Page 127 of Border Control

He’s cool and calm except for how tense his arm muscles are, biceps, triceps and forearms standing firm. Inside, he’s probably a mess.

Like me.

“We have a stipulation,” another female voice rings out. A light glows on the speaker, glinting on the ruby scales of the redhead, Samara’s frenemy, the Voice. “Prif Samara, you are correct that a risk-averse approach is the safest, and murder must be punished most severely. Especially if a clone is the perpetrator.”

No. Screw all court decorum: I snatch Dom’s arm, holding on tight. A soft murmur leaves his lips, scales flowing under my hand.

“However, Human Laura is also correct, pointing out that this clone in particular has not been implicated in any murder. Moreover, his abilities are interesting. What is the mind-sync doing for the female?”

“He is likely mind controlling her,” Samara says cooly.

“I’m not being mentally coerced or controlled,I’min control,” I snap.

“Are you?” Samara looks me up and down.

I am.I am.Shade lashes the air, feeding on the storm seeping from me, telegraphing the lie. I’m about to lose it and go full Morgan on this bitch.

The Prif’s eyes never leave mine, boring into me.

I point at my own face. “I’ve got blue eyes, Dom’s are purple. I’ve seen when one of them takes over, and their eyes change color.” The way Dom’s went blue when he came to hurt Morgan.

That really was me. I made him do that.

The Voice nods. “We wish to test the Parthiastock’s control, confirm he is still able to do what he needs to do to protect us. Let us administer the Base loyalty test.”

Dom stiffens all over, scales hardening.

“Dom? What is that?”

He doesn’t answer.

The double doors at the end of the courtroom groan open. Six Parthiastocks enter, a hush settling over the room like a held breath. Just like Dom, Nevare and Arik, they’re in threes, but two of each trio physically support the middle ones to walk. The ones between are thin, frames hunched over. Their scales flake, dull instead of Dom’s iridescent sheen, shedding in patches like brittle leaves in the fall. One of them drools as he’s made to walk toward us. Their eyes, though, are the worst: clouded, twitching, wide-eyed in terror. Nothing like Nevare’s.

My heart twists at the sight of them. They look broken, faded and worn down to the bone. I ache for them, these clones who were once like gods—and now shuffle forward like ghosts.

One of them stops in front of Dom, head bowed. A Parthiastock Base stands behind him, directing gently with a touch to the back of his neck. “You are to administer the Base loyalty test,” the Base says softly.

The Apex nods once and reaches out to Dom.

Dom presses his lips shut, but this close, I can see he’s biting down on them. As if trapping in a scream.

“What’s this test? What are you going to do to him?” I demand.

The Voice answers me. “This is a psychic simulation to test 3D0M’s ability to do what needs to be done, should it be required.”

“That answered nothing.” I storm in front of him. “Don’t touch him.”

The other Parthiastock Bases level steady looks at me. “Regrettably, female, we cannot comply. We will each administer ten veralashes to one another as punishment.”

The second Apex crosses behind Dom, staring blankly until his Base murmurs instructions. Slowly, his hands lift: one on the back of Dom’s head, the other pointed to the floor. Light, pure and shimmering, spills from his palms and into the tiles below. The illumination flows like a river to the edge of the courtroom, then projects upwards in a reverse waterfall, a huge screen for all the court to see.

At first, the image is misty, then resolves: the Apex in front of Dom, but face on, and beyond that myself to the left, the Prif to the right. I take a step sideways, and the image follows.

The Apex is projecting what Dom’s seeing.

“Fear. Uncertainty. Despair,” the Apex behind him mumbles.

“It’s okay, Dom,” I tell him. “I’ll stop this.”