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Emily Pope wouldn’t consider herself a control freak.
She was sure there was those who would argue differently. She’d been called a lot of different things over the years—rigid, particular, fussy—but they all meant the same thing. Emily has a particular way of doing things, and it’s difficult for the rest of us. But just because she had a particular way of doing things didn’t mean she was incapable of being flexible. She’d put a lot of effort into learning how.
Working at the FBC helped, in a way. There was a lot of structures in place, easy rules to follow; even if everything fell apart, she understood what she was supposed to do. Lockdown procedures made sense. Her research made sense. Following the Director made sense, especially the new Director. Jesse didn’t believe in bullshit. She was direct, most of the time, said what she meant without any mind games or double speak. She had her secrets, to be sure, but after seven years of close proximity, Emily thought she’d learned them all. Or at least the ones that were important to know.
But everything had fallen apart, this time spectacularly. The Oldest House was breached. New York City was the epicenter of the largest AWE in the Bureau’s history. Casualties were high and growing every day. And Jesse was gone. Just…gone, with no indication where she’d gone or what she planned on doing.
Things are going to get worse before they get better. And no matter what happens, I need you in my corner. Do you trust me?
Emily had said yes, and mean it. She still meant it. What she felt as she sat in the dimly-lit Board Room with her head in her hands wasn’t mistrust, or doubt. It was…frustration, maybe. Whatever emotion corresponded to wishing that Jesse had given her even remotely more actionable orders before she’d left.
What do you want me to do? What do you need me to do? There wasn’t a procedure or guideline in the world that could cover this. This went beyond her struggles with flexibility; everyone felt adrift. She just felt it more keenly than most.
Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw one of the remaining rangers open the door. “Doctor Pope?” they said.
“Yes?” Emily straightened up as quickly as she could. She hoped she still looked professional; control of her expressions was one of the first things to go in a crisis like this. She had to reserve her energy for other things, like not having a meltdown in the Board Room. “What is it?”
“Chief Arish said he needs you right away, ma’am.”
Emily’s stomach dropped. Last she saw Simon, he’d been going to talk to Dylan Faden. He must not have taken the news well. Hell, we’ve barely taken the news well. Emily had avoided speaking to Dylan because she’d assumed he would want nothing to do with her. She was the new head of Research and Doctor Darling’s former assistant. Better if she stayed out of things.
But Simon needed her. That was something actionable. Something she could do.
“Lead the way,” she said.
.
Emily had only directly spoken to Dylan Faden twice.
The first and longer interaction was when he turned himself in during the Hiss invasion. Emily had known who he was almost immediately. The P6 on his sweater was the first giveaway. The second was his eyes. They reminded her of Jesse’s, for the few seconds she’d been able to look at them directly before having to focus elsewhere. There was something more intense about them that went beyond her usual discomfort. Like something else is watching from the other side.
“Dylan Faden?”
He’d tilted his head slightly, examining her like she was an insect in a jar. “I used to be,” he’d said.
That’s. Not a normal response. Her gut instinct had been to ask what he was now, or what he thought he was now, but she’d tried to stay focused on the possibility of giving Jesse good news. “Your sister’s been looking for you,” she’d said. “I can call her back here…”
“Is Casper here?”
Hearing Darling referred to by his first name was both a shock and a vital piece of information. Emily had worked out that he was involved in the Prime Candidate program and P6, but she hadn’t known he was on a first name basis with anyone involved. How deep does this go? I have so many questions for him…but, focus. Jesse’s brother is back. She needs to know. “Doctor Darling is still missing at the moment. I’m Doctor Emily Pope, his research assistant. If you have any questions about anything…”
“Coward.”
“Excuse me?”
It had taken her a moment to realize that he wasn’t talking to her anymore. His line of sight had moved away from her, and his eyes were distant. She’d heard the insult, but it was spoken softly, like it wasn’t meant for her. First name basis, but…there was animosity there, maybe? Darling, what did you do?
