Page 17 of Amethyst Flame
I tilted my head, as if to think. “So…be uncooperative. Good to know. Thanks.” I blew some more on the cheese, then took the pocket’s temperature with my tongue. Burned. Damn.
My stomach made a monster noise.
“Look, Mo.” Jacob pulled out the other seat and sat himself down. “We spent the day digging around in various corporations and research groups who are doing nanotech development.”
Conundrum: I didn’t want to listen to them, but I wanted to hear what they had to say. A Mo Paradox, if you will.
In answer, I took my first sizzling bite. And immediately started panting over the fire on my tongue. Too soon. Too soon.
Jacob went on while Dane stood up and—shocker—got me a glass of water. “The nanotech landscape is changing faster than even I imagined.”
I glared at him. “You don’t say.”
But Jacob went on. “There’s a great opportunity to gather some intel from…guess where? No, you’ll never guess. It’sBantaMatrix.”
My lip curled, but I covered it with a sip that turned into a gulp of water.
“But only you can do it,” he finished.
See now, that just pissed me off because we—Jacob and I—already had all the intel we needed from Banta. We had it on the White Wafer of Doom. Why would I care whether Dane had the same shit or if all his intel was out of date? Answer: I didn’t. And neither should Jacob.
It was official: I needed to do my own damn debrief of Jacob to find out what the hell he was playing at.
“Pass,” I said, and I eyed my dinner again, looking so innocent and yummy on my plate. Was the Hot Pocket ready to play nice?
I didn’t miss the glance Jacob shot Dane. A little silent communication over there.
“Ms. Taylor,” Dane said, apparently taking over, “you have repeatedly demonstrated an interest in using the moth tech within you. This is a chance to learn more about it and be a part of the team.”
“I know enough.” Not only had I figured out how to use them—on my own—but I also had the white wafer. And I was not interested in working with these douchebags.
Jacob must’ve read my mind a little bit. He gave me a weighty stare as he said, “But, see, in the past five months, Banta has not only renovated the building you burned, but hive development has begun again. In fact, my research today points toan accelerationin their implementation projects. Weneed to knowwhat they are doing.”
Implementation meant they had something that worked.
Which I already knew because I was still alive.
But it also meant that the white wafer might be out of date.
Fuck.
Because, yeah, if I’d already had five months of nightmares about the moths—what they were doing to me and who was out to get me and what would happen to my mom without me—then knowing that Banta was up and running again was going to render me utterly sleepless. And paranoid.
My stomach was churning. I shoved the Hot Pocket away. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
I was thinking some stealthy spy shit. Earn my sunglasses.
“We need to get you inside,” Dane told me.
A roaring in my ears—the sound of terror—muted the rest of what he said. Something likeBlah blah blah internship blah blah
“I’m sorry,what?” I asked.
“You don’t have to shout, Ms. Taylor.”
I gaped at him while my brain hitched.Inside?Had he said inside? Because I almost died the last time. My mom too. We’d had to fight—to kill—to get out. And he wanted me to go inside. Again.
I distinctly recalled a helicopter taking off as I was wheeled into the back of an ambulance. Someone else had survived that day. Had gotten away. Someone who’d had to have known about me.
