“I discovered this report in a sealed historical archive buried in what I believed was an obsolete data node—back when I first joined the Council, the oldest member at the time vetoed deleting the node. He had the vague notion we might one day need the information in it. No one cared enough to oppose him, and eventually, we forgot about it.”

No one in the vault challenged Nikita’s report—they all knew their race had made an art form of erasing their past.

“You can read the report yourself,” the former Councilor continued, “but the gist of it is that as the first generation born into Silence came of age, it was discovered that for a small minority of Psy, Silence acted as a dimmer switch on their abilities.”

A pause as the members of the Coalition scanned the report. It was too complex to absorb in a few minutes, but Kaleb was able to flip through it and find a number of interesting sections. The effect, he saw, had been most prevalent in Psy over 7 on the Gradient.

“Why did the Council allow this?” The men and women who’d ruled the Psy for more than a century had liked nothing more than power—and an army of high-Gradient telepaths and telekinetics were the foundation of that power.

“According to a later report I discovered only an hour before you called this meeting,” Nikita said, “those in charge did attempt to modify Silence to eliminate the unintended side effect. It was called Project Scarab.”

“It failed?” Ivy Jane Zen’s warm psychic voice.

“On the contrary—Scarab was initially a wild success. The Psy enrolled in Scarab gained access to the full breadth of their abilities. Unfortunately, the subjects soon began to exhibit signs of deep mental instability—most often betrayed by erratic psychic control and emotional outbursts. Hallucinations, blackouts, increasingly violent frenzies, and memory loss were also reported.”

“Nikita and I have discussed this.” Anthony spoke for the first time, his mental voice as calm and measured as his presence in real life. “I did the reading on the secondary section of data, while Nikita dove deep into the first.”

Kaleb wasn’t the least surprised by that; whatever was going on with Anthony and Nikita, it had nothing to do with Silence. Sahara was fascinated by their relationship, and he knew she’d chew over this sign of offline interaction when he mentioned it. What Kaleb found most interesting was that both had protected a daughter who’d defected from the PsyNet.

“It appears,” Anthony continued, “that Silence works as advertised for this tiny minority—it stabilizes them. The cost is loss of psychic strength.”

“Silence worked for some Psy?” Ivy Jane whispered.

“At the expense of the entire PsyNet,” Anthony pointed out. “Another section of it collapsed three hours ago. Even if Silence worked for these individuals, they’ll still be as dead as the rest of us if the Net fails.”

Kaleb and Aden had sealed that particular breach as a team. After the first wave of failures, the two of them had assembled squads of high-Gradient Psy who could, together, handle small-to-medium-size breaches. Kaleb and Aden alternated in handling the bigger ruptures—it meant one of them was always at full strength and able to respond quickly.

The only exception was where the breach was so devastating it required their combined power. The latter was occurring more and more. “Can such individuals reinitiate their Silence?” he asked—if it worked, the reversion would stop the rogue power waves while they sought a more permanent answer.

“Not with the Honeycomb in effect.” Ivy Jane’s voice was somber. “At this point, it’s impossible to escape emotion in the Net.”

“Even prior to the waking of the Es, none of the Scarab subjects were able to return to Silence,” Anthony said. “Many self-terminated when they became aware of their own instability, or were killed during aggressive episodes so bad the staff had no choice but to use lethal force to defend themselves. The remainder were executed by the Council. This genie cannot be put back in the bottle.”

“Such individuals must’ve existed pre-Silence,” Nikita added. “Dangerous instability was one of the reasons our race saw Silence as our savior. But, given the degree of their volatility, many of the affected would’ve never made it to adulthood. Silence altered that balance.”

Which meant the PsyNet would have to deal with far more dangerous and out-of-control adults than they’d ever before done in their history. It was the worst possible time for this hammer to drop on them. The Net couldn’t handle any more pressure.

“There is a human saying,” Ivy Jane said, pain in her voice, “that genius is tinged with madness. In the case of our race, the price for our abilities is immense mental darkness—and each time we attempt to escape that price, it gets worse.”

True enough, Kaleb thought. Inside him lived a twisted and quite mad creature, the boy who’d been broken and warped before he’d ever had a chance to grow. He’d found an anchor to sanity in Sahara, the girl who’d never seen in him a monster. Take her away from him, however, and he would devastate the world.

