Behind me a gusty, “No shit!”

And a muttered, “Great.”

I land in the shallow water that sweeps the opposite bank. Somehow I stay upright, soaked to my thighs, and clamber up the slope, waterlogged sneakers filling with stones as the bank gives way beneath my feet. But I have new drive, a signal-free bandwidth, the large body of moving water blanking the Affinity agents from my radar. They haven’t crossed over yet. If I can make it into the trees, get beyond their sight, I have a chance … a small chance.

Using my hands to help me onto firm ground, I scramble up and away, barely making the forest before the crash of boots on rocks and a blast in the bandwidth tells me one of them has crossed over.

I’m fast, even with stones in my shoes, but I don’t make it far. He flies up behind me, grabbing my pack, jerking me out of my stride. I wrench my shoulders free from the straps and spin to find the steel-blue eyes are black with adrenaline – black with the chase. He drops my pack and swings his baton up with a practised flourish, a ring of orange lighting up beneath the tip. “Knew you’d run. They always do.”

Precognition flashes in my mind: he’ll bring the baton to the right, aim for my ribs. He’s fast. I barely manage to feint left, a sloppy kick to his wrist that knocks the weapon from his hand. Annoyance hardens his mouth and he rams his shoulder into my chest, a winding, eye-watering wallop of bone and muscle that takes me off my feet, hurling me into the scrub.

I slam onto my backside, sliding in the mud. Before I stop he charges towards me, a brutal tackle that sends us tumbling, his weight bruising my spine, shoulders, head, grinding me into the dirt as we flip. I land on his chest, and his air expels in my face. We both groan.

“Davis, enough.”

“What?” the blue-eyed guy coughs beneath me. “She started it.”

A hand clamps my arm, hauling me to my feet. I flail and kick.

“She’s had some kind of training.”

“This is not an exercise.” Benjamin frowns at his colleague then at my thrashing. The back of my hand collects the edge of his jaw. His grip loosens just enough for me to thrust myself out of his hold. Davis, part way to his feet, has only a half-second glimpse of my knee before it collides with his face and I bolt sideways.

“Evie!” Jamie’s shout takes me off course and I collide with an unyielding body. The German guy, his expression bemused and exasperated. Something flies through the air; he catches it.

“Ethan, no!” Miriam cries.

She’s here too?

I see only a brief flash of orange before a bolt of electricity fires through my chest, obliterating my senses, seizing my muscles, and I hit the dirt.

TESLA

The trip back to the house is grim and humiliating. I can’t walk. Jamie has to carry me. Jostled in his arms, my chest aches and my muscles cramp from the lingering aftershock of the baton, making it impossible for me to move my jaw to explain myself or ask questions. Jamie’s expression indicates silence is the way to go. Miriam walks beside us, white and wordless. The German guy says nothing, stalking ahead. Benjamin and Davis, both with cuts to their mouths, look annoyed in the extreme as they follow behind. When we reach the river we have to go upstream to find a spot narrow enough for Jamie to jump with me in his arms. It’s a good twenty minutes before we make it back to the yard.

At the kitchen door, I grunt for Jamie to put me down. My legs are stiff and shaky. Miriam loops her arm under mine and helps me walk. She pauses, surprised at first by a stack of towels on the dining table, but takes one for me and gestures for the men to help themselves. I don’t look at the woman standing at the kitchen counter. I don’t want to look at anyone. There’s nothing unusually strong about her signal in the bandwidth – maybe she isn’t the Warden. No one bothers to warn me not to run, though Davis follows us into the hall.

Upstairs, in my freezing room, Miriam shakes her head, warning me not to speak. Her eyes tell me that she can guess why I ran. She cups my cheek with her trembling hand and Aiden’s face blooms in my mind. Kinetic Memory Transfer. I blink and the image clears. Miriam’s pallor and desperate silence terrify me more than anything else. I’ve seen her under intense pressure before; she becomes ruthlessly cool and focused, not brittle like this. She forces the reluctant window shut and helps me into dry clothes. I want to beg her, What should I do? What should I tell them? But every time I open my mouth she gives a brisk shake of her head. Finally, when we’re ready to go downstairs, she mouths, Tell the truth.

My legs shake and I take my time, clasping the banister, afraid I might collapse and appear weak or scared, though I’m both. Jamie stands by the front door with the man named Benjamin. Benjamin is a confronting testament to the effects of Optimal on DNA, built like that, with a face like that. His signal rolls in the bandwidth next to Jamie’s. Now that I’m not in flight mode I have time to reflect on the strangeness of sensing someone else. I’m so used to how the bandwidth feels when Jamie and Miriam are around; it’s all I’ve known beyond Kitty and Aiden. Davis sits across the hall by the lounge window, slouching in Miriam’s wingback, scowling as I make my way down. His aggressive signal dominates the others while I focus on him then drops back when I look away.

Nobody else seems to react to the clash of signals. I want to hold my head or block my ears against the clamour, but I dare not close my eyes because there are images in the bandwidth that belong to these men, images backing up, dark, violent, painful, and I don’t want to see. I don’t want to know.

“This is trouble,” Benjamin says, glancing at me, his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “More trouble than you need, my friend.”

Their familiarity makes me uncomfortable; who is this man with concern and exasperation in his voice?

“It is what it is,” Jamie says.

“Does Ethan know?” Benjamin nods towards the kitchen.

Lifting his head, Jamie whispers, “It’s got nothing to do with Ethan.”

Benjamin glances at me again. “I hope not.”

They turn as Miriam and I finally reach the bottom of the stairs. When Davis comes from the living room, it’s hard not to flinch against his signal.

My jaw is stiff but my voice is steady. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“If you had been paying attention when we first arrived you would have heard, this is not an Extraction,” Benjamin says.

“Isn’t it?”

“This is bullshit,” Davis says.

Benjamin ignores him. “Counsellor Tesla is waiting for you in the kitchen.”

The name sinks in. Tesla. Ethan Tesla. The head of the Deactivation Program Jamie was in. Is in? It makes me think of Helena and my fear screws deeper. Why would he come for me? I remember the hushed voice of the Warden while I hid in a cupboard in the Gallaghers’ conservatory, trying to mask my signal with Jamie’s last time Affinity passed through the area. I remember her warning Jamie about the fluctuations in his reading and how Tesla would be unhappy. Is that what this is about? They’ve figured out the situation between Jamie and me? But if the Warden came through again, why didn’t we feel her probing signal in the bandwidth? It doesn’t make sense.

“There’s been a directive from the Executive.” Jamie does not touch me and keeps his face expressionless. “You’ve got a two-week reprieve.”

“She’s a runner,” Davis says, under his breath.

“I don’t understand. I thought you were here for me.”

Davis grips his baton. “We are.”

“Yes,” Jamie says. “We’ve all seen your glowing stick.”

Davis juts his jaw. “Give me an excuse, Richie Rich.”

“Enough.” Benjamin steps between them, like it isn’t the first time he’s heard them argue. “We follow protocol. Now, please, they are waiting for you.” He nods me towards the kitchen and I walk like I’m on the moon, slow, cumbersome, strangely detached from gravity, struggling to comprehend what feels like a miraculous stay of execution. Aiden. Aiden. My head soars in space, signals crash around me then I stumble against the bookcase. Three hands catch me. Miriam and Jamie, his touch potent and alive with electricity. The third hand pulls back. The startled intake of breath belongs to Benjamin. I picture the exchange of looks between them and know he’s sensed the link between Jamie and me.