A cold wind pierced my thin jacket and jeans as I hopped into the autonomous car waiting outside Derek’s apartment. It was nearly midmorning, but the sky was darkened by cloud cover. The predicted high for the day was fifty degrees Fahrenheit. Not unusual for January in 2053. The weather was historically volatile in New England. Now it was predictably unpredictable. Some winter days might be as warm as seventy degrees, while others could be ten below zero.

  My sleek white sedan, reminding me of a metallic viper, glided silently to the Fastway hub, where it merged onto a pod heading downtown. Ten minutes later, it dropped me off in the middle of the hustle and bustle of Dock Square, and I wound my way along cobblestones and narrow lanes until I reached North Street, where the crowd had dissipated considerably. On the corner, a skyscraper stood between historic Bostonian buildings. The sign for Virilicy, the private fertility clinic, was prominently etched across the opaque glass of the first-floor suite. I stood at the entryway, and the door slid open automatically.

  Inside, a modernized waiting room held several individual chairs equipped with self-check-in touch pads, many occupied by other patients. I sat down in an empty one situated next to the door with my back to the glass. The chair greeted me through its touch pad. I confirmed that I was there for my appointment. I used Lina’s name to make the reservation. I knew she wouldn’t mind. I had gotten in the habit of borrowing her name when I wanted to preserve my privacy.

  Ever since marrying Derek and becoming a Dravo, I’d become a pseudo-celebrity. I was often photographed without my consent, stopped by random strangers, or even stalked in some cases. Derek wanted me to have a security detail, but I refused, afraid they would draw even more attention. I had to evade them several times before convincing Derek it was a waste of resources. A hat and glasses often sufficed.

  The chair read, “Thank you for your confirmation. You are Number 17. We will see you momentarily.”

  Number 17.

  It felt like a light touch was running the length of my spine, sending tremors. I shut my eyes tight while firmly gripping the arms of the chair.

  Just a stupid coincidence.

  I let my breath out through my nose and opened my eyes. The touch pad had reverted to the home page, scrolling the news, popular movies, and addictive puzzle games. I glanced around the waiting room full of women facing the fear and uncertainty of infertility, silent and absorbed in their screens. I felt lonelier than I had while waiting for the Everly Protocol procedure. Harper had immediately approached me and lent me the courage I needed.

  Longing for that reassurance, I turned to the woman on my left and was about to speak when a familiar voice called, “Number 17. Please go ahead to the exam room.”

  Not my Alice.

  Once again, I followed glowing arrows on the floor into a hallway, arriving at my room. My pulse was racing now. I tried to even out my shaky breaths, desperately clinging to my nerve. I walked into the exam room and sat down on the chair.

  At least it doesn’t have armrests.

  The thought made me get up and start pacing the room. On the wall, they had brochures. One of them was titled, “Surrogacy Solutions.” I lifted the pamphlet with a picture of a 20-week fetus on the cover, floating aimlessly in the dark. Inside, the pamphlet talked about selecting genes for offspring. It suggested prospective parents could choose their child’s physical traits, like eye and hair color and height, but also their demeanors and resilience.

  As I was making heads or tails of the brochure, quick, light footsteps approached me. She wore her hairstyle in the same tidy bun as I had last seen her at the resort, her petite frame now adorned with a neat blouse and slacks in place of her uniform and apron. The fine lines on her face sank slightly deeper than I remembered, but most notably, she was wearing the gold bracelet embedded with diamonds again.

  “Hello, Mrs. Catalina Melendez. It’s nice to meet you. Before we begin, I will need you to sign this waiver.” Becca spoke hurriedly while my mouth still gaped at her apparition.

  She’s dead. They’re all supposed to be dead!

  She held out the tablet, and I tentatively reached for it. I looked down at the screen to see, in big bold letters: THEY ARE WATCHING AND LISTENING. MEET ME AT FANEUIL HALL MARKETPLACE IN 30 MINUTES. I WILL EXPLAIN. NOD IF YOU UNDERSTAND. NOW TELL ME THAT YOU’VE CHANGED YOUR MIND AND LEAVE IMMEDIATELY.

  I was nodding while I audibly swallowed.

  “Actually, I think that I’ve changed my mind. I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t wasted your time.” I tried to keep my voice level, mimicking a polite smile.

