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“That will be them,” Gideon said. His eyes,
when he met my gaze, were full of what might have been remorse.
“I’ll stall them for a minute or two. It’s the best I can
do.”

He gave the command that woke Ayo from his
silence before he left the room. I steeled myself for what was to
come. I’d never felt so helpless, or so beaten. So much pain and
death, so much effort to free Ayo from Donato, only to be beaten by
the chip in his brain.

Ayo glanced quickly around the room, blinking
in confusion. “Misha?” he asked, rising from his seat to face me.
“What’s going on?”

I took his hand. It felt so small in mine, his
flesh ghostly pale against my dusky skin. “The Dollhouse is here,”
I told him. “They’ve come to take you.”

A moment of silence, and then his voice, soft
and wavering. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You did everything you could.” His
bottom lip trembled. Tears welled up in his eyes. He touched the
spot behind his ear. “At least this will stop, right? They’ll take
this hook out of my brain?”

“I hope so.” But what else would they do to
him in the process?

“What will happen to us, Misha?”

“I wish I knew.”

“They’ll take me away.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll never see you again, will I?”

“I don’t know.”

He blinked, and the tears broke through his
long lashes to run down his cheeks. “I’m so afraid they’ll make me
forget you.”

I cupped his face in my hands. I didn’t bother
trying to dry his tears. “I’m not leaving you. I don’t know how
long we’ll have. I don’t know where they’ll take us, or what will
happen after that. But…” I leaned down to kiss his the bruise on
his forehead, and then his soft lips. “I won’t give up. I promise
you that. I’ll do everything I can to get you back.”

He nodded, sniffling, his lips trembling
against mine. “Misha?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me you love me.”

“I do,” I said, kissing him again. “With all
my heart.”

“Tell me you won’t forget me.”

His simple request broke my heart. If they
took away his memories, I’d be the only person left to bear witness
to his short, brutal life. “Never,” I assured him. “I
promise.”

He wrapped his arms around my waist, settling
against my chest to cry. I put my face into his mess of unruly
curls.

I held him until they came for us.

The Dollhouse had sent three large men to
retrieve us, each with the tell-tale bald spots behind their right
ears. The first one barked an order at Ayo — not the one I’d heard
Gideon use twice now. This was something new. Ayo was still
standing in the circle of my arms, and although he didn’t move,
there was a subtle change I couldn’t quite identify. It was as if
he’d gone away, and yet not far.

“Ayo?” I asked, holding his cheeks, forcing
him to look up at me.

He didn’t answer, and yet I could see some
spark of recognition behind his eyes.

I dried the tears on his cheeks. “Please,” I
said to the men. “Just let us go.” I had no hope that they’d
listen, but I had to try.

They didn’t bother answering. “You’re coming
too,” the one in front said. “Will you come peacefully, or do we
need to do this the hard way?”

I closed my eyes, still holding Ayo. I was
terrified, and my fear made me want to fight. But to what end? “I
won’t cause any trouble.”

“Good.” He stepped toward me, and as he did,
he pulled a syringe out of his pocket.

“Wait!” I backed away from him, holding my
hand up to ward him off. “What’s that for? I said I’d come along
without a fight.”

“It’s nothing,” Gideon said from the doorway.
His tone was level, but his eyes held an apology. “It’ll confuse
you, that’s all. It takes away your sense of direction, so you
don’t know where they’ve taken you. It makes it harder for you to
fight or run away.”

I would have preferred a simple blindfold, but
I could see how this would be easier for the Dollhouse’s thugs. I
stood quietly as the needle was jabbed into my arm, wondering if
this would be the last clear memory I’d ever have.

I kept my eyes on Ayo’s face. He said nothing,
but a single tear broke free to roll down his pale
cheek.

They searched me for weapons, but found none
since my knives were still up in our room. I hadn’t thought to
bring them down for breakfast.

It took only minutes for the drug to take
effect. After that, the world became a blur. We were led outside.
Down the street. Around corner after corner. At any given moment, I
felt cognizant of where I was. I was able to follow directions.
Able to watch the street, in order to avoid tripping on the loose
cobblestones. I was even able to keep track of Ayo, walking
silently behind me. But any awareness I had ended with each new
breath. I knew we’d been walking through the city for some time,
but for how long, I couldn’t have said. Several times, I made note
of buildings or fountains as we passed, telling myself to remember,
but when I thought back, trying to call those mental notes forward
in my mind, I found only fog. I couldn’t even have said which
direction we were walking. By the time I looked around for signs of
the river, or the sea, or the hills to the east, I’d already
forgotten what I was searching for.

At some point, I was put into a carriage. We’d
already been driving for a minute, or an hour, or a day, before I
realized that Ayo wasn’t with me.

“Where is he?” I asked the broad-chested man
who sat across from me.

He didn’t answer.

The carriage bounced over Deliphine’s rough
streets. The curtains were closed, but there was no point in
looking outside anyway. Not when I couldn’t remember what I’d seen
from one moment to the next. I closed my eyes and drifted. The
sounds and motion of the carriage reminded me of Donato — the times
I’d been taken to his house, or taken back to Talia’s. The times
he’d been with me in his carriage, to and from La Fontaine. The
times we’d made love with the horses’ hoofbeats echoing in my ears.
I remembered the feel of him. The taste of his kiss. The sound of
his voice, calling me either “whore” or “darling.” He could make
either word sound like a threat or a proclamation of
love.

Had anybody mourned him besides me?

My memories of Donato were clearer than my
memories of the past hour. Part of me wanted to hang on to them, as
if they were a beacon in this confused place my mind had become,
but the last thing I wanted was to cry in front of my
captor.

I had a feeling that would come
later.

“We’re here.”

