She nodded, unperturbed, and opened the elegant silver doors with a palm scan. The doors were etched with delicate plum blossoms—Taiwan’s national flower. Gold lights set into the arched ceiling came on, illuminating the empty chamber. I walked with Daiyu inside, admiring the jade tile work on the floor. “The vestibule isn’t finished yet”—she waved a hand—“but soon.”

The expansive chamber smelled of stone and wood, construction. Regulated air pumped from vents above.

“There’s a restroom.” Daiyu pointed to a cherrywood door on the right-hand side.