CHAPTER ONE

[Your life is a lie.]

The backlit characters surged in Cal’s memory, as vivid as the first time they sprang into existence on his laptop monitor. Chasing those words had led him to this interrogation room as sure as an addict hunted their next fix.

A thin rivulet of water ran from a rusted pipe, leaving a trail on the wall the colour of blood. The white paint on the brick looked as tired as the detective who’d read Cal his rights, beaten by time and ready for retirement. Light blazed from a bulb in the ceiling, bright enough to be called violent. Cal wrinkled his nose at the harsh tang of disinfectant wafting from the table, the undertones of sour vomit prompting him to keep both hands clasped in his lap. The hard plastic of the chair bit into his ass, forcing him to shift every few minutes to seek a comfort he suspected didn’t exist.

How many had sat where he was now, stewing in their anxiety, waiting for the cops to decide their nerves were ready for ripping? Jin had told him to be patient while she prepared his escape, but he hadn’t listened. How could he, when the world bled with bullshit?

Sitting there, the interrogation room didn’t feel like a lie. It felt like a threat. The walls tightened around him with each passing second, like a garbage compactor preparing to crush his entire life. Perhaps he should have listened to Jin, but if this was a lie, what danger could there be?

The door yawned open without warning, hinges whimpering. A black-garbed man strode inside, eyeballing Cal with the superior disapproval of someone used to snuffing out their subordinates. Cal’s heart stopped at the sight of him—not because he wasn’t the detective who’d arrested him, or because he scrutinised Cal like a surgeon deciding where to make the first incision. No, it was because the stranger was a White.

Pure white hair had been sculpted to the man’s scalp with enough definition to forensically match the comb responsible. There was one rule about the Whites: stay the fuck away. Everyone in Vescor knew those spotted in the company of Whites were never seen again.

This one appeared to be around thirty, though Cal had never been good at telling people’s ages. Some said the Whites never aged, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. The stranger wore a flowing leather coat with oversized lapels, a black shirt underneath. Lean as an athlete, he sported an impressive nose reminiscent of a vulture’s beak.

As the man grabbed the chair opposite Cal and slid it back, the rubber stoppers screamed in panic. Those unforgiving eyes locked onto him like missile guidance systems. Could the Whites know about Jin, and Cal’s imminent escape?

“Calvin Henderson.” The man’s calm baritone held a tenor of distaste. “You . . . are an aberration.”

Cal started at the unexpected statement. “What are you⁠—”

“An anomaly.” He cut Cal off, clean as a scalpel. “We know everything.”

The statement prompted those glowing letters to hover before Cal. Your life is a lie. They filled him with sudden, irrational confidence.

“You don’t know shit.”

As soon as the words left his lips, he wanted to claw them back, his courage bleeding away with every second of uninterrupted quiet. All he could hear was his own laboured breathing, like a jet engine in his ears.

The stranger’s expression remained flat. He leaned forwards on his elbows, apparently unperturbed by the smell emanating from the table. “Tell me what happened on the 23rd of October.”

Wednesday. Two days ago.

Cal forced himself not to react. That had been the day the first message from Jin lit up on his laptop screen, appearing from nowhere. He still didn’t know how she’d hacked her way inside and assumed control of the machine. How much did they know? He willed himself to stillness as he absorbed the question, frantically reaching for a response.

He decided to play dumb, offering a shrug. “Nothing happened.”

Across the table, the man’s pupils focused like precision lasers. “You’re lying.”

“You’re the fucking lie,” Cal spat back.

Cursing his lack of self-control, he fought to remain expressionless, as though his reply was reasoned and intentional. Get through this, and Jin would come. Then he could flee Vescor and finally be free of the lies.

The White drummed the fingers of his right hand on the table in a rolling wave. Five times. Then he stopped. “You did not attend work two days later on the 25th of October. Instead, you chose to walk. You crossed block after block after block, barely stopping even for traffic.”

Cal remembered. The further he’d gone, the more his heart had pounded, and not from the exercise. After a while, the city blocks had drained of all life, as empty as if it were the early hours of the morning, except the sun had still been high in the sky, beating down and drenching him in sweat. He’d raced through deserted streets, past vacant buildings, until finally, night had fallen and he’d been forced to stop and rest from sheer exhaustion. He’d hunkered down in the alcove of an empty pharmacy and fallen asleep.

When he awoke, he was back in bed—his own bed, in his apartment, with no knowledge of how he’d returned. Had they been watching him the whole time?

Fingers drummed the table once more, though the White remained cool and impassive. “Where were you going, Mr Henderson? What did you hope to find?”

Cal mustered a smile, infecting it with as much insolence as he could manage. “I needed the exercise.”