  “Not at all. It’s a big decision. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon,” she replied, taking back the tablet and seamlessly moving through the door.

  I got up quickly and left without looking back. Outside, the sun was finally shining through the clouds. I walked as fast as I could, resisting the urge to run, past tall brick and glass buildings to the intersection and crossed onto Merchant Row. North Market Street was overcrowded with indoor and outdoor shops spilling into the sidewalks and bodies pressing shoulder to shoulder. I soon found myself in front of Bell Tavern.

  Yes, I think seeing a ghost definitely qualifies as an occasion to imbibe.

  Approaching the patio, a waitress took my order and saved me the trouble of going inside. I sat at the cold metal table in the glaring sun, in a firm wooden chair, sipping my Aperol spritz as I patiently waited for time to carry on. I was on my third spritz when I felt a tug on my arm.

  “Bec—”

  “No. Not here. Come.” Becca cut me off and started walking briskly away. I quickly gathered myself and followed her tiny frame weaving in and out of the crowd past the long rows of shops and restaurants lining the streets before she darted down a staircase to a gift shop that sat below ground level.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I followed her straight through the shop, which had an exit on the other side. But instead of taking the staircase back to street level, she turned down a corridor that looked like it led to bathrooms and a maintenance closet. She quickly glanced around before ushering me into the closet. She pulled a flashlight from her purse, illuminating the space that was indeed filled with cleaning supplies—but never mind that, because she then opened the wall, which had been made to look like wood paneling but was actually a door.

  This led into a deeper, darker stairwell. She went first, gesturing for me to follow. I hesitated at the opening, momentarily regretting my glibness toward security guards. But curiosity ultimately won, and I followed her through the damp brick archway after replacing the false door.

  My head nearly hit the low ceiling. We walked silently through the dark with only the flashlight to guide us. After what felt like several minutes, Becca paused at the bottom of another stairwell. Light trickled down the steps from above along with fresh air mixed with the oily scent of heavy machinery. By this point, I could hardly contain my questions.

  “Okay, we can talk here. You look very well, Miss Mia,” Becca said with a sympathetic tone that caught me off guard.

  “Oh…uh, thanks,” I stammered. “Sorry. How are you alive? I was told there were no survivors from the fire at the resort.”

  “A few of the staff were evacuated before the explosion,” Becca nodded, understanding. “We were loaded into vans and brought into the city. They told us we were getting promotions and reassignments. They offered us premium subscriptions to sign new NDAs. I saw the accident at the lab reported on the news like everyone else.”

  “Yeah, basically a footnote,” I snorted. “Did you really believe it was an accident? They killed over fifty people at the lab.”

  “I know,” Becca’s voice was soft and quiet, and her eyes avoided mine. “I lost some friends that day. How did you make it past the Colossi?”

  “Harry. Julius’s valet. He found me and got me out of there.” It was my turn to avert my gaze, feeling the weight of the blessing and the shame of what I left unsaid.

  “Harry’s always been a damn fool,” Becca said in a huff, throwing up her hands before crossing her arms.

  “Wait, how did you know about the Colossi?”

  “I had a bad feeling when they put us in the vans. It was only a matter of time before 13 activated Protocol Capture. She was a conspicuous traitor.”

  “Traitor? And what about you? When did you leave ViraRx to work for Virilicy?” I crossed my arms too, suddenly defensive. She wasn’t technically wrong. Harper and I had accessed classified documents intending to blow the whistle on the operation, but I hadn’t thought of us as traitors.

  Does betraying a morally bankrupt institution make me a traitor?

  “It’s not illegal to work two jobs,” Becca replied casually, interrupting my new dilemma.

  “No," I said slowly, "but it is typically a breach of our contracts. We’re not allowed to work for independent institutions. And you have a premium subscription now, so you don’t need to work outside of ViraRx.”

  Becca shifted uncomfortably, shrugging slightly, while I started putting the pieces together. I looked down at my hands and realized I was still holding the pamphlet. Of course.

  “Oh my God… Virilicy isn’t independent of ViraRx, is it?” I asked. “Are you recruiting participants for ViraRx’s surrogacy initiative? Is it even a real fertility clinic?”

