True to his word, Zero has a new board sent up for me within hours. This one is all black, from surface to wheels to bolts. I test it out tentatively, letting myself adjust to its weight and traction. It should be good for traveling at night.

I stay in the hotel room until it’s fully dark outside, inspecting the corners of the walls, searching for signs of hidden cameras or some other surveillance. Then I run a careful check on my account, in case Zero had indeed installed some kind of tracker on my system in addition to my black cuff.

To my surprise, I find nothing. Maybe Zero and Taylor are serious about giving me my privacy.

From the balcony, I can see the silver and blue overlays on the streets below, showcasing the area’s loyalty to Team Winter Dragons. The hotel is somewhere in the middle of Omotesando, a glittering, upscale district full of luxury shops housed inside grand architecture. Silver and blue lights wrap around every tree. Purses and shoes on display in store windows sport bejeweled crests from the Phoenix Riders and Team Andromeda, celebrating the Final. Since I first arrived, another two top players have been announced for the closing ceremony, and now their images are being broadcast against the windows of Prada and Dior.

SHAHIRA BOULOUS of TURKEY | ANDROMEDA

ROSHAN AHMADI of UK | PHOENIX RIDERS

It occurs to me that Jax had brought me here in a state of unconsciousness. Now the Blackcoats are letting me step out the door unattended and fully alert.

I don’t quite believe it. I could easily go back on my word to them. But there’s not much I could do to them at this point—I don’t know where they are or anything incriminating about them.

Get into Hideo’s mind. That’s what the Blackcoats are asking of me. I look in the direction of Tokyo Dome, where enormous virtual symbols for the Phoenix Riders and Team Andromeda are already hovering in the night sky above the stadium, with a timer counting down the next twenty-four hours until the game happens. Hideo will be at the Final rematch tomorrow.

My thoughts wander back to Zero. I’d spent a moment running searches on the symbol on Sasuke’s sleeve, but no matches turned up. It doesn’t belong to any corporation I’ve ever heard of, nor does it resemble anything that might hint at what it is. It’s simply a series of polygons overlapping each other, as abstract as anything can be.

I quietly put a call out to Tremaine.

He answers almost immediately. “Hey!” he exclaims in my ear so loudly that I wince. An instant later, his virtual figure appears, and I see him walking on a crowded, brightly lit street, his hands buried in his pockets.

“A little quieter,” I reply. “I can hear you fine.”

“Where the hell are you?” Tremaine squints at me, trying to make sense of my surroundings. “Are you okay? The Riders are freaking out about you. Roshan even called me to see if I knew what was going on.”

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Someplace in Roppongi. Where are you? I’ve been trying to track you down.”

His hurried voice makes my mind whirl. “Omotesando. Don’t track me. It’s too dangerous. I’ll come find you.”

“What do you mean, it’s too dangerous? I heard about gunfire in Shinjuku a couple of days ago. It was all over the news—they said some kind of madman opened fire. It’s unheard of in Japan, even in Kabukichō. Two people were killed. I thought one of them could have been you. What happened?”

It already seems like years since I last talked to them in the bar. I bite my lip. “I’m okay,” I reply. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain when I see you.” I keep my voice low. “But first, I need you to look at something for me.”

Before Tremaine can answer, I send him the screenshot of young Sasuke in the room.

His bewildered voice now turns curious. “Who’s this?”

“Sasuke Tanaka, apparently, when he was young. See that symbol on his sleeve?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“I have no idea. That’s what I need your help with.”

“You run a search on it yet?”

“Yeah. I turned up nothing.”

Tremaine pauses, and I imagine him studying the symbol with a frown, trying to match it up with something. “Hmm,” he finally murmurs under his breath. “I’m not finding anything on it, either, not on a first try. But I think I know someone who can help. Where’d you get this screenshot?”

“That’s part of the long story.” I glance out my balcony, looking on as icons blink on across Tokyo’s landscape wherever my eyes sweep. “Tomorrow night, after the Final rematch. Let’s meet up with the others, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Hopefully I’ll have something for you by then.” He nods at me, and we disconnect.