Her thoughts had been interrupted by Dylan’s voice. “You’ve taken your boss with your boss with you. All hair must be eaten. Under the conceptual reality behind this reality, you must want these waves to drag you away…”
The room devolved into panic. Guns were drawn; someone had pushed her back, nearly knocking her over, as Dylan started hovering. “After the song, time for applause. This cliché is death out of time, breaking the first, the second, the third, the fourth wall, fifth wall, floor, no floor, you fall…”
She hadn’t had the Hiss chant drilled into her head quite so thoroughly then. It was still more than background noise, still terrifying. Emily still wasn’t sure what was worse: the days when it frightened her so badly, or the days to come when it became so mundane that she could probably recite it herself if you asked her to.
“…so safe, nothing to worry about. Haha…”
But Dylan had done something unexpected again: he’d lowered back to the floor. His eyes had re-opened, re-fixed on her.
“Funny.”
And then he’d spoken an autonomous sentence.
“You gonna put me in containment now?”
They had. And Emily had avoided speaking to him until he ran into her, literally directly into her, seven years later. They’d both changed a lot in that time. Longer hair. Desperate eyes. Emily couldn’t clearly remember what she’d said—she was pretty sure she’d just screamed—but she could remember Dylan’s words.
“Where’s Jesse? Where’s my sister?”
She wished she knew.
.
The place was swarming with rangers by the time Emily arrived. Worried whispers surrounded her like rainfall, like Hiss chatter. She pushed her way through the crowd to Simon Arish. He stood in front of the door to Marshall’s old office—Simon refused to call it his, despite functionally taking over her position—as if he were keeping anyone from getting in. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just…need a second opinion.” Simon glanced over his shoulder through the glass door. “He didn’t take the news well. He’s been in there talking to himself for a while. The guys think he’s still infected, but I’m not sure it’s that.”
“What else do you want to call it?” someone demanded. “It sounds like Hiss. If he’s still infected…”
“Will you let Doctor Pope listen?” Simon snapped. Emily barely held back a flinch. Simon never used that tone, ever. The past few days must’ve gotten to him more than she’d realized. “I told you to stand down. We’re not shooting the Director’s brother without evidence.”
The space fell silent. All eyes were on Emily now. She tried to keep her focus on Simon as he stepped aside slightly, pushing open the door enough for her to hear.
Emily knew why the rangers were so nervous. Dylan’s speech had the flat, continuous quality of those infected by the Hiss. If you just happened to be walking by, it could easily be taken for a bout of chanting. Emily pushed past the superficial similarities and listened as closely as she could.
“I’m outside. In a forest. The sun is shining. Birds are calling. I feel dirt beneath my feet. A breeze. Everything smells like rain. I’m not here. I’m in a forest. Sunlight on my face. Birds are flying past…”
Emily glanced towards Simon. His face was hard to read, but there were lines between his eyes that she didn’t usually see. Nerves, fear? She risked leaning a little further into the room. Dylan was crouched in the furthest corner, practically in the fetal position, completely still. His right hand clutched tightly at his hair, pulling at it so strongly she was surprised it wasn’t coming out at the root.
Oh. She knew what this was.
Emily immediately leaned back out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind her. “It’s not Hiss,” she said. “The words don’t match any of the Hiss chant variants we’ve heard, and it’s too coherent overall. He’s trying to self-soothe. He’s not infected, and he’s not a threat.” Not to any of them. To himself, maybe. “You said he didn’t take the news well?”
Simon nodded. “He threw a few things. Screamed at me to get out. I wanted to give him space, so I’ve been out here.”
Dylan was upset. Upset to the point that he couldn’t handle his emotions anymore. Maybe he didn’t know how to. But Emily knew. She had a lot of personal experience.
Something actionable. Something I can do.
“I think I can help him calm down,” Emily said. “I’ll be right back.”
A thousand thoughts ran through Emily’s head as she jogged towards her own office. All the stories Jesse had told her over the last few years about Dylan. All the files she’d read about the Prime Candidate program. The frightened boy from Ordinary. The man who’d killed several researchers and security, even before the Hiss. The man who’d looked her so calmly in the eyes and asked where Doctor Darling was…why? For revenge? Could she really fault him for that? Not that Emily wanted Darling dead, but if she were Dylan Faden, that would be a logical thing to want.
