Erik and I spoke frequently in the ensuing days. We kept our conversation light and trivial, neither of us mentioning Penny, the sentencing, or the inevitable execution. Despite Mac’s warning, Erik continued to make sexual innuendos in an attempt to keep me laughing. I longed for him. As much as I dreaded facing Penny in court, the day couldn’t come soon enough; once it was done, I would finally see Erik.

  Donavon kept me company in my room most days. We talked and joked about people we had both come to know over the past few months at school. We mostly watched movies on my wall screen, but on my more adventurous days we walked around the campus grounds. He’d taken over training Kenly since I had neither the energy nor the desire to finish what I’d started. I observed their practice sessions, but usually grew tired midway through and returned to my room before they finished.

  My relationship with Donavon would never be like it had been before. I knew that whether I had Erik or not, I’d never love Donavon that way again. He’d hurt me so much when he cheated on me, but it was more than that. I still gravitated to him because he always comforted me and made me feel safe, without the complication of romantic feelings. I was close to getting past his indiscretion; after what Penny had done, Donavon’s infidelity paled in comparison.

  We never talked about Erik. He didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer. I figured that he preferred not knowing any details. However, every night when I talked to Erik, I told him about the time I spent with Donavon. After all of the lying and deception in my life over the past two years, I needed to have someone who I could be completely honest with.

  Erik didn’t try to hide his jealousy. He gently let me know exactly what he thought about my spending so much time with Donavon, but he never asked me to stop. He said that he understood why I couldn’t write him out of my life completely. Erik might not like the friendship, but he tried to be the bigger person. Despite that, I had a sneaking suspicion that Erik wouldn’t hesitate to flaunt our relationship in front of Donavon the first chance he got.

  Dr. Wythe came to see me every morning. Our sessions were as taxing and pointless as they’d been the last time he’d treated me. Sometimes I felt as though we were having a staring contest, each of not wanting to be the first to blink. Other times he practically interrogated me about what happened in the Crypto Bank. Even if I wanted to tell him the truth—which I didn’t—the memories had become like dreams, distorted and nonsensical. I could no longer recall the exact details.

  Early on the morning of Penny’s sentencing, I was restless and agitated. Today was the day that I would stand beside Mac while Penny’s charges were read in open court. The Judge would pretend to deliberate before delivering the punishment. Today my ex-best friend would be sentenced to death. Despite the fact that the sun had yet to rise, I called Erik.

  “How ya holding up?” Erik’s tiny holographic form asked.

  “Not so good,” I admitted. It was the first time that we’d talked about her since Mac had given me permission to call him.

  “I wish that I could be there,” he said sleepily.

  I envisioned Erik clad only in pajama bottoms, snuggled under his plaid comforter, his hair disheveled and eyelids heavy from sleep. I could almost feel his arms around me. When I inhaled, I swore that I could smell the woodsy musk and pine soap that was Erik’s scent.

  I sighed heavily. “Soon. Only a couple more hours until this is all over,” I assured him.

  “I know. Are you nervous about seeing her?”

  I was nervous, but I wasn’t sure if I should admit that on the record, so to speak. I found myself second-guessing everything that I said and did these days.

  “Eh, not nervous. Angry mostly,” I answered. Anger was a safe emotion. And I was angry—a little sad and very confused, but mostly angry. I wouldn’t need to fake any outrage or resentment in court. “What are you going to do today?” I asked, changing the topic.

  “Same thing I do every day. Sit around looking good,” he joked.

  I laughed. “Good luck with that.”

  We bantered back and forth for another few minutes before I reluctantly disconnected. I needed to get dressed unless I wanted Mac banging on my door demanding to know why I wasn’t ready.

  Perversely, sentencings were formal affairs. I would be expected to wear something decadent. I selected a long, black gown from the plethora of plastic-encased dresses that Gretchen had ordered for me over the years. The silk cascaded over my skin as I pulled it from the bag. The bodice had a lace overlay, square neckline, and capped sleeves. I laughed almost manically as I ran my fingers over the lace, recalling Erik’s lingerie comment. The mounting anxiety over what was happening in a few short hours was making me crazy.