“How big is the threat?” Aden’s mind was intensely shielded, his connection to a fellow Arrow concealed either by habit or because Arrows liked to keep their secrets. “What percentage of the population?”

It was Nikita who responded. “Extrapolating from the Scarab data, less than one-sixteenth of a percent.”

A minuscule number. There was just one problem. “A single insane Gradient 9 can cause catastrophic chaos.”

Unspoken agreement from all the minds in the vault.

“Did the reports you unearthed offer a way to identify affected Psy before they go critical?” Aden asked with Arrow practicality.

Both Nikita and Anthony answered in the negative.

What, Kaleb thought, would it be like to wake up one day with your mind infinitely more vast than when you went to sleep? A mind strong enough to grab hold of an Arrow’s and force that highly trained black ops soldier to act against his will and against his own self-interest. A mind that understood its own descent into the abyss.

Chapter 45

If a wolf invites you to play, just ask where and when. You won’t be sorry. Depending on your playmate, you might also end up naked.

—From the April 2075 issue of Wild Woman magazine: “Skin Privileges, Style & Primal Sophistication”

MEMORY SAT SILENT and cold in the passenger seat as Alexei drove to the compound. She ached deep within, and it had nothing to do with physical pain—she felt bruised by her contact with the murderous psychic hunter. How could she feel sorry for that horrible man who’d hurt Yuri and Abbot and who wanted to murder her designation? Yet she did.

Something in that warped mind had reached her empathic core.

What did that make her?

They were nearly at the compound when Alexei went to take her hand, put it on his thigh.

Flinching, Memory pulled away.

No growl, only a distinctly wolfish motionlessness. “You going to talk to me?”

Memory shook her head.

“Yeah, well, tough luck.” Alexei’s primal power filled the SUV. “You’re allowed to sulk, but not to hurt inside that way.”

Memory bristled. “Who are you to give me orders about what I can and can’t feel?”

His growl filled the entire inside of the vehicle, making the tiny hairs on her arms stand up and her heart kick. Her blood heated, a red-hot fire sweeping through the darkness. “I have told you not to growl at me.”

He bared his teeth at her. “And if I do?”

Narrowing her eyes, she hit him with a wave of puppies and rainbows and sparkle.

He hissed out a breath. “That’s just mean.”

“You started it.” She folded her arms across her chest and stopped the barrage of happiness. “I want to brood, so leave me alone.”

The damn wolf actually chuckled.

Glaring out the windscreen, she decided to ignore him. She was so focused on the conflicting emotions inside her that it took her a while to realize they should’ve reached the compound by now.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“Wherever I want,” said the infuriating man in the driver’s seat.

Even the barrage of sickly sweet happiness she aimed at him just made him grit his teeth and keep going. Until at last he brought the vehicle to a stop in the middle of nowhere, the forest silvered by moonlight around them and no signs of habitation in sight. She sat stubbornly in the passenger seat even after he hopped out.

Opening her door, he let in the cool night air. “Want to see something wonderful?”

“No.” She tightened her folded arms.

Pulling at her curls, he said, “Bad-tempered lioness.” When she didn’t respond to that provocation, he leaned in closer. “Come play.” The rough-voiced request made her stomach clench, a shiver threatening to roll over her body.

He nuzzled at her curls before drawing back and beginning to strip off his clothes. Memory wasn’t superhuman; she looked. And his body . . . For the first time, she understood that saying about swallowing your tongue. No one that perfectly chiseled and golden could be real. He had to be an illusion.

She didn’t realize she’d reached out a hand to brush her fingers against his chest until he grabbed her wrist and brought her fingers up to his mouth to nip lightly at them. Retracting her hand, she forced herself to look away when he began to undo the top button on his jeans. Light sparked in her peripheral vision not long afterward.

Heart jolting, she turned . . . to see a large gray wolf shaking its fur into place.

A discarded pile of clothes lay on the grass and the eyes that met hers were pure amber. The wolf stretched out its body, its paws out front and its head lower than its back. Come play, it said.

Wonder shimmered through her, bright lights in the darkness.

Unfolding her arms while her lower lip trembled, she swung her legs out of the truck. The wolf gripped at the edge of her pants, tugged.

“Stop that,” she said. “I like these jeans.”