“They look completely different,” I murmur.

Decades younger, as if it hadn’t only been ten years since their son went missing. The mother, Mina Tanaka, is sharply dressed in a suit and a white lab coat with the institute’s logo on its pocket, her face young and her hair glossy black. The father seems nothing like the frail, sickly man I’d seen at Hideo’s home, but like a slightly older version of Hideo now, with his handsome features and tall stature. I glance back at Jax. “What kind of study is this? Why are you and Sasuke in it?”

“Every child you see in here is dying,” Jax replies. “Of a disease, of an autoimmune disorder, of something terminal that medicine has deemed incurable.”

Dying? Hideo had never mentioned that. My gaze returns to Sasuke, his large liquid eyes dark against a small, pale face. I’d assumed it was the lighting. “Did . . . did you know? Did Sasuke’s parents know?” I stammer. “What about Hideo?”

“I have no idea if his parents ever told Hideo,” Jax says. “If he’s never mentioned it to you, it probably means his parents kept that from him. I certainly was too young to grasp how sick I was. I didn’t know that the reason no one wanted me was because, well, who would want to adopt a dying child? Sasuke himself didn’t even know. All he thought at the time was that he got sick much more easily than other kids.” She shrugs. “You don’t really question things when you’re that small. You believe everything is normal.”

I think of Hideo calling out for Sasuke to slow down at the park, the way he’d scolded his little brother as he wrapped the blue scarf snugly around Sasuke’s neck.

“And this study focused only on terminally ill children?”

“The study was a trial for an experimental drug that was supposed to be revolutionary,” Jax says. “Something that could cure various childhood diseases by taking advantage of the child’s young cells to turn their own bodies into collections of supercells. So, you can imagine that parents who were running out of options would jump to sign their children up for this radical study. What was there to lose?”

I look back at the room, lingering on each of the parents’ faces pressed against the glass. They seem hopeful, watching every move their children make. Mina Tanaka clutches her husband’s hand tightly to her chest. Her eyes never leave Sasuke.

A deep nausea settles into my stomach. The scene reminds me of the false hope every new drug gave me and my father. This is the one. This might save you. “There’s always more to lose,” I whisper.

We look on as a researcher adjusts the wristband on one child. “Of course, the study was a cover,” Jax continues. “While the study’s small team was working earnestly on a real drug, Taylor was also conducting her own research. The real study.”

“So what was her actual experiment?”

“The third requirement of this study was each child’s mind. A minimum IQ of at least one sixty was necessary for the trial. They had to show remarkable self-discipline. They needed to demonstrate unusually high drive and motivation. Their brains had to light up in a very specific way during a series of exams Taylor gave them.” She looks at me. “You know how smart Hideo Tanaka is. Sasuke was even more so. He tested effortlessly into every single academy he qualified for. The way Taylor found me at the orphanage in the first place was because she’d heard about my high IQ score. She found out about Sasuke’s through Mina herself, since the two of them worked in the institute. We both passed her exams.”

I swallow hard. Hideo had told me this about Sasuke, that his little brother had sat for many tests measuring his intelligence. “What was Taylor looking for?” I ask.

“A candidate whose mind was strong enough to withstand an experiment to separate the mind from the body.”

Suddenly, I make a connection so horrible that it makes me dizzy . “So that’s why Taylor had wanted each child to have a terminal illness,” I breathe.

Jax’s eyes are stone-cold, bleak with truth. “If they died during the study, it could easily be blamed on their original illness. Covered up. Their parents had already signed consent forms. This way they wouldn’t get suspicious and start asking questions.”

As we look on, the recording finishes, then automatically goes to the next. We watch at least a dozen of them. Some of the kids in the study change as the recordings continue; the number of parents standing at the window start to dwindle, too. I don’t want to ask Jax where they went, whether those were the children who couldn’t make it all the way through.

We shift to a recording with a room empty of kids, with the sun setting through the windows. Taylor is speaking Japanese with another researcher, in a voice low enough that translations start appearing in English at the bottom of my view. I blink—the researcher is Mina.

“This is the third time your son has tested top of his group,” Taylor says. She’s giving Mina the same sympathetic, encouraging look she’s always given me. “In fact, Sasuke tested at a margin so high, we had to rework our categories.”

