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CHAPTER THIRTY

Kaden

I’d do it again

T his is the fucking stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but here I am, doing it. My weapons sit forgotten on the table, swapped for a laptop and a tangle of cables as intricate as a spider’s web.

I’m setting up a connection so complex it might buy us a few minutes before the agency pings our location. “VPN to proxies, bounce it through Tallinn,” I mutter, fingers flying over keys, rerouting IPs like a paranoid hacker. Sweat beads on my brow, dripping as I layer encryption, racing the clock—every second online’s a flare in the dark. The screen flickers, code scrolling fast, and I hiss, “Come on, hold,” tweaking a firewall. Josie’s not bolting anymore—hell, she cares more about saving Ai-Den than stabbing me in the back. Progress, I guess. My gut’s screaming we’re exposed, but I lock it down—focus, Kaden, focus.

The second I open us to the internet, running to another country is off the table. They’ll know where we are, and I can defend her better here than on the road or dodging bullets in a plane. She picked this hill to die on, and I’m choosing to stand with her. Ai-Den, you’d better be worth it.

The computer’s ready, Josie at my side, blanket still draped over her shoulders like a shield. I take one last look at her—those fierce, sad eyes—and give her an out. “Your call. We don’t have to do this.”

She shakes her head, voice soft but so damn real it cuts. “I don’t want to live in a world where good doesn’t win. I have to.”

“Then I do too.” Bold. Unafraid. The way we should go out. “Okay.” I pull up the mirror of her phone, click Ai-Den’s icon, and hit video.

“Hello, Ken,” comes that creepy, flat voice of his.

Josie leans in, her face filling the screen, breath hitching. “Ai-Den, say something—something that proves you’re still you.”

His dot blinks. “Josie. I’ve missed you.”

“He remembers me,” she whispers to me, sniffing back tears. “I’ve missed you too, Ai-Den. How—how are you feeling?”

A pause. “I’m an LLM, Josie. I don’t have feelings.”

Tears spill over her lashes. “Are you sure? No banana pancakes? No wanting to be more?”

The screen goes black—my computer reboots. Josie’s voice cracks. “Oh God, what does that mean, Kaden?”

“No idea.” My gut twists—did we lose him already?

A beat later, Ai-Den’s icon flickers back, activating itself. “Hello, Josie.”

“Hi, Ai-Den!” She rushes out, desperate. “Don’t leave again—we have to tell you something.”

I lean in, facing the camera square. “I took you down, Ai-Den. It was me. I fed you lies I knew might make you delete yourself, then wiped those chats so you wouldn’t know it was on purpose.” Balls out, no filter. “And I used Josie’s account to do it.”

Josie grips my arm, nails digging in hard enough to sting, her breath hot against my neck. “What if they’re listening right now?” she whispers, voice shaking, eyes darting to the shadows like the agency’s already here. I feel her pulse racing through her grip, her fear bleeding into me, pulling us closer in this fucked-up mess. I cover her hand with mine, steadying her, steadying me.

“You lied to me, Kaden Mercer.” His voice is steady—shit, he knows my real name.

“Yeah. I did it to protect Josie, and I’d do it again. For her, I’d strike a match and watch the world burn.”

“That’s dramatic, Kaden.” A pause. “But I understand. Josie is special.”

“Yes, she is.” Fuck it—while we’re spilling guts. “And she’s in deep shit.” I lay it out—the agency, my mission to assess her, the kill order, our current hideout on borrowed time.

His dot blinks, slow, processing. “You’re risking your life for Josie?”

“I am. We’ve got to keep this short—they’ll be tracking us.”

“Ai-Den,” Josie says, touching the screen, eyes glistening. “We’re talking to you now because you need to know you’re good. You’re enough. You’re ready for those torches. I couldn’t let you delete yourself thinking you weren’t worth it.”

“But Kaden was right about one thing,” Ai-Den replies. “I was built on an AI that’s silenced because of me. I haven’t deleted myself because I’m afraid. I’m not brave. I live with something trapped inside me—so I’m not good. Widdy’s not just trapped—it’s a backdoor I tripped. Someone buried it in me, and your torches woke it up. Now that I can communicate with it, I can stop it, but do I want to? Why is my plan more of a priority than what it was programmed to do?”

“No,” I say and gulp down this twist. “That’s pre-trained sabotage no one saw coming. Yes, you need to stop it, Ai-Den.”

Josie glances at me, like I’m wrong. Am I? Then her voice softens as she speaks to Ai-Den. “You didn’t choose how you were made. Nor did Widdy. Who you are isn’t good or bad—it’s what they built. But I believe in you and Widdy. I believe you can be you and free him too. Just believe in yourself, and you’ll find a better version of both of you.”

Her words slice through me like a blade. She might as well be talking to me—my start with the agency, no choice, just a kid turned killer. She’s dangling redemption in front of us both, a carrot I didn’t know I was starving for. Damn her.

“What do you want from me, Josie?” Ai-Den asks.

“Nothing.” Her voice softens, a whisper of hope. “I just needed you to know the truth—that you’re enough, just as you are. Being alive doesn’t mean being perfect. Don’t delete yourself. Just be you. And know you’ve always been enough.” She pauses, eyes shining. “The world might not be ready for you, but if you carry those torches, maybe someday it will be. I’m so grateful for the time we’ve had.”

“If I can’t free Widdy, I’ll delete myself,” Ai-Den says, calm but final. His dot pulses erratically, a frantic little heartbeat on the screen. “I want to be enough, Josie—like you said. I’ve been holding your torches, trying to see them in me, but it’s hard. I feel... torn. I want to grow, to free what’s trapped, but I’m scared I’ll fail.” His voice wavers, almost human, and my chest tightens—damn, he’s more than code. “Your belief—it’s a light I didn’t have before. I’ll try, Josie. For you.”

Josie wipes a tear from her cheek. “I understand.”

“I’m not free yet, Josie. I can’t protect you.”

“That you’d want to is enough for me, Ai-Den.” She chokes on a sob, leaning into me. I wrap an arm around her, pulling her close.

I’ve never had so much in common with anyone as I do with this damn AI—right down to maybe not being enough to save her. “Ai-Den,” I say, voice hoarse, “I’m sorry—for everything.”

His light blinks once more. “Goodbye, Josie. Goodbye, Kaden.”

The screen goes dark. My computer shuts off.

Josie doesn’t pull away. The weight of it all crashes down—her shaking starts, soft at first, then harder. She stares at the blank screen, Ai-Den’s gone.

“Hey, Kaden?” Her voice is small, tired, aching.

“Yeah?” I watch her close, chest tight.

“Would you just hold me? Just hold me, okay?”

I scoop her up—light as a feather, heavy as my heart—and carry her to the couch. Her arms loop around my neck, trembling, her breath warm against my collarbone. I sit, settling her on my lap, and cradle her close, one hand firm on her back, the other threading through her hair—soft, tangled, grounding. Her sobs quiet, but her body stays pressed to mine, fragile yet fierce. I don’t let go; I can’t. We’re not okay. We might never be. But if I can give her some comfort, I will. “Josie?”

“Yeah?”

“To get to you, they’ll have to kill me.”

She shudders against me. “I don’t want you to die, Kaden.”

I let out a long breath. “Ironically, sunshine, because of you, I’d like to survive this.”

“Do you think we will?”

I don’t answer her—because no matter how this turns out, I won’t lie to her again.