A weight dropped into the pit of Zira’s stomach. “You’re not completely wrong.”
Aubreigh studied her face for a few moments. “Look, whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m just worried about you. You’ve changed since you got back from your first assignment.”
“Of course I have,” Zira said. “So did you. So does anyone in the Project. That first assignment is what makes you a real part of all this, isn’t it? It changes all of us.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Zira looked away. Yes, she did know, but she didn’t even want to think about her first assignment. Her target had been involved in human trafficking, and although she’d known he deserved to die, killing him had taken a toll on her. That night, she had crossed a line somewhere between innocent girl and cold-blooded killer. A person couldn’t go back from something like that. Since then, she’d become even more withdrawn from those around her, putting on a cool facade to mask how difficult it had been to come to terms with her new identity.
“If you already guessed what it is I do,” Zira said, “why did you get so upset the other day?”
“Because of what you said about Seth and his investigation. I know you don’t like him and it seemed unfair that he focused all of his attention on you. But it’s good that they investigate everything, isn’t it?”
“It’s a waste of time. We’re all just doing our jobs; that should be good enough for everyone.”
“Yes, but what if it’s not?”
“Meaning what?”
Aubreigh began playing with the hem of her shirt, an old habit she fell into when she was nervous or uncomfortable. “Lately, I’ve been wondering if some of the things we’re doing here are wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“Maybe we take things too far. Overstep our boundaries.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The training I’ve had to do for my new job in population control has been…very eye-opening.” Aubreigh’s brows drew together. “Look, you can’t say anything about this. Not to Jared, not to anyone. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be telling me.”
“No. I need to.”
Zira balked a little at the idea of learning things she had no business knowing, but curiosity and concern for her friend outweighed her misgivings. “Fine. What is it?”
“For starters, they lied to us about where we came from.”
Zira frowned as she considered the implications of this. Almost everyone in the Project had been brought to the compound as infants, taken from families who didn’t want them or couldn’t care for them. At least, that’s what they had always been told. There were exceptions among the older members who had joined the Project when it was first organized, but for a majority of the people who worked here, this life was the only one they had ever known. If all of that was a lie, as Aubreigh was suggesting, then what was the truth?
“Most of us came from loving families who would have kept us if they could,” Aubreigh continued. “We weren’t abandoned or unwanted. They took us from our parents as infants because we were third children.”
“There are no third children,” Zira said. “Doesn’t your unit make sure of that? You have mandatory birth control, abortions if necessary.”
“Not everyone follows the rules. Accidents happen, people refuse to get an abortion, and sometimes third children are born. Like you, like me, like everyone who was brought here after the Project was founded. Instead of just killing us, they adopted us out to people who couldn’t have kids or brought us here to put us to good use. Who else would agree to spend their entire lives inside these walls?” There was a bitter note to her voice that Zira had seldom heard before. “They get us when we’re young and teach us that this is our family and our purpose in life. That’s why the Project works. That’s why we’re all so dedicated to it. Even if they told us the truth, there’s nothing else out there for us.”
“That doesn’t change anything,” Zira said. “It’s not like we can go back to our old families now. And we have a good life here. We’d be a lot worse off if we had stayed in a family where there weren’t enough resources to go around.”
“But what about those families? Can you imagine it? You have a baby, and then some stranger comes to your door to take her from you.” Her mouth curved down in a grimace. “That’s what they expect me to do now. That’s my job.”
“Those people broke the law. They have to face the consequences.”
“Is that how you justify doing your job?” Aubreigh snapped.
“I don’t have to justify my job. Not to you, not to Seth, or to anyone else.”
Aubreigh’s anger shattered in an instant, and she turned away in an attempt to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. Zira cursed under her breath. The reveal about third-children was hardly surprising and seemed to be a natural consequence for families who decided to have an extra child. There had to be something else going on or Aubreigh wouldn’t be this upset. “What’s really wrong?”
“I’m sorry.” Aubreigh wiped her cheek with her palm. “I just don’t know how they expect us to—” She dissolved in a new round of tears and buried her face in her hands.
Zira wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulder and gave her an awkward squeeze. They sat like that for what felt like forever, Zira trying to comfort Aubreigh as best as she knew how until the crying subsided.
“Sorry,” Aubreigh said again when she had composed herself enough to speak. “It’s just—sometimes, a woman ends up with a fourth child.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, as if she was afraid to even speak her next words. “When that happens, we’re supposed to—to euthanize the baby.”
Now Zira understood what Aubreigh had meant when she’d suggested that the Project sometimes overstepped its boundaries. Her chest felt hollow, but she kept her face calm, knowing that a stronger reaction would only make Aubreigh feel worse than she already did. “That never happens though, right?” she said. “I doubt you’ll ever be put in that situation. I mean, third children are almost never even conceived, and if they are, you guys make sure the mother gets an abortion. Fourth children must be even more rare; there probably haven’t been any for a really long time.”
