So she gave him a different truth. “I didn’t fit my father’s idea of perfection. I’m neurodivergent in ways he couldn’t accept. My emotional range has been stunted since childhood.” That no anchor was truly Silent was an accepted fact between them that didn’t need to be articulated.

“B.S.,” he muttered, his features dark. “Even if that were true, why would Pranath care? It’d just make you better at Silence.”

“I was also prone to flying into uncontrollable rages.”

Canto’s words were hard when he spoke. “You were never violent at the school unless they pushed you to it. Was your brother Lalit doing something to set you off?”

Payal blinked slowly, her hands fisting inside her pants pockets. “What do you know about Lalit?”

“Rumors of psychopathic behavior.”

Deciding that was too much trust even between 3K and 7J, she said, “Cardinal what?”

“Telepath.” A scowl. “Imagine the fucking chaos we could’ve caused if we’d been free.”

“Could’ve-beens are a waste of energy.” She’d learned that lesson young; once in that place, half-crazed by all the small tortures her brother had inflicted on her, she hadn’t been able to think with any kind of clarity for a long time.

When she had finally found a path to sanity, she’d castigated herself for allowing Lalit to get what he wanted. He’d been too young to influence or attack Varun, but Payal had been easy prey. Soon, however, she’d seen that such thoughts couldn’t help her; she’d been stuck in that prison, alone and without help.

Her eyes went to Canto again.

Did he remember giving her food? The teachers had put them on strict diets meant to keep them weak. She’d been hungry all the time. But every time they passed in the corridor, Canto’s—then—halting walk familiar to her, he’d slipped her food he’d saved from his meal.

A nutrient biscuit.

A slice of dried fruit.

A nut bar that was the biggest-energy item on that day’s menu.

Payal remembered every single gift.

Her chest began to tighten up, her skin to heat. She felt as she hadn’t since she’d been that small, helpless child. She couldn’t go back there. Not now. Not when she’d made it out. Taking a deep breath, she stared out straight in front, the world a blur.

Her next comment was rote, words to buy her time. “An interesting location. How did you discover it?”

“I’m a Mercant.” It seemed an answer as flat as her question had been. Then his shoulders locked and he shifted his chair to face her. “Payal, we are not doing this.”

“You asked me to come here.”

“No, we’re not going to pretend to be two strangers having a conversation about the fucking desert or the weather.”

Chapter 6

“Our histories tell us that anger can be either a weapon or a weakness, Canto. Decide what it will be for you.”

“No, Grandmother. Sometimes, I just want to be angry. I don’t want to pretend to be civilized—because I’m not, and never will be. And I’ll never wear masks.”

—Conversation between Canto Mercant and Ena Mercant (2063)

PAYAL COULD FEEL the heat blazing off Canto—but that had to be her imagination, for they stood in a sunlit desert. Yet the urge to go closer to his flame was a tug. It had always been there, since she was that feral little girl. The boy who’d given her food and who’d stealthily passed over a folded-up piece of paper bearing answers to a test she was meant to fail, he’d meant something to her.

Some part of her insisted on seeing that same boy in this man. But he wasn’t. He was a Mercant. A man whose job it was to gather information—so it could be used against his targets. “We’re strangers now,” she said as coldly as she could, and took a step to the left, putting more distance between them. “The girl I was, she’s dead. She had to die so I could survive.” A simple, inexorable fact.

Canto’s eyes shifted to pure black, the galaxies eclipsed by emotion. “What did they do to you?” Rage thrummed in every syllable.

“It’s all in the past.” She glanced at her timepiece, steeling herself so her arm didn’t tremble. “Why don’t we talk about why we’re here today? I don’t have endless time.”

“You mean the extinction of Designation A?” It was a near-growl. “Yeah, why don’t we?”

“Using the word ‘extinction’ is a touch hyperbolic.” She had to keep this rigidly practical. “The PsyNet has its issues, but much of it has to do with the damage done by Silence, and by the rise of the Scarabs.” Deadly, unstable Psy who were unleashing their abilities on the Net in a fury of violence.

When he didn’t respond, she couldn’t help herself from glancing at him.

It was as big a shock as the first time she’d laid eyes on him, her stomach muscles clenching reflexively. She couldn’t understand it, why he had this impact on her when they’d both grown and changed so much in the years between what had been and what was now. His cheekbones were striking, his cardinal eyes extraordinary—it was as if he held the universe in his eyes.

Even had she forgotten everything else about him, never would she mistake those eyes for those of any other cardinal. The eyes and the cheekbones weren’t the whole of it, however. His skin held a glow that said he often spent time out under the sun, and his eyes were subtly tilted, his jaw square. His short hair was silky black, but the unshaven bristles on his face held a dusting of gray.

Binh Fernandez had been of mainly Filipino and Turkish descent, with a smattering of other genetic factors. The Mercants, meanwhile, had multiple lines of descent through their family tree, but the primary one through Ena was Caucasian—however, that split again in the Mercant matriarch’s offspring.

It was the rare Psy who was full-blooded in any genetic sense. Not when their race was about psychic power above all else. Matches were on the basis of increasing the chances of powerful offspring.

Payal didn’t know much about the Mercant—Magdalene—who’d carried Canto in her womb. She needed more data on Magdalene. More data on him. Data made sense of the world. Data would help her understand why she felt the impact of him like a kick to the stomach.