She was suddenly in her office, her hand hesitating over a wooden box. She preferred her spaces tidy, so it was the only personal effect she had. Sensory items, mostly, along with a few communication aids she hadn’t needed in a while. Things that might be able to help Dylan as much as they helped her…assuming…
Is he really only a threat to himself?
The question was answered with another one: Do you trust me? The last thing Jesse had asked of her. Not even as Director. As Emily’s friend.
Trusting Jesse, Emily decided, meant trusting Dylan. Or at least, trying to. Because Jesse had trusted him enough to pry the Service Weapon in two and leave part of it with her brother. The warped portraits around the Oldest House said she’d done…something. Something unprecedented. Even if she’d only done it to protect him, to make him too important to be hurt or killed without cause…
I have to trust her. I have to trust them both.
Emily opened the box, grabbed the spikiest massage ball she owned, and started the jog back to Marshall’s office.
Some of the rangers had dispersed by the time she got back, but a few still hung around, holding their rifles as if they expected a shootout. Simon still guarded the door. “Nothing’s changed,” he said. “Are you going in?”
“I have to. You can come with me, just keep your distance. I don’t want him to feel crowded.”
Doubt crept in. What do I say to him? She wasn’t especially good at comforting people. Clinical was a word that had been thrown around, but that had never been her intention. She just didn’t know how else to…exist. Life had been one giant puzzle for as long as she could remember, and she approached most things the way she approached her research. Look at the evidence, make a hypothesis, act on it. Jesse had never found it strange. At least you’re trying.
Emily just hoped Dylan felt the same way.
He hadn’t moved in the time she’d been gone. His voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper, but the mantra was more or less the same. “In a forest. Not here. Sunlight. Trees everywhere. A field of flowers. Not here. Not here. Not here. I’m in the forest…”
“Dylan?” His speech stopped abruptly. “I’m Emily Pope. We’ve spoken before. Do you remember?”
“…Research.” Dylan tilted his head enough that one eye stared at her, accusatory, cold. “What do you want?”
Her first instinct was to assume she’d already done something wrong. Emily shoved it away. He’s on the defensive. Alone. Scared. Not thinking rationally. It’s not you. It’s everything else. “I wanted to be sure you’re okay.” She crouched down what seemed like a safe distance away. “I know, you’re probably feeling a lot right now, but do you think you could try this instead?” She rolled the massage ball towards him. “It’s helped me before.”
Dylan looked down at the ball, then back at her, his visible eye narrowed. Use a personal anecdote so he knows it’s not a trap? “I used to use a rubber band, but this works better. Less risk of breaking the skin.”
For a long moment, they were in a standoff. Just when Emily started reconsidering her approach, Dylan’s white-knuckle grip on his hair loosened. He reached carefully for the massage ball and gripped it tightly. Emily could picture the indents forming in his palm, stinging slightly without causing permanent damage. Dylan started to uncurl; something hit the floor with a heavy thud as he settled back onto his heels and started rolling the ball between the palm of his hands in slow circles. He stopped staring at her so intensely, instead fixing his eyes on the ball.
There. He’s calming down. That’s a good step, but now what?
Outside. A forest. Sunshine. He’d been evoking imagery of a world he hadn’t seen since Ordinary, Emily realized with a stab of guilt. That guilt wasn’t hers to bear, but she was the face of the department that had hurt him so severely. That must have been devastating for Dylan: waking up still in your prison, without your sister, surrounded by the people who’d inherited the system that had harmed you. He didn’t know they wanted to change things, to make things right. He had no way of knowing.
You know what he wants. You promised Jesse. You need him to trust you, too.
Sometimes science was about taking risks.
“Do you want to get some air?”
Dylan’s gaze darted back to her. “What?”
“We can go outside. Not far, but the door’s open. The perimeter’s still secure, right, Simon?”
“Was last I checked,” Simon said without hesitation.
Dylan’s stare fixed on Simon now. “Your buddies aren’t gonna shoot me?” he said.