  “Of course,” Becca said shamefacedly. “We offer the same treatments in accordance with standard practice alongside all of our other options.”

  “Treatments that traditional doctors no longer offer because they’re not effective anymore.”

  “There are always exceptions.”

  “One success for every two thousand treatments. That’s the exception. Most doctors would consider it unethical to offer a treatment, charge for a treatment, almost guaranteed to fail.”

  “Which is why we encourage alternatives,” Becca replied impatiently.

  “You mean the surrogacy initiative? Wealthy women, or desperate women who are willing to spend their whole life savings on treatment in the hopes of conceiving and carrying a child, can fund your program to produce”— I pointed to the brochure— “designer babies!”

  “That’s an oversimplification.”

  “That’s fraud, Becca," I exclaimed. "And it’s just plain wrong.”

  “It’s certainly a gray area. ViraRx is always gray. You know this.”

  “These mothers are coming to you as their last hope, expecting real medicine. How can you participate in this?”

  “The same as you, I suppose.”

  “No. No. I’m not having any part of this.”

  “You work for legal, right?" Becca lifted her brow. "You’re going to be defending this program when it comes down to it.”

  “No, I won’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I refuse. I’m out.”

  “Mia, there is no safe way out of ViraRx,” Becca’s voice was rising now, growing anxious.

  “My mom found a way. She left after twenty years.”

  “Do you really believe she left without consequences?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Never mind,” Becca exhaled, looking exasperated. “At any rate, she didn’t marry the heir to the empire. You did. Please, Mia. You can’t talk this way. Just go home back to Derek. Pretend you were never here. I’ll try to cover your tracks as best as I can, but you have to be careful. If they even suspect disloyalty… well you saw the result firsthand, right?”

  “Why do you even care? Why are you doing this for me?”

  “Yes, that is exactly the right question. But I have to go now. Let me leave first, wait five minutes, then follow behind me.”

  “I..wha…egh.” I sighed as she turned quickly and disappeared up the stairs, pushing the grate above aside before slipping through. She replaced the grate with a loud grinding noise of metal against concrete. I looked down at my cracked watch face and timed out five minutes.

  After five minutes, I made my way up the damp staircase in the direction of the light. The grate was heavier to move than I expected, but I was able to slide it enough to crawl up the final steps. I replaced it so it was flush again with the concrete. I emerged into a small corridor that I followed to a large open bay filled with identical charging autonomous cars. I realized I was standing in a converted parking garage that was now used as storage and maintenance for the Fastway vehicles.

  I followed the slope of the concrete floor down to the street exit, where the sun poured into the entrance. From there, I made my exit onto Clinton Street and started walking toward the next Fastway pickup hub.

  Becca’s not dead… along with several others, apparently. But if Julius evacuated them before activating Protocol Capture, that would mean he had planned to activate it all along. Well before Harper and I set off to E Building…

  I froze at the crosswalk. “Call Derek.”

  “Hello?”

  “It wasn’t my fault.” I whispered into my watch’s microphone.

  “Mia?”

  “Your father wanted to kill me. He was tying up loose ends!”

  “Mia… slow down. You’re not making any sense.”

  “The trial, Derek! The Everly Protocol. It was a failure. None of us were meant to make it out of the resort alive. God, I am dumb. It’s like I’m finally waking up!”

  I was nearly in hysterics at this point as the crosswalk signal lit up green.

  “Mia. Just. Stop. Come home and we’ll talk about this like rational adults. Where are you?”

  I was halfway through the Fastway intersection when he asked, but before I could answer, I was airborne.

  There was no horn. No screech of brakes. Just impact.

  I felt the shattering of my leg bone first.

  The sound of my ribs cracking with the crunch of the glass windshield spiderwebbing behind my back followed.

  The air was knocked out of my chest, stealing my breath. The world spun around me in flashes of white, red, and black.

  I felt the air rush around me as I tumbled backward after ricocheting off the roof of the car. My vision was obscured by streaks of bright sunlight until my rolling body eventually found the warm asphalt.

  I felt the top layer of skin on my arm loosen beneath my jacket as it was involuntarily pulled by the hot grip of the pavement. My head jerked back and forth unceremoniously, bouncing off the ground. Finally, my body came to rest, but my eyes wouldn’t open.