Mina frowns and lowers her head in an apologetic bow. “I don’t like how it’s making him act at home. He has so many nightmares and can’t seem to concentrate on anything. His doctor tells me his blood counts haven’t improved enough. And he’s lost more weight.”

“Don’t do this, Tanaka-san,” Taylor says gently. “We might be so close to a breakthrough.”

Mina hesitates as she looks into her colleague’s eyes. I don’t know what she sees there, but she manages a smile. “I’m so sorry, Director,” she finally says, and in her words is a deep exhaustion. “I would still like to withdraw Sasuke from the trial.”

Then Taylor gives her a sorrowful, pitying look—the same one that had made me want to trust her. “This might be your only chance to save your son.”

The guilt in Mina’s eyes twists like a knife in my chest. She shakes her head again. “We want him resting at home. Where he can be happy, at least for a little while.”

Taylor says nothing to that. Instead, the two women just bow to each other. Taylor stares at the door long after Mina leaves through it.

The next recording skips ahead, but this one starts with Taylor seated in what looks like her office, across from another researcher. “You told me you had this well-organized,” Taylor says to him in a soft voice.

The man bows his head in apology. “Mrs. Tanaka has already filed paperwork with the institute. She doesn’t want to keep her son in the program. You know she has a good relationship with the CEO. We have to let them go.”

“Does Mina suspect what we’re doing?”

The researcher shakes his head. “No,” he replies.

Taylor sighs, as if all of this genuinely pains her. She flips through a stack of papers on her desk. “Very well. Do we have any other participants in the program who might work?”

“Your girl. Jackson Taylor.” The researcher slides another stack of papers toward her. Taylor studies them in silence.

“Her numbers are good,” she replies, pushing up her glasses. “But her exam reactions are far less ideal. She’s too unpredictable to be a reliable candidate.”

Taylor’s indifferent tone takes me aback. I glance at Jax to see what she might be thinking, but she only drums her fingers idly against her belt.

Taylor closes her eyes, her brow furrowed in frustration. “Show me Sasuke’s files again.”

The researcher does as she says, handing over a stack of papers and pointing out several lines on the top page. The two sit quietly for a moment, flipping the pages, occasionally nodding.

“Far more consistent.” Taylor’s voice is clipped and efficient in a way that sends a chill down my spine. She closes the folder and begins to rub her temples anxiously. “It’s too significant a difference. He would have been perfect. And now he’ll just die at home, withering away to nothing in a couple of years. What a shame. What a waste.”

“You won’t be able to continue on with him,” the researcher says. Then his voice lowers. “At least, not with his parents as willing participants.”

Taylor pauses to look sharply up at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m just stating the facts.” But I can hear an unspoken suggestion in his words.

She puts her hands down and studies his face. She doesn’t speak for a long moment. “We’re not in the business of kidnapping children,” she says.

“You want to save his life. How is that any worse than what will already happen to him? It’s like you said. He’ll be dead soon.”

Taylor sits with her fingers laced together, lost in thought. I wonder if she’s thinking about the murder of her father, if she’s dwelling on her loss, her fear of death. Whatever’s going through her mind, it leaves a calm resolve on her face. Something righteous.

“Those poor children,” she finally whispers, almost to herself. “What a shame.”

I can see it in her eyes. She thinks what she’s doing is noble.

The realization makes me shrink back in horror. It reminds me of the determination on Hideo’s face when he first told me about the algorithm.

The image lingers in my mind as I consider both of them, willing to do terrible things to save the world.

“If this experiment succeeds,” the researcher goes on, “you are going to have on your hands one of the most lucrative technologies in the world. The amount someone would pay for it would be astronomical. And think of all the lives you’d save.” He leans closer. “We are never going to find another patient better matched for this trial. I can promise you that.”

Taylor rests her chin against one hand as she stares out into space. The light in the room has shifted before she speaks again. “Make it quick. Make it discreet.”

“Of course. I’ll start putting together a plan.”

“Good.” Taylor takes a deep breath and straightens in her chair. “Then I recommend we move forward with Sasuke Tanaka for our Project Zero.”

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