“Don’t worry about them. You’re with us. They’ll leave you alone.”
The room fell back into tense silence again. Dylan was the first to move. He picked up the Service Weapon fragment and unfolded himself, moving from crouching to standing unsteadily. Emily stood up as well, making sure to keep distance for both their sakes. Simon was the first out the door. “We’re coming out,” he said sternly. “Behave yourselves.”
Fortunately, the rangers did. The three of them were allowed through, with Simon leading the way, Dylan in the middle, and Emily taking up the rear. Dylan’s shoulders stayed tense; he gripped the Service Weapon fragment as tightly as he gripped the massage ball. His gaze rarely stayed in one place, fixing on every side hallway, passer-by, and shadow they walked past. The only place he refused to look were the portraits.
Emily couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t especially fond of them, either. She could handle the humans around her not knowing what to do. The Oldest House not knowing how to respond—splicing the siblings’ faces together like mismatched puzzles, placing Dylan or Jesse as a specter in the background, or sometimes showing a completely empty chair—was unthinkable.
The portraits near the entrance were the worst. The Director’s portrait looked like someone had tried to smear Jesse’s face around to more closely resemble Dylan. Despite all their shared features—and they’d certainly looked a lot alike in the childhood photo from the Prime Candidate files—the result was grotesque. A haunting shadow that ended up resembling neither of them.
“I thought you were his assistant,” Dylan said suddenly.
“What?” Emily followed Dylan’s gaze. He was looking at the Head of Research portrait; the sight of it made her head spin. That was her, sitting and posing for a portrait that had never been painted by human hands. She’d technically been Head of Research for a few years; why did she feel the weight of that responsibility now? “I…got promoted during the lockdown. I didn’t know…”
Dylan was staring at her again. Emily couldn’t even keep her gaze in the general area of his face. She found herself staring at the Service Weapon fragment instead. It had stayed in a staff-like form since Dylan had woken up. Excalibur. Mjolnir. Varunastra. Back to basics, maybe? As a response to the crisis at hand, or to Dylan’s mental state? I don’t know if he’s had any combat training outside of…
“At least it’s a good picture,” Simon said. “The Oldest House does better work pics than every ID I’ve ever had.” Emily felt a laugh bubble up in her, despite herself. Good old Simon; no wonder everyone had accepted his leadership so readily. “Come on. We’re almost there.”
Going through the metal detector felt almost laughable. Even if someone came through with a weapon, what more could they possibly do that the Hiss and everything else hadn’t already done? The front lobby was full of rangers, security staff, and a handful of non-combatant staff trying to get a bit of fresh air. There would probably be more outside. The three of them were let through, though not without a few confused whispers and intense stares.
The glass had been swept away and the bodies removed, but there were still bloodstains on the steps. People moving back into and out of the Oldest House as the perimeter defense changed shifts walked around the stains instinctively. New habits, new routines, new protocols, even as the world outside grew increasingly chaotic. The sky was a perpetual sunset gold, but the winds weren’t so bad today. It was almost nice…if you ignored the way the streets beyond the perimeter had turned into a series of dizzying fractals, stretching as far as the eye could see. Emily felt her chest constrict; the sheer wrongness of it all made her turn around.
Dylan stood in the shadows of the entryway, shielding his face with his arm. Photosensitivity. Shit, I should have thought of that. She was about to ask Simon if he knew where to find sunglasses when Dylan slowly lowered his arm. He was still squinting, and his first steps were hesitant. But he was outside.
I’m seeing his first steps outside the Oldest House in twenty-four years.
Dylan sinking to the steps of the Oldest House and starting to cry wasn’t a shock. It was a logical outcome. Emily might not be able to guess the emotion behind them, but she certainly couldn’t blame him.
He wasn’t the first person to cry on these steps, and he wouldn’t be the last before this was over.
.
Dylan was much more open to talking once he was done crying. Simon and Emily told him about the security footage from before Jesse’s disappearance; in return, he told them what little he remembered from before he woke up. His voice may have been flat and his gaze distant, but he had answers.
