She shrugs and goes back to her work. “Just doing my job. Zero’s expecting you, and he’d prefer you in one piece.” A subtle click finally sounds from the door, and she waves one hand at me. “Give me that thing.”

I toss her the metal fragment she’d handed me a moment ago, then look on as she jams it back in the crack where her knife had triggered the click. It glows a soft green. The door makes a faint popping sound—then slides open to reveal a dusty underground walkway that looks like it hasn’t been used in a long time. Some unfinished and long-abandoned subway tunnel. There are stairs at the end of it, leading up to a faint ray of light. The car Zero had mentioned must be waiting there for us.

I stay where I am. “Where are you taking me?”

Jax pulls out her gun again and rests its handle against her shoulder. I stare warily at it. “Do you trust me?”

“Not really.”

“Well, that answers my next question.” Then Jax points her gun straight at me and shoots.

3

I experience what happens next in fragments.

The searing pain near my neck from Jax’s shot. The world around me blurring, the distant thud I hear as I collapse against the wall. A jolt of panic that cuts through the sudden numbing of my limbs.

I’ve been drugged.

The thought struggles up through the molasses drowning my mind. I turn my eyes up at Jax as she approaches. What did you do to me? I try to demand an explanation. But my entire body feels like it’s made of rubber now, and even as I stay awake, I find myself sliding sideways until I’m lying on the floor, focusing on Jax’s boots. My heart beats rapidly, the sound drumming in my ears.

Am I dreaming?

No, I’m awake. I can see what’s happening around me, even though it seems to be happening inside a dim tunnel, and the edges of my vision are dark.

The next thing I remember is the feeling of my arm draped around Jax’s shoulders. Of her dragging me down the tunnel and toward a black taxi. I try to focus on the four-leaf-clover symbol on its glowing cab light. The faint smell of new leather permeates the space. Jax looks down at me. From my view, her face is swimming in a haze.

“You’ll be fine,” she says calmly to me. “You just won’t remember this tomorrow morning.”

My head lolls weakly to one side as the car begins to move, rumbling over the unfinished tracks in the tunnel. Slivers of weak light illuminate parts of the dark passage, and I remember the flash of gray against black against gray on the fabric seats. I struggle to remember our route. My heartbeat is irregular, fluttering frantically.

Can I record a Memory? I try to bring up the menu, try to send an invite to connect to Hammie or Roshan—to anyone—but my mind is far too numb to make it happen. Help me. I try in vain to send a message out. Help. I want to scream Jax’s name as I stare at her, but I feel like I’m still wading through the air, and my tongue feels thick and immobile.

My level changes as we emerge from the tunnel into the night, and suddenly we’re surrounded by office buildings that rise up along either side of the street like woods bordering a path. They stretch up ominously like living things.

Welcome to Omotesando District!

+150 Pts. Daily Score: +150

You Leveled Up!

Level 85

My determination momentarily shifts as I notice the change in the sky’s colors. Unlike Shinjuku, where the Phoenix Riders’ scarlet and gold coat everything, Omotesando’s favorite team is the Winter Dragons—so the sky here is covered instead with a sheet of undulating blue and orange-gold. The light posts are draped in vibrant banners, and over them hover virtual versions of the Dragons’ players.

Jax leans over briefly to check on me. She barely glances at the passing celebrations, and when she does, she watches them stoically, without much interest. I fight to keep looking at her, but my thoughts fade into darkness.

My nightmares are full of faces. There is Jax’s grim look as she points her gun down at a human and puts a bullet through his skull. There is Hideo, his voice whispering my name close to my ear, his furrowed brow cutting dark lines over his eyes, his hair brushing against me as he leans in.

Then, there is Zero. A mystery. I can only see him in the form I’ve known, his black armor reflecting red light surrounding him, his features completely hidden behind a black helmet as he sits across from me and laces his fingers together. He’s telling me to run.

I don’t know how long we ride in the taxi before it finally comes to a stop behind a building.

Jax opens my door and helps me out. I turn weakly toward her, trying to move my limbs, but all I can feel is the faint sensation of pavement beneath my dragging feet. Jax has her arm around my waist, keeping me up, and she’s saying something to people standing at the building’s sliding glass doors. It looks like a hotel.

“Out partying too hard,” she explains in a singsong voice to the attendee at the entrance. I want to blurt out that she’s lying, but it takes all my strength just to stay upright. The world spins.

