I’m staring at him as he talks, but I’m not really hearing what he’s saying. I’m too busy noticing something else.
“Your eyes are really blue,” I blurt out like an idiot.
He looks stunned, then flattered. “Yes, they are. A handsome, manly blue.”
I can’t suppress the snort. “No. I mean most of the time they’re kind of light. But they aren’t now. They’re like midnight-blue.”
“Yes,” he agrees, wagging his eyebrows. “You can go write a girly poem about them if you’d like. Be sure you mention my rugged jaw, too.”
I roll my eyes and step past him, sorry I’d said anything. “I’ll call it ‘Ode to an Egotistical Tool.’ Now, if you don’t mind.” I point to the door. “Get out.”
He grabs my arm, turning me to face him. The humor in his face is gone, replaced by an intensity I rarely see when we aren’t on an assignment. He pulls me close, clasping my hands in his. I have to hold in a shudder, which is odd because I’m really warm. Like really, really warm all of a sudden. Maybe it has something to do with the way Ethan is staring at me with those dark-blue eyes. How have I never noticed the subtle change of color before? And why is it getting really hard to breathe?
“Before I go, I wanted to give you this.” He stuffs his hand in the pocket of his vest and pulls out a silver chain with a heavy pendant hanging off the end. I hold out my hand, and he drops it into my palm. It’s an ebony-and ivory cameo on a chain, only instead of a silhouette of a person, it’s an image of an hourglass.
I’m too stunned to form words. It’s so beautiful. I close my fingers around it and clutch it to my chest.
“I came across it a few months ago in a wardrobe,” he says, “and it made me think of you.”
“You stole it,” I finish for him.
He shakes his head. “You could just say thank you.”
“It’s beautiful, thank you,” I say, my heart dancing its way into my throat.
“It’ll be all right, Ember. I promise. Whatever the nightmares are about, whatever’s bothering you. It’ll be all right.”
He’s so confident, so sure, that it’s impossible not to believe him. I smile and nod once. He steps back and looks me over. “Now go get changed. You look like crap. And it wouldn’t kill you to run a comb through that hair, either. Seriously. Have a little pride.”
Well, that didn’t last long. I sigh and roll my eyes.
He just blows me a kiss. “Go talk to Flynn, and I’ll meet up with you after, okay?”
“Sure. Whatever.” I move to flip my hair back, but it’s too matted, and my hand just sort of sticks in it. So I settle for an awkward head scratch.
He walks toward the door, looking back over his shoulder at me for a second like he might have more to say, then turns and leaves the room.
As soon as he’s gone, I can breathe again. I feel flustered and uncomfortable, but mostly, there’s a deep sense of dread in the pit of my stomach at the idea of facing Flynn. For a minute, I debate just crawling back into bed. Yeah, right. If I don’t go to Flynn, no doubt he’ll come looking for me. And I’d rather be dressed for that particular conversation.
The Control Room has got to be my least favorite place in the whole building. It’s the central hub of the Tesla Institute and is filled, floor to ceiling, with computers and monitors. Unfortunately, it’s also about six stories underground and built like an old bomb shelter. The concrete walls are stained with ugly brown streaks dripping down from metal gas lamps screwed into the surface. The door itself might have been taken from an old bank vault—it’s the ultimate padlock, easily three feet thick with brass beams that, when closed, fill holes in the walls themselves. At least the upper levels try to give the illusion of being outside. Not this room. Everything about it makes me feel like I’m walking into a dungeon. I slip through and make my way beyond the workbenches in the outer room. Passing one, I’m drawn to a small metal spider-looking creature. Its bulbous head is full of red liquid. One sharp pincer is attached to the front and a tiny chainsaw-looking limb sits next to it on the table. Reaching down, I poke at the machine.
“In here, Ember,” Flynn calls from the next room. “And don’t touch the Peacekeeper.”
Inside, moisture clings to every surface, and it’s almost unbearably hot despite the many churning fans. The low hum from the computers mixes with the occasional burst of steam from the more antique components. I break into a sweat almost immediately.
Swallowing hard, I make my way toward the man at the main interface in the center of the room. Sitting in a high-backed, brown leather chair is Flynn. Only a small scratch on his chin mars his long face. He adjusts his glasses and waves me in. Beside him, in the interface panel, resides what’s left of Nikola Tesla. A round window, built into copper paneling and filled with green glowing liquid, houses the last remains of our leader. His brain floats there, suspended from tubes and wires hanging in the tank. To the right of the brain, in a box, a life-sized copy of Tesla is projected onto a wall of thick steam. He’s like a ghost, glaring at me.
“Ember. You owe us an explanation,” the projection demands, though its voice doesn’t come from its mouth but from tiny speakers hidden high in the ceiling.
“Yes, sir.” I take a deep breath. “I know you ordered me not to go after the boy, but I had to. It was instinct.”
It’s Flynn who responds. “Ember, I understand the urge to save another’s life. But you have to remember that Tesla gives you orders for a reason.”
“Those plans weren’t worth that little boy’s life,” I say so defiantly it surprises me. Flynn snaps his mouth closed and stares at me as if he’s trying to decide what to say.
“Of course they were,” Tesla breaks in. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of one.”
On the interface to my left, a screen flickers to life. It’s a newspaper report—VonWeitter’s obituary, dated nine months after the Fair. He killed himself after having his research funding pulled.
“And as for the boy you pulled from the flames…” Tesla says with a pause. An image flashes onto the screen. This time it’s a police report. “The young man you saved lived only five more years. He was killed by police officers after robbing an elderly couple on the street. As soon as the fire began, I was able to calculate the ripples it created in the timeline. If the boy’s life had been important, then I would have seen it. But in the end, it was not.”
I feel my mouth drop open. “How can you say that? Every life—every single one—is important. Maybe not to you, but to someone.” My hands ball into fists at my side. I know I shouldn’t speak to him like this, but I can’t help it. A cold fury is building inside me, and suddenly the room doesn’t seem so hot after all.
Even though his tone is still neutral, I can feel the sting of his words. “I can see beyond your tiny scope. I can see all that would have happened if the plans had been salvaged. The lives they would have changed, the discoveries they would have led to. They would have helped people in ways you cannot hope to fathom. Are those lives less important to you because you have not seen them for yourself?”
I look to Flynn, not knowing what to say. How could doing something that felt so right be so wrong? His face is sympathetic as he walks over and drops his arm across my shoulders. “I know it’s hard, Ember. But you have to learn to have absolute trust in Tesla. He knows what he’s doing.”
I look at the steamy ghost of Tesla. For all that he is, I know he’s doing what’s right for all of us. He’s trying to make the world a better place. I get that. I respect that. It’s what we all want, the whole reason we’re here. It’s why we train and use our abilities. Still, I can’t get that boy’s face out of my mind. In saving one, I failed so many others. My friends, my team, and countless faceless people I will never know. My stomach churns at the thought.