Page 15

A motion-sensing lamp fades on, illuminating the room in a warm glow.

Still vibrating with adrenaline, I go straight to the desk, picking up papers and notebooks at random.

But my eagerness quickly fades to frustration.

None of this makes any goddamn sense. Ian’s notes are either scribbled in unintelligible handwriting that I’m not even sure is in English, or complex math equations that make my eyes cross.

“Come on, Ian,” I mutter, riffling through a stack of notebooks. “Show me something good.”

I flip through one of the thickest notebooks, but I’m disappointed to find yet another collection of unreadable nonsense in the form of Ian’s shit handwriting.

I’m returning the notebook to the desk when a slip of paper falls out from between the pages, fluttering to the floor.

I bend to pick up the paper. It’s thin and white, standard printer paper, folded over twice. I open it gingerly.

There, in the center of the paper, scribbled in a shaky hand, is what looks like a random shape. But I know this shape. I know the lines and dots inside it. I know those jagged edges.

It’s the fucking mirage.

I swallow hard, flipping over the page, hoping for an explanation.

A label. Something . But there’s nothing else to see.

Turning the page back over, I hold it closer to my face, searching it for meaning.

And then I see another mark on the paper, way down at the bottom edge.

A hurriedly scribbled note. And even Ian’s handwriting can’t obscure the two words that stare back at me: Katherine Fox .

A slow trickle of dread drips down my spine. Because that’s not all. Below my name, in even smaller print, there are four more words:

He insists on her .

I read the note again. And again. What the fuck ?

Heart in my throat, I fold up the paper and slide it into my pocket. Whatever the hell it means, I’ll figure it out. I’ll confront Ian about it, if I ever find the asshole.

Then I remember the note Ian left when he had an emergency at the external lab.

I didn’t even think to look for a note this time.

Hurrying back to the living room, I check the bar, the kitchen island, every available surface.

But I know in my gut I won’t find another note. I would have seen it already.

So either Ian left me alone here without any explanation, or he went back downstairs while I was in the shower. Down to the vault.

My stomach twists.

This goddamn vault. The cold hallway looms large in my mind, and Eros’s warning pulses like a neon sign. I don’t want to go back down there, not alone. Not if Ian is there, drunk and erratic. I pause. But maybe… if I woke Orpheus…

A sick little thrill rolls through me. Whatever happens down there, Ian drove me to it.

I go to the door in the far wall. Muscle memory types the code in, and when the door clicks open, it’s a beckoning call. I slip through into the stairwell and begin to descend.

I’m almost to the bottom of the stairs when I stop dead in my tracks. The vault door is open. Ian , I remind myself. Ian is down here. I should be relieved, but my body stays tense, my chest tight.

“Ian?” My voice bounces through the vault door and down the corridor, too loud.

No answer. I keep going.

By the time I get to the vault door, my hands are shaking. I feel like I’ve hit my fight or flight quota for the day. Any more scares and my heart will give out.

“Ian?” It’s only a whisper, but it feels like a shout. It’s so quiet down here. The air is close and stale.

I step through the vault door and into the corridor beyond. The lights fade on, and my heart stops.

The doors are open. Eros’s door is open wide, its shadow multiplied under the lights. Orpheus’s door hangs only slightly ajar. But the corridor is empty. There’s no sign of them. Did they… did they go somewhere together?

I stand there frozen, unsure what to do.

Part of me wants to run back the way I came, slam the vault door behind me and lock it, never to return.

These open doors, the silence, everything bathed in a fluorescent glow…

it gnaws at my nerves like a toothache. But I can’t just run away like I’m scared .

What do I think is going to happen? And I came all the way down here.

But Eros’s words ring unwanted in my ears. Don’t trust him.

“Shut up,” I mutter. “Don’t be a pussy, Katherine.”

The time it takes me to reach Eros’s room feels like an eternity.

At first, everything is completely quiet.

It’s like Ian came down here, opened the doors, and then left.

But why? Was he in a drunken haze? Did he want to free his creations?

Did he feel so guilty about calling Eros a whore that he decided to unleash him and Orpheus into the world, allowing them to live out some semblance of humanity? Yeah, as if.

As I move closer, I begin to hear a quiet sound. A soft, incessant buzz.

Someone, or some thing , is still here.

I walk slowly to the door and look in.

Ian isn’t there. But Eros is.

Eros is all over the room. Scattered, fractured.

Torn, limb from limb. Cut up and strewn.

His legs are folded over one another on the far side of the room.

One ankle is slashed, with wires sticking out at odd angles.

One arm is on the dais, hand draped over the edge.

The other arm lies a few feet away, broken in two places.

His hand is in the far corner, opposite his legs.

His torso lies at the foot of the dais, toga still wrapped around it, stained with electrical fluids.

Wires and bits of machinery are everywhere.

His head is at my feet.

He stares up at me for a moment. Then his eyes roll back until all I can see are the whites.

He blinks and his eyes roll down again, his blue gaze finding me.

Fluid drips from his severed neck. It drips from his ears.

The liquid is clear and thick as semen. I realize the buzzing sound is coming from Eros: some displaced wire, some gear half broken. I don’t fucking know.

I brace myself on the door frame. I think I should speak. I should say something. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Eros speaks for me. “K-Katherine.” His voice is out of focus, warped like an old record. “Fox. Fox. Katherine.”

“Kit.” I kneel then, placing my hands gently on either side of his face, holding him so he can look up at me. It feels like there’s something caught in my throat, and I can’t swallow it down. “It’s Kit, remember?”

Half of his mouth curves up in a smile. The buzzing stops, then starts again. “Kit. Hello. H-hell…o Kit. Kit. Fox.”

“Who did this to you?” I whisper. My fingers shake as they brush a lock of flaxen hair from his forehead. “Ian?” Ian, hating his own creation so much that he lost his mind? Ian, on a sexbot murder spree, fleeing his home and leaving me here to pick up the literal pieces?

Eros’s eyes roll back. “K-Kit.” His eyelids close, then open. “Kit. I’m sorry.”

“Eros.” I stroke his temple with a thumb. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

His mouth twitches, and I can’t tell if it’s a smile or a grimace.

“Eros, please. Can you tell me what happened?”

“K-K-Kit.” Fluid from his ear drips down to my wrist, warm and thick. “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

His eyes roll back. “K-Kit. Fo-o-ooox.”

The buzzing stops.

With violently shaking hands, I set Eros’s head gently on the white floor. I grind my teeth together so hard my jaw pops. Someone ripped him apart. Someone destroyed him, tore him apart like he was nothing. And they made sure he was awake before it happened.

Not someone . Ian.

From far away, some logical, rational part of my brain shouts at me: Eros is not a human. He’s not sentient. He didn’t understand what was happening .

But the look in his eyes just now, the sorrow, the fact that he was apologizing… I bend over and vomit, the burn of whiskey and coffee and the remnants of my breakfast splattering on the white floor. Eros didn’t feel like a robot. He felt like a person.

And what makes a person? I remember Ian’s words from two nights ago: Intellect. Emotion. Curiosity . Eros had all of those. So what the fuck does Ian know about humanity?

I straighten, taking a deep breath. I push the hair out of my face and tuck it behind my ears. I don’t look back at Eros when I leave the room. I don’t want to remember him that way. Because as far as I’m concerned, the mechanical remnants all over the room are not him.

I think of Eros at the window, watching the rain. I think of his sweet smile, the way he spoke to me like I was the only person in the world. I think of the way he kissed me. His open smile. In my memory, he’ll shine golden forever, like a summer sun.