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Mara tugged at the dress collar and wanted to burn it. Silk. Real silk, probably older than her clinic, and it fit like Juno had measured her in her sleep. Which she might've. The fabric stopped just above her collarbone and left her arms bare, and every time she moved it whispered against her skin like it cost more than her brother's monthly labor contract. It did.
"Stop pulling at it." Juno leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You look like you're trying to strangle yourself."
"I look like I mugged someone's grandmother."
"You look expensive. That's the point." Juno jerked her chin toward the corner where Kade was buttoning a shirt that actually fit him. Dark gray, tailored, nothing like the blood-crusted jacket he'd stumbled in with three days ago. "He cleans up. You should try it without the scowl."
Mara glared. Juno grinned and tossed a makeup compact onto the table. It clattered, old-world metal and glass. "Get him camera-ready. You've got thirty minutes before the car comes."
"We don't need—"
"You need to look like you've touched him before. On purpose." Juno pushed off the frame and walked out, boots loud on concrete. "Practice or fail. Your call."
The door clicked shut. Mara stood there in the too-expensive dress, holding a compact she didn't know how to use, and stared at Kade. He stared back. His shirt was buttoned wrong.
"Come here," she said.
He crossed the room. Didn't hesitate, just moved, and she realized he walked different now. Less like he was hunting for exits and more like he'd already memorized them. Her fingers went to his collar and started fixing the buttons. Third one down was off by one.
"You've done this before," he said. His voice was low, still rough at the edges.
"I sew people back together. Buttons aren't hard."
"I meant the lying."
Her hands stopped. She looked up. He was too close, and the light from the single overhead bulb caught the edge of his jaw, the line of his throat. She'd cut the staples out yesterday. The skin had sealed clean, no infection, but she could still see the thin red line where she'd pulled him back from bleeding out on her floor.
"Everyone lies," she said.
"You're good at it."
"Thanks. I think." She finished the last button and stepped back, but he caught her wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop her.
"If I remember something up there—" He didn't finish.
"Then don't."
"I might not get a choice."
Mara pulled her hand free and picked up the compact. Flipped it open. Some kind of powder inside, pale and shimmering, and she had no idea what it was for. "Then I'll kick you and call you a bastard. Couples fight."
"That the cover?"
"Part of it." She dabbed her finger in the powder, testing. It clung to her skin, faintly metallic. "We're old money. Bored. Slumming at an Oryx function because your family's invested and I'm dragged along. You're moderately annoyed. I'm extremely annoyed. We've been together two years and we're thinking about breaking up but haven't pulled the trigger."
Kade watched her try to apply the powder to her cheekbone and fail. She rubbed at it. It smeared. He took the compact out of her hand.
"What are you—"
"Hold still."
He touched her face. Fingertips first, turning her jaw toward the light, and then the pad of his thumb swept across her cheekbone, smoothing the shimmer into her skin. His hand was warm. She could feel the calluses, the places where his skin had split and healed over and over, and her heart kicked once, hard, behind her ribs.
"Where'd you learn that?" she asked. Her voice came out quieter than she wanted.
"I don't know."
His thumb traced the line of her cheek again, slower this time, and she should've stepped back. Should've said something sharp and cutting, should've shoved him away and told him to keep his head in the job. But she didn't. She stood there and let him touch her face like he'd done it a thousand times before, and the air in the room got heavier, thicker, like the space between them was running out.
"Mara." His voice dropped. His eyes were gray, pale gray, almost colorless in the bad light, and they were locked on hers. "If this goes wrong—"
"It won't."
"You don't know that."
"I know I'm not dying in a dress I can't return." She took the compact back and snapped it shut. Her hand was shaking. Just a little. She turned away before he could see. "We need to move."
Behind her, Kade exhaled. It sounded like something between a laugh and a curse. She heard fabric shift as he pulled on the jacket Juno had left, good cut, expensive lining, the kind of thing that said money without trying.
"Come here," he said.
She turned. He was holding out his hand. Not asking. Just waiting.
"We're practicing," he said. "Juno's right. You look like you want to kill me."
"I do want to kill you. You're inconvenient."
"Then pretend I'm convenient. For two hours." His hand stayed out. "Please."
She crossed back to him. Took his hand. His fingers closed around hers, warm and steady, and he pulled her in close, one hand at her waist. Not tight. Just there. She could feel the heat of his palm through the silk.
"You're supposed to look at me," he said.
She looked up. Big mistake. He was right there, close enough that she could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the faint scar that split his left eyebrow. Close enough that when he breathed she felt it.
"Like this?" she asked.
"Yeah. Like that."
