Chapter 8 · Try Seventeen

"Put the gun down."

Kyle's standing in the doorway like he owns the place. No weapon. No rush. Just that same grin he had the first time Mark caught him—seventeen tries ago, apparently.

Mark keeps the Glock level. "You're not walking out."

"Sure I am." Kyle steps inside, hands loose at his sides. "You shoot me, I reset. You cuff me, I reset. You lock me in a cell, I wake up Tuesday morning in my own bed and start over." He tilts his head. "You already know this."

Emma's behind Mark, breathing hard. She hasn't said a word since they booted the drive. Since they saw the kid in the lab chair—young Kyle, maybe sixteen, wired to a machine that looked like it belonged in a morgue.

"What was on that drive," Mark says, "that got her husband killed?"

"David?" Kyle laughs. "David was a loose end. He found the trial records. Started asking questions. So I cut the brake line and waited three days." He glances at Emma. "You hired the right guy, by the way. Mark actually figured it out. Took him eight loops, but he got there."

Emma's voice comes out raw. "You said seventeen.