  I took my time straightening my hair, and I dabbed small amounts of neutral-colored shadow on my eyelids. After I was satisfied that the evidence of my sleepless night was hidden beneath the makeup, I decided that my hair should go up. First I tried sweeping it into a ponytail. Too casual, I decided. Next, I braided my long tresses down my back. But that wasn’t right either. Frustrated, I wound the pieces of now-wavy hair into a severe bun at the base of my skull. Finally gratified, I glanced at the clock.

  Crap, ten minutes until departure. If I didn’t hurry, Mac would come looking for me. I hastily stripped off my pajamas and zipped myself into the black dress. The material hung loosely on my too-thin frame. I stared at myself in the full-length mirror, and my stomach rolled in disgust. No matter how I felt about Penny and everything that she’d cost me, there was something inherently wrong with wearing a formal gown to watch another human being be condemned to death. At least I am wearing black, I thought to myself. It was somber, like my mood.

  When I finally exited my bedroom and wound my way through the McDonoughs’ house, I found Mac and, to my surprise, Donavon waiting for me in the foyer. Mac gave my outfit an approving once-over. Both father and son wore tailored black suits; Donavon had chosen a charcoal gray shirt and black tie to go with his, while Mac wore his customary white shirt and red tie.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Ready, Natalia?” Mac asked, his voice lacking any emotion.

  I nodded, unable to speak for fear of getting sick. Then I turned to Donavon and gave him a questioning look.

  “Dad thought you might want a friend. I know you’d prefer that it was Erik,” he sent.

  “I’m glad you’re coming,” I sent back. And I was glad. Donavon was no substitute for Erik, but at least I wouldn’t be alone with his father. Mac wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type and provided little comfort; I expected that he would treat the entire event with the same cool indifference that he treated everything else unpleasant.

  I followed the two men through the front door and into the waiting road vehicle. Silently praying that no one would try to engage me in conversation, I clasped my hands in my lap. At the hover hangar, we boarded a luxury craft with TOXIC’s logo emblazoned on the side. I quietly took a seat in one of the four cushy armchairs. A stewardess instantly appeared and asked if she could bring me a drink. I started to shake my head no, then decided that I actually did want a drink—a strong one.

  “Vodka,” I said.

  The stewardess nodded her bobbed auburn head. Mac arched his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Really, Natalia? You aren’t supposed to have alcohol, particularly not for breakfast,” he said mildly.

  “Today, I think that I’m entitled to it,” I said to Mac. Then, turning to the stewardess, I repeated, “Vodka.”

  She glanced nervously between me and Mac. When the Director nodded his acquiescence, she finally left to fetch my drink. She returned moments later with my drink, and coffees for Mac and Donavon.

  The clear liquid burned my mouth and throat when I sucked hungrily through the small cocktail straw. The instant that the vodka hit my empty stomach, it grumbled a protest. I didn’t care. The alcohol would dull my emotions, and just then that was all that mattered.

  During the half-hour ride to the city, I stared glumly out the window and continued to down drinks. I could feel Mac’s disapproval, but it meant little to me. I hoped that if I drank enough on the flight I would be numb by the time we arrived. My plan worked. When we landed, my head was spinning from the three drinks that I’d managed to consume, and my insides felt hollow.

  Mac held firmly to my upper arm, guiding me down the slippery metal steps and toward the waiting car. My mind buzzed and my legs wobbled from the combination of alcohol and anxiety. Mac helped me through the open door of a TOXIC road vehicle with darkly tinted windows. Donavon clambered in behind me. He reached for my hand, and I gave it willingly. He squeezed my fingers gently.

  “Hang in there,” he sent.

  I didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead.

  Three armed bodyguards climbed into the row of seats behind Donavon and me while a fourth took the driver’s seat. Mac sat shotgun. The vehicle started moving through empty city streets. Numbly, I watched the passing Government buildings, wondering where all the people were.

  “The city is under Martial Law today. Citizens aren’t allowed to leave their homes,” Donavon answered my unspoken question.