“We know everything. We know the Scorched infiltrated our systems. It would be . . . prudent . . . to tell the truth.”

Cal tried to hold the smile, but it felt false now. The Scorched? Did he mean Jin?

“Tell me,” the man continued, “when did the Scorched first make contact?”

“If you know everything, why ask questions?”

The stranger leaned back and swiped at his shirt with splayed fingers, dusting off lint Cal couldn’t see. White hair glistened under the pounding lights. “I have other ways of extracting information. Other, less subtle methods. You would not survive the experience.” He clasped his hands together on the tabletop. “But I abhor waste, Mr Henderson. Perhaps you do not understand what is at stake?”

They sat in silence, staring at each other. The faint buzz of the bulb overhead bled into the swollen breach. Cal’s mouth dried out, moisture fleeing before the onslaught. After what felt like an age, he swallowed, the sound of his saliva betraying his lack of calm.

The door opened again, carving through the quiet, and an incandescent figure drifted into the room. A figure in the shape of a person, pulsing with pure light. It was humanoid: arms, legs, head, torso—the whole deal. But it had no face, no features. Nothing at all. Smoothness dominated where definition should have been.

Cal’s control combusted to ash. He shot to his feet and kicked back his chair, stumbling away from the glowing aberration. “What the fuck is that?”

The form weaved around the table, and Cal realised why it moved with such strangeness. Its toeless feet hovered above the floor, the creature floating like a ghostly apparition.

It couldn’t be real . . . could it? Menace emanated from it in waves, and somehow Cal knew Death followed in its wake. A preternatural sense pinged inside him, like an overloaded alarm system. Wiry tendrils of terror pierced every pore, each one infecting him with peril.

Cal clenched his jaw, heart punching his ribcage like a prizefighter. His gaze flitted between the stranger and the door and the demon. He weighed his odds of vaulting the table and making it outside before they nabbed him again. Close to naught.

“Jin,” Cal whispered, desperation squeezing his vocal cords. “Help me.” The plea escaped his lips unintended, as though someone else had assumed control.

A black-sleeved arm sliced up to a hard stop, commanding the phantom to halt its procession. It bobbed on the spot to a mechanical rhythm.

“What did you say?” The man stood and stepped closer. “How do you know that name?”

Cal clamped his mouth shut, breathing heavily through his nose. He shook his head once, hard, glaring across the table.

The man scowled. “I will have your secrets.” He gestured at the monster. “Contemplate your doom.”

He slammed the door on his way out, leaving Cal standing there, hands trembling with surplus adrenaline, alone with the shining figure looming in the corner. Even the hum of the thing couldn’t compete with the hammering of Cal’s heart. He studied his hands, looking anywhere but at the hovering abomination.

A fresh howl of door hinges spurred Cal further from the table. He backed away, expecting to see the White return and the sinister figure moving in to finish the deed. Instead, a Chinese woman entered, her smooth features somehow grim. A muted grey gown cloaked her in overlapping folds, a style Cal hadn’t seen before. She eased the door shut behind her, the lock clicking closed with a snick of finality. Like the man’s, her shoulder-length hair held no colour.

Another White. Cal’s chest tightened.

“I told you to be careful.” The emphasis decried the woman’s displeasure. She ignored the glowing apparition. “To stick to your routine, draw no attention.”

Cal frowned at the sound of her voice. She seemed familiar. “Jin?”

She nodded, crossing around the table to stand before him. “We have someone to meet, but the hounds already nip at our heels, and danger is close. Uttering my name saved both our lives with the distraction, but salvation will not come cheap.”

Cal barely heard her words. “You’re . . . a White?”

“Is that really your most pertinent question right now?”

He swallowed, her acerbic reply turning his attention towards the towering aberration hovering in the corner. “What is that thing?”

Jin examined the lustrous monstrosity. “A tracer. A tool the Trinity use to search and destroy. A mere touch would erase you from existence.”

“Aren’t you in danger from it, coming in here like this?”

She shook her head. “I am concealed for the moment. You are not.”

Cal glanced at the door, rubbing his arm at a sudden shiver, imagining the hawk-nosed man entering once more.

“He will return soon.” Jin spoke like she’d heard his thoughts. “You were more than he expected to find.”

“Who is he?”

“Your captor, and we must pave the way for you to escape his prison. There is someone you must meet.”

“Who?”

The hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “They once said patience was the greatest virtue, but when you have lived as long as I, you realise that patience is the refuge of the coward.” Before Cal could respond, she thrust out her right hand, palm up. “Come. He will not wait long.”