His thumb moved against her waist, a slow circle, barely pressure, and something low in her stomach twisted. This was fake. This was a job. This was the only way into the gala, the only way to the guest registry, the only way to figure out why Kade's heart was counting down and why her mother's passcode was locked inside him. She knew that.
Her free hand came up. Rested against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat under her palm, strong and steady, and under that the faint hum of the core. The thing that was killing him. The thing that knew her mother's voice.
Her hand stayed there one beat too long. Then another. His heartbeat kicked, faster, and his fingers tightened at her waist.
"Mara—"
The lights cut out. All of them. The clinic went black and silent, and Kade moved fast, pulling her down and back, his body between her and the door. She felt the shift in his weight, the way his breathing changed, and under her hand his heart was racing now.
"Stay down," he said. His voice was different. Flat. Cold. Not Kade. Someone else.
The emergency lights kicked on, dim red strips along the floor, and Juno's voice crackled through the old intercom.
"Power surge. Grid's fine. Relax." A pause. "Car's here. Move."
Kade didn't let go right away. He stayed there, crouched over her, his hand at the back of her neck, and when he finally pulled back his eyes were wrong. Distant. Hunting.
"Kade."
He blinked. Focused. The coldness drained out of his face and he looked sick. "Sorry. I—sorry."
He stood and pulled her up with him. His hand was shaking now. She could feel it.
"What did you remember?" she asked.
He didn't answer. Just grabbed the jacket off the chair and shrugged into it, movements fast and mechanical. She'd seen that look before. Patients who'd had their neural grafts fried. The ones who couldn't tell the difference between three years ago and yesterday.
"Kade."
"We need to go." He turned toward the door, then stopped. Looked back at her. "You asked what I remembered."
"Yeah."
"Your mother. Strapped to a surgical table. Screaming." His jaw tightened. "And I was holding the clamps."
The air went out of her lungs. For a second she couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stare at him. Then her training kicked in and she shoved it all down, locked it away, and forced her face smooth.
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Then you're remembering wrong. Trauma does that. Screws up the timeline."
"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. He sounded hollow. "Car's waiting."
He walked out. Mara stood there in the red emergency light, her hand still warm from his chest, and counted to five. Then she followed.
The car was sleek, black, expensive enough that it didn't have a driver. Autopilot only, route locked. Juno leaned against it, smoking something that smelled like burnt sugar and bad decisions.
"You two look cozy," she said.
Mara ignored her and slid into the back seat. Kade got in on the other side, careful not to touch her. The space between them felt like a canyon.
Juno leaned in through the window. "IDs are in the dash. Scan them when you're two blocks out. They'll hold for three hours, maybe four. After that you're ghosts again." She flicked ash onto the pavement. "Don't die. I hate refunds."
The car pulled away, smooth and silent. Mara watched the clinic disappear behind them, the red lights fading into the tangle of neon and rust that made up her neighborhood. Kade was looking straight ahead, his hands loose on his knees, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was locked.
"You don't remember it right," she said. "You can't."
"I know what I saw."
"You saw wrong."
He turned his head. Looked at her. "You want me to lie?"
"I want you to shut up and do the job." She reached into the dash and pulled out two ID chips, slim and silver, warm to the touch. Fresh forgeries. Expensive ones. She handed him one. "Scan it."
He pressed his thumb to the chip. It lit up, soft blue, and a holo flickered in the air between them. Name, photo, credit line, family registry. All clean. All fake. The holo cycled through and went green.
Mara scanned hers. The chip warmed under her thumb, then flared, and the holo stuttered. Flickered. Her photo loaded first. Then her name. Then her ID number. Then—
DECEASED. STATUS CONFIRMED. DATE OF DEATH: 10 YEARS PRIOR.
The holo froze. Kade leaned forward, staring at it, and Mara felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She scanned it again. Same result. Same date. Same cold, clean letters floating in the air between them.
"That's not possible," she said.
Kade took the chip out of her hand. Scanned it himself. The holo came up red this time, error codes scrolling fast, and underneath it all the same message.
DECEASED.
"Juno doesn't make mistakes," Mara said. Her voice sounded far away. "She doesn't—this isn't—"
Kade's hand closed over hers. Tight. "Breathe."
She breathed. The car turned onto the bridge, glass towers rising ahead of them, all light and clean edges and money. The kind of place she didn't belong. The kind of place that ate people like her.
"Someone erased you," Kade said. He was still holding her hand. "Ten years ago. Right after your mother died."
Mara looked at the holo. At her own face, younger, smiling in a photo she didn't remember taking. At the red letters that said she'd been dead for a decade.
"Who?" she asked.
Kade didn't answer. He was staring at the tower ahead, the one with the Oryx logo burning at the top, and his hand was still shaking.
The car pulled into the gala entrance, all white marble and golden light, and somewhere inside, someone was waiting for a ghost.