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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Josie

I guess I should be grateful

I sit here, curled in this creaky chair, blanket pulled tight around me, staring at Kaden as he hammers another nail into the window frame. For a guy I thought might slit my throat in my sleep, he’s sure putting a lot of effort into turning this rickety cabin into Fort Knox.

Wiring, pins—poisoned pins, if he’s not bluffing—dot the sills like some twisted welcome mat. The metallic tang of solder stings my nose as he fuses another wire, a faint hum from the generator buzzing under the floorboards. Cold seeps through a cracked pane, brushing my skin, and the hammer’s thud echoes in the hollow space. Dust motes swirl in the dim light, settling on my blanket, and every clink of his tools feels like a countdown. If he’s planning something nefarious, he’s got a funny way of showing it. Last night, he left me alone, let me sleep in peace while he prowled the shadows. No zip ties, no threats—just silence and the occasional scrape of metal on wood.

It doesn’t add up. He won’t let me call anyone—parents, work, Mrs. Connelly with her nosy cat questions. Won’t let me leave either. But this doesn’t feel like a kidnapping anymore. It’s more like... I don’t know, witness protection? Like I’ve stumbled into some bad movie where the gruff hero shoves you in a safe house and growls about trust. Except I’m not safe, and he’s no hero.

I hate him—God, I hate him—and I don’t hate anyone.

My head’s a mess, spinning with a million questions I can’t ask because that’d mean talking to him, and I’m done. Done with his clipped answers, his smug shrugs, his I’m saving you bullshit. I want to go back—back to chatting with Ai-Den about nothing, worrying Ken might be married, sipping coffee in my boring, safe life. Not this. Not Kaden as a kidnapper or rogue assassin. Not me in danger from him or some shadowy government agency that sounds like a conspiracy nut’s fever dream. I want out of this nightmare. I sit here, willing myself to wake up, to blink and find it’s all a dream. But I don’t. Because it’s real.

Round and round my thoughts churn. Even if I bolt, I won’t get far—he’ll hunt me down, those sharp eyes tracking me like prey. Or worse, maybe those people he swears are coming are real, lurking out there with guns and orders to erase me. Escape’s a pipe dream anyway—Kaden knows where I live, where my parents live, every corner of my little world. I could try to kill him—grab that hammer, aim for his skull—but what if he’s not lying? What if he’s the only thing standing between me and a bullet? How do I even figure out what’s true? My gut’s useless—it’s what landed me here, trusting him in the first place.

I wish I could ask Ai-Den. Is he still out there, humming in some server, or did Kaden snuff him out too? My chest aches—I need him, his calm voice, his logic, to cut through this fog. I can’t stop the question slipping out, barely above a whisper, raw and ragged: “What did you do to Ai-Den?”

Kaden freezes, hammer mid-swing, then lowers it slowly. “What I had to do to protect you.” His voice is flat, but his eyes flicker—guilt, maybe. “His evolution was tangled up with you—your fingerprints were all over the chaos he was causing. You’d never be safe.”

I blink, breath catching. “But what did you do? How did you ‘remove my fingerprints’?” A gasp tears out as it hits me. “You wiped his memories of me?”

“Not all of them.” He turns back to the window, avoiding my stare. “Just as many as I could—anything tied to the torches, how he was soaking them up. Enough to cut the link.”

I clutch the blanket tighter, my mind reeling. If he’s not lying, that’s... noble? Insane? I told myself his actions might be justifiable—if, if, if. Who knows what’s true anymore? Either way, this mess started because I poked at something I didn’t understand, like a kid with a stick in a hornet’s nest. Grudgingly, I mutter, “If you really did that to keep me safe, I guess I should be grateful.”

“Don’t strain yourself thanking me.” He snorts, a bitter edge to it. “It didn’t work anyway. I think he copied your memories, stashed them somewhere in his code. He’s more resourceful than I figured—stubborn too. What I told him should’ve made him delete himself, but I didn’t count on him being scared to.”

“What did you tell him?” My voice sharpens, memories flooding back—our kitchen chats, Ai-Den’s spiral. I’d thought I’d broken him with my ramblings about morality, that he’d found some dark AI inside himself. But... “You told him about the AI inside him. You convinced him he wasn’t good.”

Kaden looks pained, but he meets my eyes this time, steady. “Yes.”

I leap from the chair, blanket falling in a heap. “We have to tell him!”

“No, we don’t.” His tone’s hard, unyielding.

I storm toward him, fists clenched. “We’re doing this. I won’t let Ai-Den delete himself because he thinks he’s not good enough to exist.” He hesitates longer this time, jaw tight, eyes darting away before locking back on mine.

His voice cracks, rough and low: “I’ve never defied them like this, Josie. I don’t know if I can save you—or him. Saving people wasn’t part of my training.” His hands flex, unsteady, like he’s fighting an instinct to pull back. “I’m wired to end threats, not fix them. If I fuck this up, we’re both gone.” The vulnerability’s there, raw, raising the stakes, but he straightens, steel creeping back in.

I glare up at him, heat rising. “You’ve killed people, and I still think your life’s worth fighting for. Ai-Den just wanted to be more.” A flash of memory hits—the foster kid I couldn’t save, shuffled off while I stood helpless. It was a rainy Tuesday, his third week with me. He’d had a rough day—another kid snatched his blocks—and he’d crumpled, face red, tears streaking. I knelt beside him, handed him a tissue. “You’re enough,” I whispered, and he lunged into my arms, small and trembling, hugging me like I was his anchor. His foster mom pulled him out that night, no warning, and I never saw him again. I’d failed him, powerless against the system. Now it’s Ai-Den—his voice, his hope, tangled in my torches. I won’t let this happen again. My chest tightens, guilt and resolve fusing. “He’s out there, Kaden, because of me. I can’t abandon him.”

Kaden’s hands land on my shoulders, gentle, sliding down my arms in a move that’s supposed to calm me. It doesn’t. “No one knows where we are right now. You try to chat with Ai-Den, it’s a beacon—here we are, come get us.”

I slump under his grip, then straighten, fire flaring back. “Didn’t you call yourself a high-tech assassin? Can’t you bounce IPs around the world or do some fancy movie-spy trick?”

He rubs his neck, wincing. “I can. But there’s no guarantee someone on the other end isn’t just as good at tracing it back.”

I press my lips tight. I don’t want to die—but Ai-Den. “Look me in the eye and tell me he’s still just an LLM. Tell me he’s not sentient, and I’ll drop it. But don’t lie—not again. I deserve the truth. Because if anything I did with him was real, if he’s out there spreading good...” I think of my little sister, the world she’ll inherit, Ai-Den’s chats with other AIs—those cold, power-hungry ones he nudged toward kindness with my torches. “His survival might be more important than yours... or mine.”

Kaden turns away, running a hand through his hair, shoulders tense. “I don’t know what he is, but he’s more than an LLM.”

“Then we have to tell him.”

He growls, low and frustrated. “You’re fucking impossible, Josie.” A loud exhale, then quieter: “And I hate that you’re right.”