  I nodded that I understood.

  Mac and the driver spoke in low tones, but I didn’t pay attention. I didn’t really care what they were talking about.

  The driver turned on Fifth Street and continued to a building with “National Courthouse” engraved in a marble slab that hung atop magnificent marble columns. He brought the vehicle to a stop in front of the gleaming black steps. The bodyguards exited first. One held up a hand indicating that Donavon and I should wait. Their huge guns were drawn as they scanned the area surrounding the courthouse. I followed their line of sight and saw snipers perched on every building in view. I shuddered at the scene. Once the bodyguards were satisfied that there was no imminent threat, they motioned us out.

  One offered me his gloved hand and helped me out of the car. He stayed firmly at my side while we ascended the stairs. A second guard fell in step, flanking my other side. Neither looked at me; instead, their eyes darted warily in every direction.

  “What’s going on? Why are they so vigilant?” I sent Donavon. Even through my alcohol-muddled brain, I felt disquieted and a little scared by all the security.

  “Dad’s afraid that the Coalition will strike today. Depending on how high Penny was in their organization, they might come for her.”

  Great—another encounter with Ian Crane. I really wished that Mac had warned me.

  Once our group made it safely through the front doors, the bodyguards relaxed slightly. Our footsteps echoed through the white marble corridor. The sterility of the hallway made my apprehension spike. The building held no warmth, and it was almost as if you could feel that bad things had happened here.

  My right foot slipped, skidding briefly across the smooth floor, and I let out an involuntary yelp. The bodyguard on my right grabbed my arm to steady me. I smiled gratefully at him. His large, square jaw spread into a thin smile and he gave me a small nod. Focus, Talia, I ordered myself. Just another hour, and this will all be over.

  At the end of the corridor were double wooden doors with armed men on either side. They pulled the gold handles as we neared, and I caught my first glimpse of the courtroom beyond. As my bodyguards dropped back, Donavon hurried forward and took my hand. Together we followed his father through the entryway.

  A hundred or more faces turned in our direction when we entered. A black-robed woman sat elevated behind a beautiful, lacquered bench. Her eyes were cold, steely gray when they fixed on me. I swallowed thickly. One person sat on either side of her, their platforms slightly lower. The rows of benches in the gallery were already filled with high-ranking government officials dressed in opulent finery.

  TOXIC hadn’t publicly convicted a traitor in years. And the current of excitement that ran through the room was demonstrative of how much the practice had been missed. The occupants were like eager spectators at a highly anticipated sporting event, their eyes gleaming with eagerness that no one tried to hide. The charged atmosphere sent a wave of disgust rolling over me. I hated how much pleasure they were getting from the pain of others.

  I stopped and met their gazes head-on, refusing to show how intimidated I was. In truth, the courtroom terrified me; now that I was here, I wanted nothing more than to leave. I didn’t want to see Penny. I didn’t want to hear the charges against her, didn’t want to remember everything that she’d put me through. The alcohol was wearing off; a potent cocktail of fear, trepidation, and rage was taking its place.

  Donavon tugged on my hand, urging me to walk forward. When I still didn’t move, Mac placed his hand on the small of my back and forced me down the aisle. The only empty seats were in the first row. Every eye in the room followed my movements, and their thoughts buzzed angrily in my head. Most held looks of open curiosity. A few seemed to pity me. I blocked them all out, and took my seat between Mac and Donavon.

  The murmurs that had quieted when we entered started up again once we were seated. In a rare show of emotion, Mac wrapped his arm protectively around my shoulders. I gave him a weak smile, a gesture that he surprisingly returned. Donavon held tightly to my hand as much for my benefit as for his; he seemed no more eager than I was to watch the impending charade.

  The dull hum in the room swelled to a near roar, and I craned my neck to see what all the commotion was about. My heart skipped a beat when I saw her. Sorrow and rage warred for control of my emotions. Mac “tsked” in disgust when he, too, caught sight of Penny.

  “It will all be over soon,” Donavon sent.

  “I know.”