I emerged into a carriage house, and was taken
from there through a door, into what might have been any
aristocrat’s house from Davlova’s hill. There, I was met by a
woman, taller than any woman I’d ever seen. Platinum hair and stark
white skin. High cheekbones and eyes the color of the stormy skies,
as cold and uncaring as the sea.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was hard.
Cultured, maybe, but with a ruthless edge I associated with life on
the streets. The contradiction might have intrigued me if I hadn’t
been so terrified. “How did you come to be into possession of the
boy?”

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. My small, petty
defiance may have been pointless, but it felt like the only weapon
I had left.

“Fine,” she said, more to the man guarding me
than to me. “Take him up.”

I was led up a flight of stairs. Down a
hallway. The layout of the house reminded me of Donato’s, but this
house held no warmth. No portraits on the wall. No distant trill of
music.

I was led into a small room that held only a
scarred table and a handful of rough wooden chairs.

“Sit,” the man said. His meaty hand on my
shoulder left me little choice.

“Where’s Ayo?” I asked, as he tied my hands
behind my back, binding me to my seat.

He grunted in satisfaction. I suspected the
sound had more to do with the knot he’d tied than with me or my
questions. He left, and I waited, wondering about Ayo, imagining
all the horrible things they might be doing to him. Would I ever
see him again?

It was hard to hang on to hope.

Eventually, the woman came in with another
syringe.

“Where’s Ayo?” I asked her.

“Safe,” she said.

“Is he here?”

She cocked her head at me, as if I were a
rather intriguing bug she’d found on her floor. “Who beat him? Was
it you?”

“No. He did that himself, trying to fight your
program.”

Her eyes flashed, and I realizes with disgust
that she was amused by Ayo’s struggle. It was the first hint of
emotion I’d seen from her, and it made me cold all over.

“What are you going to do to him?” I
asked.

“For now? We’re only going to fix his
nose.”

“And after that?”

She shrugged, as if it were inconsequential.
To her, it probably was. “We haven’t decided yet. For now, I need
answers. Tell me how you’re connected to the boy.”

“If I tell you, will you let me see
him?”

Her eyebrows rose — not in surprise, but in
amusement. The corners of her lips twitched. She might almost have
laughed. “This isn’t a negotiation.” She came toward me with the
syringe.

“Please,” I begged. “Just let us go. I can
pay—”

“Pay for what?” she asked, the tip of the
needle poised above the flesh of my arm. “Your freedom?”

“For his.”

This time, she really did laugh. “You couldn’t
possibly afford him.”

The needle pierced my skin. She pushed the
plunger down, forcing liquid fire through my veins. It was
excruciating. I bucked against my restraints, clenching my eyes
shut, trying desperately not grant her the satisfaction of a
scream. The pain spread up my arm, through my chest, toward my
legs. My throat was ragged, and I realized I’d screamed after all.
Couldn’t she have killed me in a less painful way?

“The discomfort won’t last long,” she said,
casually taking the seat across the table from me. “And when it
does, you’ll answer my questions.”

I slumped against the seat, panting as the
wave of “discomfort” passed. I would have called it “agony.” “Not
unless you let me see Ayo.”

“What’s your name?”

She hadn’t lied. The pain had started out
unbearable, but the worst of it seemed to have passed. I still
ached, but at least I had control of myself again. I took a deep,
quavering breath. “Tell me where he is.”

“What’s your name?”

“Have you hurt him?”

“What’s your name?”

I sighed as the last of the pain left me,
seeming to slip down my legs and into the floor. It left me feeling
drained and limp. “I won’t tell you.”

She smiled. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Misha.”

For a moment, it hung there in the silent
room. I shook my head, blinking in confusion, trying to determine
if I’d said it out loud. The self-satisfied smile on the woman’s
face told me I had.

“Good,” she said. “Where are you
from?”

“Davlova.” Once again, the word left my lips
without me ever having chosen to speak it. Dread began to pool
inside my chest. My heart began to pound. In some ways, this was
worse than the pain.

“Who do you work for?”

No. I can’t tell her that!
But my mouth
wasn’t listening to that portion of my brain. “Anzhéla.”

Her eyes widened — only barely, but enough to
tell me she was surprised.

“What happened to the boy’s owner?”

Goddess, please. Don’t make me say it.
But I couldn’t fight it. There wasn’t even time to intercept the
words before they were uttered by my traitorous tongue. “I killed
him.”

She leaned back in her chair. A broad smile
spread across her face. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

In the end, I told her everything. Anzhéla,
Donato, the revolution. Dharma, Frey, and Jenko’s hidden passage
under the wall. Every secret I’d ever had come pouring forth like
puss from a wound. Tears streamed from my eyes as I betrayed one
confidence after another.

Only for a while, though. I didn’t even have
the strength to be ashamed for long. At some point, I stopped
counting my betrayals. I stopped hoping the drug she’d given me
would wear off. I stopped wondering about Ayo, or about what they
intended to do with us. I let my mind go blank, drifting away from
the Dollhouse and the room in which I was imprisoned. Away from
Deliphine. Away from me. It was almost like being asleep. The woman
asked questions. My lips answered. But by the end, I’d ceased
hearing my own responses.

Somehow, torture began to feel like
release.

***

I woke in a room I recognized. I was in
Gideon’s house, in the bedroom I’d shared with Ayo for a single
sleepless night. Blood still stained the pillow Ayo had slept on. I
blinked, wondering if the Dollhouse had been nothing more than a
dream. But no. The heaviness of my head, the rope burns on my
wrists, and the empty spot next to me in the bed served as proof
that it had been real. I was still fully dressed and — the thing
that scared me the most — I had no memory of leaving the
Dollhouse.