Chapter 27 · Make Them Remember

"Don't touch that," the hunter said.

Tavi hit the console anyway.

The tower's dead screens flashed white. Then black. Then a dozen red warning bars crawled across them, and Tavi felt the armored hand grab the back of his coat and haul him off the controls. His shoulder slammed into the wall hard enough to numb his arm.

"You people really need new threats," he wheezed. "That one's getting old."

The hunter didn't blink.

That was the problem.

Tavi knew him—not well, but enough. A checkpoint officer from District Six. Once bought three forged transit stamps and complained for ten minutes straight about the ink color.

Now there was a gray line under his left eye, and his pupils kept twitching toward the tower screens.

Memory work.

Someone had hollowed him out and stuffed the gaps with orders.

The hunter raised the baton again.

Tavi kicked his knee.

The man folded with a grunt. Tavi snatched up the signal key, jammed it into the console, and slapped the broadcast lever down.

Every screen in the control room screamed awake.

"Come on," Tavi muttered. "Come on, you beautiful piece of stolen trash."

The signal stuttered. Static chewed through the first feed.