Remember this. Remember this. But even the thought itself flitters out of my mind the instant I think it. My vision blurs more, and the more I fight it, the more it fades. I end up focusing on Jax. She runs a hand through her hair and casts me an unconcerned glance.

There’s the inside of an elevator, then a hallway. As I start to fade away again, all I can hear is Jax announce our arrival.

“Tell Zero she’s here.”

4

Five Days until the Warcross Closing Ceremony

Darkness. Two voices.

“She should have been up by noon. You shot her with too strong a dose.”

“I thought she could handle it.”

“Let her sleep, then.”

Weak light slanting across my face makes me squint.

I roll over in bed and curl into a ball. Where am I? A swirl of images rotates through my mind—dreams, maybe, but brighter, hazier in a way that I can’t explain. I furrow my brow.

Was there a taxi? A black car. An unfinished subway tunnel. A district of colors. My heart pounds furiously. I lie still for a while, willing it to slow down until I’m able to breathe at a normal rate again. Then I open my eyes. The orange light of early morning streaks across my bedsheets, coming gradually into focus as my vision adjusts.

No, wait—this isn’t morning light at all. It’s sunset.

I blink, disoriented. I’m lying in a bed in a luxuriously stark hotel room, adorned with gray-and-white-striped wallpaper and a series of plain wall paintings.

Waves of memories rush back at me now. The assassins. The subway tunnel. The image of Jax standing over my pursuer. The gunshot.

The Blackcoats.

And then . . . what? The last thing I remember is Jax pointing her gun straight at me.

She drugged me. I’m sure of it. Maybe it was to make sure I didn’t remember anything about where we were going or what path we took to get here—but now here I am, lying in an unfamiliar room with holes in my memory.

I bolt upright. I’m still dressed in the same clothes I’d been wearing that night. I check myself gingerly for any injuries, but besides some bruises and a sore spot on my neck, I’m unharmed. My moment of panic pools gradually into a sense of foreboding that invades my chest. I watch the faint light filtering in through my window.

It takes me a moment to realize that I have a dozen unread messages from the Riders, each one more frantic than the last. I frown. How long have I been missing if they’re this worried? Had they heard about the gunshots fired near where we had dinner? It must be on the news, unless Hideo can somehow control that, too. I hesitate, wondering whether I should tell my teammates what really happened, before sending out some quick replies of reassurance.

I’m ok, don’t worry.

Lost reception for a bit. Talk soon.

Then I freeze when I reach the last unread message. It’s an incoming invite, accompanied by a profile image haloed in soft, blinking green.

Hideo is calling me. Asking me to Link with him.

My heart jumps into my throat.

What does he want? Is it possible he knows what’s happened to me, even though I’m using beta lenses? I glance quickly around the room, looking for any sign that I’m being recorded. But there aren’t any cameras in the ceilings.

Don’t answer it.

I know I shouldn’t.

But I still find myself lifting my hand, reaching up, and tapping on the invite hovering in my view. I regret it immediately. Maybe the drug Jax used on me has lowered my inhibitions and hijacked my common sense. But it’s too late now. I don’t see him appear right away, but through our newly formed Link, I can feel a trickle of his emotions.

They’re a knot of urgency and fear.

Emika.

I startle again. Hideo’s voice is speaking in my mind, his telepathic messaging invention. I should be used to it by now, but even after a mere couple of weeks, his voice hits me just like it did the first time we spoke on the phone. I narrow my eyes, more annoyed at myself than at him.

Why are you calling me? I say to him.

You called me.

This brings me up short. I did? It must have happened while I was drugged—maybe an unconscious reaction. Now I have a faint recollection of trying desperately to call for help. Apparently, I’d decided to call Hideo.

I wince. Couldn’t I have called Hammie or Roshan instead? Any of the Riders? Did my instinct have to be Hideo?

Well, it was an accident, I counter.

Where are you? I felt nothing but panic coming from you. You asked for help. Then you disconnected.

Hearing Hideo’s voice in my mind is so overwhelming that I almost want to sever our Link right away. Then I remember that he can sense my emotions. In return, a stab of concern from him hits me, followed by a ripple of unease. His brother’s name teeters at the edge of my mind, ready for me to tell him—the thought is so strong that I almost send it. With a huge effort, I pull it back.

I’m fine.