GabbyWonderWoman: No. No one could possibly be that stupid.

MichaelPeterson240: Exactly.

GabbyWonderWoman: Consider me the most confused girl in history. Since the Big Bang.

MichaelPeterson240: I know. I’m just as confused about most of it.

GabbyWonderWoman: Are you really trying to tell me you’re not Jax?

MichaelPeterson240: Give me a chance to explain in person.

GabbyWonderWoman: Okay. I need to see you, too. I’m going crazy.

MichaelPeterson240: Okay. I’m sorry. About all this. Bye.

GabbyWonderWoman: I love you.

Michael saw that last line and let out a breath. Not knowing what else to do, he quickly exited the conversation and turned off his EarCuff. He stared at the now-dark spot where the NetScreen had been hovering, his heart hammering, his thoughts flying. The bus hummed and bounced along the night-black road.

Gabriela’s dad worked for the VNS. VNS security, which was redundant, like she said. Things made a little more sense now. Kaine wanted that inside track for some reason, which was why he’d sent Michael into Jackson’s body through the Mortality Doctrine. And now, no matter how guilty it made him feel, Michael was going to take advantage of the connection himself, if for nothing else, to find out more about the VNS. And at best, to find a way inside their headquarters for a meeting with Agent Weber. In person.

Michael settled himself and closed his eyes, leaning against the cool glass of the window. The vibration of the bus, the thrum of the tires on the road, the inviting darkness—it all started to lull him to sleep. On some level, he knew the real reason he wanted to see Gabriela again. Gabby. She was real, a tether linking his new life to its origins. And … she loved him. It was all messed up.

Feeling ridiculous, he let dreams take him away.

They had to change vehicles in a town right outside the Kentucky border and found themselves with a couple of hours to kill. Hungry and tired, their options limited, they headed for a dump of a café. A full day had passed, and darkness had settled on the small dusty town. Maybe it was the humidity, but Michael felt damp and itchy and dirty.

And now he had to tell his friends about Gabby.

They were in a booth, Bryson across from Michael and Sarah. Michael had just taken a bite of a turkey club sandwich, washing it down with warm water—the bored waitress had graced him with all of one ice cube—when he got up his nerve.

“So,” he began, swallowing, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Turns out Jackson Porter had a girlfriend. I actually ran into her a couple of times before I found you guys.” He waited, acting casual but feeling like he’d just revealed his dirtiest, darkest secret.

Bryson and Sarah just looked at him. But they’d stopped chewing.

“I think she might be what Kaine was talking about,” he continued, “when he said he chose Jackson for a reason. Her dad works for the VNS. Does security for them. In Atlanta, actually. Maybe we can use the connection ourselves, to our advantage.” He took another big bite of his sandwich, glad he’d finally gotten that off his chest.

Bryson had an astonished look on his face. “What are you talking about? You’re just bringing this up now?”

Sarah stayed silent, the fuming kind of silent.

“Uh, yeah,” Michael replied. “I didn’t think it was a big deal until Kaine hinted at it. So I, uh, told her to meet us in Atlanta. I think we should talk to her. See if she can help us. Or if she knows anything. And she’s not being hunted by the media and cops, either. I don’t know.” Now that it was all out, it suddenly seemed like the worst idea ever.

Sarah dropped her fork. “Michael. How can you possibly risk bringing someone else in on this?” She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms.

Bryson was shaking his head. He looked confused.

Michael tried to smooth it over. “Guys, don’t worry. I was careful. And I feel like I owe it to her to try to explain what happened. I really feel like we need to talk to her. Together.”

“You should’ve asked us first,” Sarah said sharply.

Michael looked at Bryson, and he nodded, once, in agreement.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “You’re right. I should’ve. It just didn’t seem like a big deal, and I … wanted to make things right with her. Make her feel better. And I just had a feeling that she can help us somehow. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

They lapsed into silence, picking at their food. Michael felt like an idiot.

He took another sip of his drink, almost choking when he noticed a young couple a few tables away staring straight at him. The man had dark hair, swept back in a gel-hardened style that looked either cutting-edge or fifty years out of date; Michael couldn’t tell. The man was thin, his cheeks packed with acne scars. His companion, a woman with short red hair and eyes the color of dying grass, had leaned her head against the man’s shoulder. No food—not even a drink—sat on the table in front of them. And they were both staring at Michael.

“Check that out,” he said to Sarah, voice low. He gave a slight nod in the direction of the couple. A chill worked its way up his spine.

Sarah stiffened. “We better get out of here.”

Bryson had his back to the man and woman. He noticed his friends’ attention, though, and turned to take a look. He swung back, face a little pale.

“Okay, that’s just not right,” he said. “Let’s skedaddle.”

Michael grabbed his sandwich and a handful of fries as Sarah paid the waitress, and continued eating as he walked toward the exit, the strangers’ stares like lasers between his shoulders. He fought the urge to look back at them.

Although his friends hadn’t said it, Michael knew what they were thinking. That it couldn’t be a coincidence, this odd pair staring at them right after Michael had contacted someone using the Net.

He hoped he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

Michael finished his food just as he found a seat on the new bus. He brushed the crumbs off his lap and wiped the grease on his jeans like a five-year-old, then leaned his head against the window, keeping his eyes on the café down the street. Somehow, deep down, he knew what was going to happen. It wasn’t a minute later when the couple came out the door, their hands clasped, arms swinging in a sweet romantic gesture. They turned and walked toward the bus station.

“Crap,” he said.

“They’re following us?” Sarah asked.