Unfortunately, the Board was involved, so those answers didn’t make as much sense as Emily wanted.
“Gone…fishing?” Simon said, confused.
Dylan shrugged. “Or rogue. Sometimes they’ll say something and it’s like…two words at once.” He’d gone back to rolling the massage ball between his hands. “Doesn’t change the meaning. She’s gone, and they don’t know where she went, either. She really didn’t say anything else about it? Just…trust me and I’m sorry?”
“There may have been one other thing,” Emily admitted. “The camera audio didn’t pick up anything, but we tried to read her lips.” She’d redacted this detail herself in the general file, but Dylan deserved to know. “Best we could tell…love you, pickle?”
She hadn’t been sure about the last part, but Dylan’s sudden, strong flinch confirmed its accuracy. “Mom used to call me that,” he said. “Dylan, Dill, Dill Pickle…” He stopped rolling the massage ball, instead sandwiching it between the heels of his hands, pushing down as hard as he could. “I didn’t know she remembered that.”
It seemed to Emily like the kind of detail a sister would remember, but it was a thought based on incomplete information, so she kept it to herself. “Did they say anything about the Service Weapon?”
“Aberrant.”
“What?”
“Jesse’s got the Service Weapon still. This is…” He switched to gripping the massage ball in one hand and picked up the weapon with his other hand. “Aberrant. That’s its name.” Aberrant. Diverging from the normal type. It wasn’t an inaccurate name, that was for sure. “And yeah, I guess so.”
“What did they say?”
For a moment, Dylan stared at the weapon. Emily had been around the Service Weapon a lot since Jesse had taken over, and observed the way it seemed to twitch and strain against its own shape, even when at rest. Its fragment—the Aberrant—seemed equally restless. It vibrated instead of twitching; if Emily listened hard enough, she thought she could hear it ringing.
Resonance. Like Hedron and Polaris. Like the Hiss. Maybe the key to everything.
“You’re up,” Dylan said finally.
He’d been accepted by the Board. By the House. By Jesse. But the wider FBC wouldn’t, Emily was sure. Not after Dylan’s part in the Hiss invasion. Jesse must have known that when she’d given the Aberrant to Dylan. So why?
Trust me.
Trust was hard. Uncertainty was hard. Emily responded to it with questions, research, peeling back as many layers as she could. But even the most devoted scientists couldn’t learn everything in their lifetime. Control what you can. The rest…
The rest might be in Dylan’s hands.
“I know you have no reason to trust us,” Emily said carefully. “To do…anything for us. But Jesse isn’t just the Director to me. She’s my friend, and I want to find her, too.” She held out her hand to Dylan. “Do you think we can work together on that, at least? For her sake?
Dylan’s stare was piercing, even with the strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. Emily tried to keep her own face open, readable, even as she broke off eye contact and focused on the tension in his jaw. She noticed back and forth movement—grinding teeth, maybe chewing his cheeks. (She hoped not that. She used to chew her cuticles, and the stinging pain had always made her regret it later. It had still taken her a long time to redirect the urge. Negative habits felt harder to break than positive ones sometimes.) She wasn’t sure what Dylan saw in her, but he reached out in response, placing the massage ball back in her palm. They both held it for a second, spikes pressing into both their skin. His fingers were cold and shaking. Matching the resonance of the Aberrant, maybe?
His hand dropped away before she could analyze it. “I think I’m gonna need shoes,” he said finally.
Emily nodded immediately. “We can do that, I think. Simon?”
“Most of what we’ve got is spare ranger gear, but, yeah, there’s shoes.” He stood up and offered Dylan a hand. “We’ll get you up to speed once you’re changed.”
Dylan grunted in response, and stood up without assistance. Simon was the first back inside the building; Dylan, while he hesitated in the doorway, followed after taking one last deep breath. Emily was the last in, and lingered longer than Dylan did.
Jesse was out there. Whatever plan she had, Emily trusted it—or at least, she was trying to. But that trust wasn’t incompatible with trying to find her. They needed to stand together, now more than ever. That included Dylan.
I just hope he starts to trust us, too.