He was tempted to ask again whom they were meeting, but Jin’s delicate fingers ushered him forwards. He reached out, then paused. “Where⁠—”

Her hand closed on his own. The interrogation room warped like a flushing toilet, his awareness flung into the bowl like soiled paper. Around he spun in a smeared whirlpool, a tinny whine rising in his ears.

Then, a sharp pop. A new world formed from the muddy stain. Cal reeled on his feet, clutching hard at Jin’s hand, the only lifebuoy in a tumultuous sea. Bright colours weaved and danced in front of him, streaking in the air like swipes of neon paint.

He was standing atop glass panels the colour of smoke. They stretched out in every direction, curving down towards the earth until they disappeared, the distant horizon waiting beyond. An enormous dome, he realised. Massive buildings speared through it, towering into the heavens as if reaching for the stars above, but it was the world below the dark panes that captured Cal’s attention. Coloured lights of every hue illuminated buildings and streets, an imprisoned city huddling underneath the translucent boundary.

“Welcome to Nova,” Jin whispered in his ear, and Cal rolled the name on his tongue. “This is where you must go.”

He was supposed to go down there? Ringing footsteps from their left drew his attention away from the captive city.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” The voice, rough as gravel, was accompanied by a vague silhouette.

“Don’t be afraid.” Jin’s voice sounded calm. At first, Cal thought she was speaking to the stranger, but when the newcomer’s features resolved, he knew she’d meant it for him.

The dim light revealed a face crafted from nightmares. The stranger’s skin gave the impression of melted candle wax, wrapped around a skull too big to fit the flesh comfortably. Bulging eyes protruded from lidless sockets, the whites shining like spotlights. Despite himself, Cal squeezed Jin’s hand.

She amplified her voice. “We are here, Scorched, as promised.”

“They might burn me a second time for meeting you tonight, so you might as well use my name.”

“Very well.” Jin tilted her head. “Ors.”

The man’s brutal regard shifted to Cal, and he felt himself shrinking under the stare. Standing up straighter, he pushed out his chest, unwilling to be cowed.

“You promised me Vescor, yet you bring him instead.” Ors peered at him more closely. “Why?”

Vescor? She had promised this creature the city of lies Cal was desperate to escape?

Jin’s hand released its grip on his, and he felt it move to his back, nudging him forwards. “He is the key. Through him, you will find your answers.”

A sound like tearing fabric ripped from the burned man’s mouth in staccato bursts. It took Cal a moment to realise Ors was chuckling. A fine string of spit lurched from his mouth, catapulting out to wrap around his chin. He appeared to not notice, but Cal couldn’t help but gawk.

“What thrall could be so important?” Ors glided forwards, clasping his hands behind his back. It had the unfortunate effect of pulling his neck muscles taut, highlighting the lack of flesh there. Shadows flowed over his warped skin as he moved.

Even though Ors was shorter than Cal by a handspan, the scrutiny from the burned man was hard to bear. Cal clenched his fists, meeting the searching eyes with defiance. This creature was supposed to help him escape?

“He is far more than a mere thrall,” Jin replied. “In him lies the capacity to remake Nova. Enough to topple the Trinity themselves. Enough even”—she smiled a catlike smile—“to heal your wounds.”

“My wounds are immaterial.”

Cal couldn’t have said how, but he read scepticism in Ors’ expressionless face, though it was nothing compared to the surprise he felt himself. He shot a glance at Jin, but her impassive demeanour offered no further insight.

“What are you talking about?” Cal asked her. “I just want to be free.”

“Hush.” She raised a finger to her mouth.

Ors walked up to him, gait awkward. He came so close Cal could smell his wheezing breath. A muscle spasmed in the man’s face, and his scarred hand shot out, grasping Cal’s cheeks and squeezing them together. His fingertips felt like dry leather.

“Get off me!” Cal jerked back, swiping at the arm, but it was hard as stone.

Ors let go a moment later anyway, apparently unconcerned, but anger infected his tone. “You think to impress me with a construct? If I desired one, I could write it myself. Have you endangered me to simply waste my time?”

Jin’s lip curled in the faint moonlight. “Run your diagnostics. Then preach to me of time wasted.”

Silence descended onto the night, a swelling bubble encapsulating the three of them. Ors stared at Jin, and she stared back, neither speaking. Cal felt his own heartbeat rise in the intervening space, drumming so loud he felt sure they could both hear it.

Finally, Ors muttered, “Zero, I’m going to need your help after all.”

A column of brilliant light erupted beside him, spearing the glass plates like a shaft of solid sunlight. A figure loomed within the radiance. Cal’s heart seized, and for a moment, he believed the tracer had returned to claim him. Then the light faded away to reveal another man, this one with a lean, feminine frame, his smooth jaw coated in stylish stubble. His bearing held a softness that was markedly absent from his summoner.