“It’s happened a handful of times.” Aubreigh wiped the moisture away from her eyes and seemed just a little less despondent. “But you’re probably right. The chances that I’ll ever have to deal with that are slim. Knowing that it’s even in our policies, though—I guess I just understand why the E-1s do their investigations.”
“They don’t know, do they?”
Aubreigh shook her head. “It’s a closely guarded secret. I didn’t even know until I got assigned to population control. Zira, you can’t tell anyone.”
“I know,” Zira reassured her. “I won’t. Promise.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Zira worked up the nerve to go to Jared’s apartment. He looked somewhat surprised to see her when he answered the door. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
“Maybe just a little,” she admitted. “Can we talk?”
“Sure. Want to take a walk?”
Zira nodded and he stepped outside. She took his hand as they walked, drawing resolve and comfort from the feel of his fingers entwined in hers. She still wasn’t sure that any of this was a good idea, and maybe she’d regret it later, but it just felt so easy and right in the moment. She had worried that the kiss would change their friendship, and it had, but it seemed to have added something rather than taking anything away.
They walked in silence for a full five minutes before Jared said anything. “You’re making me nervous. What’s going on?”
Zira chewed her lip, not quite knowing where to begin. “I like you,” she said at last.
She could hear the smile in his voice. “I know. I like you, too. That’s why I kissed you.”
He was altogether too pleased with himself, and Zir
a sighed in exasperation. “No, this is bad. We were friends. I liked that. And now we’re—” She stopped herself there as warmth rushed from her fingertips to her face. She’d always made it a point to avoid discussing her feelings so openly and cringed a little at every word now coming out of her mouth.
“Zira,” Jared said gently, “we’re still friends.”
“No. We’re—more than friends, now.”
“Why can’t we be both?”
“Both—what?”
Jared shrugged. “Why can’t we be friends and something more?”
“Because it makes everything so complicated. And you’re a really great friend.” One of the best she’d ever had, actually. She looked up at him. “I don’t want to ruin that.”
Jared let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulder. “I know. I’m scared of that, too. If I wasn’t, I would have kissed you weeks ago. But I can’t just pretend I don’t have feelings for you.”
Zira felt her resistance fading. That was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? She had those same feelings for him, too, and denying them wasn’t going to make them go away. She’d tried that already.
“Look,” Jared said, “I get that you have doubts and questions or whatever. That’s good, actually. It means you’ve thought about this. Whatever you need from me, just let me know. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”
Zira searched his eyes and saw only honesty and sincerity. She nodded and leaned her head against his arm. “Okay. But let’s just take things slow, please. I don’t want to put any stupid labels on whatever this is. Not yet. Aubreigh’s already way too excited about all of this.”
Jared chuckled. “Sure. Whatever you’re comfortable with. But we are going to have to tell Chairman Ryku and fill out the paperwork with unit C.”
Zira groaned. She’d forgotten about that part. Sexual and romantic relationships were allowed between members of the Project under a full disclosure policy, which meant the parties involved were required to tell their chairman and document the relationship with unit C. The relationship was then evaluated to ensure that it wouldn’t create a conflict with their professional work or the Project’s interests. Zira already saw a potential issue with the fact that she and Jared were partners and suspected chairman Ryku might disapprove. She sighed. “Let’s get it over with, then.”
They filled out the required documents in unit C’s main office the next day, where Aubreigh spotted them holding hands. She talked to them for a few minutes and, as Zira had predicted, seemed barely able to contain her delight. Thankfully, she managed to keep the tone and volume of her voice at a socially-acceptable level. Zira exchanged a knowing glance with Jared, but he seemed more amused than annoyed by Aubreigh’s excitement.
Chairman Ryku was much less enthusiastic. He stood with crossed arms and a flat expression as they explained the situation to him. Or rather, Jared explained while Zira stared at a scuff on her boot and wished she was somewhere else. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed,” Ryku said when Jared had finished. “Still, I appreciate your candor. I’m going to have to assign both of you to different partners, but that will take time. For now, you’ll each be running solo missions.”
It was no worse than Zira had expected, but her shoulders slumped a little at Ryku’s words. She’d learned a lot from Jared in just two missions and enjoyed working with him. In some ways, it seemed a shame to throw that away just so they could have a more personal relationship.
Jared must have sensed her disappointment. “You all right?” he asked as they walked back outside.
“Everything’s just changing so fast.”
“I know. I’m sorry about all that.”
“It’s not your fault.” It wasn’t just the uncomfortable discussion about their relationship and all that had come after that had her preoccupied. She was still thinking about her conversation with Aubreigh the previous day. She had told Aubreigh that it didn’t matter where they came from, and that was true enough. But combined with the revelation that fourth children were euthanized and the fact that unit E-1’s investigations might be more warranted than she’d originally thought, it was a lot to take in all at once. Her clear, black-and-white views on the Project and its objectives had blurred, and she wasn’t sure yet whether that change was for better or worse.