The paranoia hits me instantly. What if Zero had overheard my conversation with Tremaine? I haven’t forgotten what happened to me the last time I was out in public alone just a few short days ago. Now I’m sitting safely in a hotel room, but I still can’t ignore the feeling that someone might burst in at any moment.

Concentrate.

I am about to place another call, this time to the Phoenix Riders—when a movement out near my balcony makes me freeze. I crane my neck, eyes searching for a moment, until I see that someone has emerged onto the balcony of Jax’s suite next to mine.

It’s Zero.

The glow from the city sprawl below outlines his shape in dim light. He stares out at the landscape for a moment, his eyes sweeping slowly toward my room. I want to turn my gaze away, in case he can see me watching him.

A voice says his name, and Zero turns as Jax joins him on the balcony. I hold my breath, looking on as she stops before him. She’s fiddling with her gun again, just as she’d done when she was with me, taking out its cartridge and clicking a new one into place, her movements subtle and efficient. It’s as if the habit comforts her.

As I look on, Jax takes a step closer to Zero so that she is nearly touching him, and then she says something to him that I can’t hear.

Something softens in his expression. He leans toward her and closes his eyes, then murmurs something into her ear. Whatever it is, it makes her shift slightly in his direction. They don’t touch. All they do is stay that way, locked in a subtle embrace, sharing something that makes me think of the way Hideo used to pull me to him.

He follows her back inside, and then the two are gone.

I find myself breathing again, my cheeks flushing slightly at the scene. There’s an undeniable familiarity between them.

Moments later, her front door clicks shut. I don’t know where she’s going, but the fact that she’s gone makes my shoulders sag a little in relief. Maybe Zero’s gone with her. Or maybe she’s alone now and watching me. After all, Zero had told me that she would be looking out for my well-being.

I take a deep breath, then send out a joint invite to the Phoenix Riders.

Asher connects first, and before long, so do all the others. They’re back in Asher’s home, no doubt prepping for tomorrow’s game. He lets out a long breath at the sight of me, while Hammie spits out a curse and crosses her arms.

“About time,” she snaps at me.

“We were about to report you missing to the police,” Asher adds, one of his hands tapping on his wheelchair’s armrest, “except that would alert Hideo that something was wrong with you.”

“I’ll explain everything,” I say in a low voice. “But first, I need a favor.”

“What is it?” Roshan asks.

“When do you all head out to Tokyo Dome tomorrow?”

“Right around sundown. Henka Games is sending cars for us. Why?”

“I need to be in the dome with you,” I say, “in the restricted areas, where only the players are allowed. I need access to Hideo.”

“What’s going on?” Hammie asks. “It’s Zero, isn’t it?”

I glance toward the balcony again, lingering on the empty spot where Zero and Jax had just been moments earlier. “Yeah.”

At that, Hammie uncrosses her arms, blinking rapidly. “Okay, I didn’t think you seriously contacted him.”

“I didn’t. He contacted me.” I hesitate. “He saved me from a few Dark World assassins who were out for a bounty on my head.”

“What?” Hammie’s eyes widen even more at that, while Roshan leans forward, muttering a rare curse under his breath.

“You should’ve told us,” he says.

I decide not to mention my accidental call to Hideo yet. “I’m okay,” I reply. “And, yes, he did make me an offer. It’s too much to explain like this. But, listen—if they’re serious about what they want me to do, I’m going to need your help.”

10

Four Days until the Warcross Closing Ceremony

In the history of the Warcross championships, there has never been a rematch of any kind—and what that means this afternoon, hours before the game starts, is that no one really knows how to celebrate it.

The districts of Tokyo, previously lit up in the colors of each neighborhood’s favorite professional team, are now lit again in either red and gold or blue and silver. Footage from the first Final replays along the entire sides of skyscrapers. I pass a line of tricked-out supercars on display down one street: Lamborghinis, Bugattis, Porsches, Luminatii Xs (the fastest electric car currently on the market), each of them sporting neon blue or red lights installed along the bottoms of their doors, and rims decorated in the colors of the rival teams. With the NeuroLink, they transform into vehicles that look impossible: cars with virtual wings; cars that look like jets with trails of flames behind them. They’d been out during the first Final; now, with the rematch, they’re at it again, the drivers arguing in the streets.