First a ghost, and now people emerging from blasts of light? The sight of the newcomer made Cal step back, shooting a searching look at Jin, but she appeared unconcerned. Her words returned to him as though she were speaking in his ear. Your life is a lie. In a world of lies, the impossible became pedestrian.

The thin figure uttered only a single word. “Yes?”

Ors nodded in Cal’s direction. “Zero, scan him for an exit stream.”

Without moving, the figure replied in a monotone voice, “Encrypted, but present. His data stream is . . . atypical.”

Slowly, Ors’ melted face turned to Cal. This time, Cal was sure he read astonishment. “You’re positive he’s not a construct?” The question emerged as a whisper.

“One hundred percent certain.”

Ors’ next words were little more than a dry rasp. “It’s not possible.”

“The bounds of possibility are much greater than you imagine.” Jin stepped up beside Cal and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you understand—Calvin’s safety is paramount.”

The scarred man’s tongue flicked out to moisten the remnants of his lips. “I can’t protect him. No one can.”

“Not even for Vescor?”

Ors’ bulging eyes became hungry, flashing to Cal. “Tell me what it is, and I’ll do what I can.”

“I cannot.” Jin shook her head. “Listeners are everywhere.”

“I have masked this location.” Ors took a step towards her. “For the moment, we are alone.”

She waved her hand. “Your assurances are worthless. Offer sanctuary to the boy, and Vescor will be yours.”

It was Cal’s turn to be surprised. He rounded on Jin. “You want me to go with him? You promised me the truth!”

Her expression was unperturbed. “Truth is like death, boy. Once you’ve tasted it, there’s no going back. Your truth lies with the Scorched.”

Ors’ dour tone dropped into their conversation. “I’ll do it.”

Jin turned to him. “You understand the risks?”

He nodded. “Bring him to me, and I’ll see it done.”

“He will come alone. I cannot guide him.”

“You can’t be serious.” Ors’ voice leapt from bass to baritone. “He’ll never make it!”

Cal grabbed at Jin. “What do you mean, I’ll go alone?”

She eased her arm from his grip. “He shall be hidden from prying eyes—the dangers will be few.”

“Hidden? What do⁠—”

Zero’s lean figure stepped forwards. “The Trinity have become aware of our presence.”

Ors spun to look at him. “How?” He waved a hand. “Never mind. What’s done is done. We’re out of time.”

Cal followed Jin’s gaze, which was fixed on a point to their left. A pulsing line of white light stretched across the glassy dome, rising into view over the curve. It took him a moment to realise it wasn’t a single solid line. They were people. Glowing people, like in the interrogation room. Tracers. Cal could hear a faint buzzing noise coming from their direction, like a thousand furious bees assembling for battle. His heart jumpstarted into overdrive.

Jin’s head swung in the other direction, and Cal heard her curse. On that side too, another line of radiant figures rose into view, drawing closer. So many.

She grabbed Cal by the arm. “Time to go.”

“Wait!” Ors reached out a hand. “What do you expect me to do with the boy?”

Jin’s grip crushed Cal’s forearm. “Remember these words, Scorched, and don’t forget them. Our future hangs on your memory.” The buzzing sound grew so loud it began drowning out her voice. “The ghost of Prisma is the key to Vescor.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Remember it!” Jin shouted over the din. “The ghost of Prisma is the key to Vescor!”

Ors and Zero shared a glance, then winked out of view, disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared. Cal was still trying to comprehend their departure when Jin grabbed his shirt sleeve.

“Cal, it’s time.”

“Now?” He pointed at the glowing figures. “What about them?”

She shrugged like the tracers were of no consequence, her stare coring his innards with uncompromising fervour. “This won’t be easy.”

He took a deep breath, supported by her strength, and his muscles charged. “I’m ready. What do I need to do?”

Jin took a step back, drawing something from the folds of her unusual gown and pressing it to his forehead, the metal cold against his skin. He went cross-eyed tracking its shape and the glint of chrome from the barrel.

A revolver. He recognised it the instant she replied. “You need to die.”

“Jin . . .” He stopped breathing. “What the fuck?”

“Remember the words, Cal. They’re everything now.” Her voice dropped to an octave so low it seemed to reverberate inside his skull. “The ghost of Prisma is the key to Vescor.”

Cal didn’t feel the bullet tear through his skull, nor punch into his grey matter. The irrational thought that entered his brain had nothing to do with his imminent death. It was about the words Jin had said, one question overriding all others.

The last thought he had before the world went dark was: Who the fuck was Prisma?