CHAPTER TEN
To Jared’s great relief, whatever skittishness he had sensed in Zira about the whole affair of committing their relationship to paper seemed to fade over the next few days. It helped that Aubreigh gave them her full support. Despite Zira’s outward indifference about what other people thought, he knew how much she valued her friend’s opinion. Jared pulled Aubreigh aside to thank her privately one afternoon after lunch. “I didn’t really do anything,” she replied.
“I know she was scared. She never would have given me a chance if you hadn’t talked to her.”
Aubreigh shrugged. “She doesn’t like to get too close to people, but she trusts you. Don’t screw it up.”
He had no intention to. The interim between their previous assignment and whatever solo work Ryku could find left him and Zira plenty of time to spend with each other. They trained in the mornings and sometimes helped the E-2 instructors with various recruit classes. At sunset, they often took long walks around the compound and talked for hours into the night as they stared up at the stars. Once, they drove out to some long-forgotten public art site just outside of Amarillo and painted their names on the antique cars standing there. Whatever they did, they were together, and Jared couldn't remember a time he'd ever felt so happy and at ease in another person’s company.
Zira got a solo assignment first, three weeks after Ryku had split them up as partners. She was looking through the file one morning when Jared stopped by her apartment. She let him in, then made room on the couch so he could sit beside her. “It’s another group of radicals,” she explained. “Smaller—looks like just three people. The ones we took down at the factory were communicating with this group using those old computers we found.”
“When do you leave?”
“I’ve got a flight to Anchorage in three days.”
“All the way up north? Try not to freeze to death.”
Zira smiled. “If that’s the worst thing I have to worry about, I’ll be fine.”
She had better be. He wouldn’t be there to watch her back this time. Not that he thought he needed to; she was a good operative and plenty capable of handling herself. Still, sometimes it didn’t matter how skilled or careful an operative was. He’d had friends who were just as good as she was, and one tiny misstep had cost them their lives. It had nearly cost Jared his. He just wanted her to be safe, though in this line of work, he knew that might be asking for the impossible.
The assignment would be a lengthy one; Zira couldn’t get a flight out of Anchorage for at least two weeks, if not longer. Jared wanted to do something special with her before she left, so he made arrangements for them to go hiking in the canyon just past Amarillo. That morning, he knocked on her door with two backpacks in hand. “Wake up and get dressed,” he said when she opened it. “We’ve got things to do.”
She cocked an eyebrow at the backpacks. “Oh really? And where exactly are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Zira rolled her eyes and muttered something about surprises under her breath, but the half-concealed smile on her face told him she was pleased. “Give me a few minutes,” she said and disappeared into her bedroom to change. When she emerged, she seemed to have taken her cue from his own comfortable, hiking-appropriate attire. She wore lightweight cargo pants, sturdy boots, and a loose-fitting tank top. She also clutched a jacket in one hand.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and took the smaller of the two backpacks he held, slinging it over her shoulder.
“Oh sure, leave me with the heavy one,” he teased.
“This was your idea.”
He laughed and opened the d
oor for her. They chatted on the drive to the canyon, and when they arrived, Zira’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I’ve heard about this place,” she said, admiring their surroundings as they got out of the car. “I always wanted to come here. It’s amazing.”
“Wait until you see the view from above.” They picked out a secluded trail through the earthy red rock and started walking. Lizards scurried over the sand, and once, a roadrunner darted across their path. Zira took it all in with the awe and wonder of a child, stopping to admire the wildflowers or stare up at a hawk circling above. Jared couldn’t help smiling as he watched her.
When they reached the height of the trail, they ventured off the path a short distance to a shady spot where they could look down at the canyon below. The dark green of the trees stood out in stark contrast against the red, orange, and tan layers in the rocks. Neither of them said anything for a long time, sipping out of their water bottles and taking in the view. “It’s beautiful,” Zira said almost reverently. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Jared nodded and began unpacking his bag, which contained a blanket and food for a picnic. He’d gotten up before the sun rose to get it all ready, but he didn’t tell her that. She was worth it. He spread the blanket on a slab of rock and they sat down to eat. When they were finished, he lay down with one arm behind his neck and Zira scooted closer to him, resting her head on his chest. Jared ran a thumb across the soft, pale skin on her shoulder and inhaled a deep, contented breath.
They lay like that for what felt like hours, but it couldn’t last forever. “You’re leaving tomorrow, then?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Zira said. “My flight leaves early in the morning.”
“Just be careful, okay? Please.”
“I will. Stop worrying.”
Jared watched the clouds drift by overhead for a few minutes, then glanced down at Zira. Her eyes were closed, but he knew she was still awake. “I have something for you.” He sat up and pulled a small box out of his backpack.
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