The Unbound

Her phone goes off from somewhere under the papers she’s been searching through. “Fine,” she says. “Fine, okay, just please be careful.”

“Always,” I say, ducking out.

I’d never take the bus. Especially not with my ring hanging uselessly around my neck. The lie does save time, though, since I don’t have to worry about stashing my bike before cutting into the Narrows.

Two of the three Histories go without a fight, and the third isn’t a match for me, even in my current condition. I approach the boundary between Wesley’s territory and mine and slide my key into the lock, hoping it turns. It does. The door bleeds into light and shape before it opens.

I’m in such a hurry that I don’t think about the fact that this isn’t my territory until I round a corner and nearly run straight into Wesley. I stagger back in time to avoid a collision, and he pulls up short in time to avoid dropping a coffee carrier.

“Jesus, Mac,” he says, clutching his chest with his free hand.

“Sorry!” I say, holding up mine in surrender.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hunting,” I say as we set off toward Hyde’s door.

“I kind of got that,” says Wes. “I meant, what are you doing in my territory?”

“Oh. Roland granted me access so I could clear my list from school.”

Wes nods. “I’m glad they finally cut you some slack. Not that scaling walls isn’t fun, but this seems a little less dangerous.”

“Only because you don’t have your stick out.”

“Bō staff,” corrects Wes. “And it’s in my bag. But my list is clear, and my hands were full.”

“What’s with the coffee?” I ask.

He holds up the carrier. “It’s for you.”

“You do know my parents own a coffee shop,” I say.

“That’s never stopped you from taking Cash’s,” he says with a pout. “And I figured after yesterday’s incident, you might be looking for a new supplier.” It takes me a second to realize that by “incident” he means Cash’s coffee making me sick, and not Cash’s kiss. If he’s heard about the latter, he doesn’t let on, and I don’t broach the subject, since it’s the least of my problems right now.

He offers me a cup and I take it, careful not to let our fingers touch. The last thing I need is for Wesley to see Owen written all over my mind.

“Any word from Agatha?” he asks. “About the voids?”

The coffee turns to lead in my mouth. I try to swallow. “Not yet.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, misreading my concern. “She’ll find whoever’s doing this.” We reach a door with a green check mark. “How did you sleep?” he adds. “I missed your bed.”

“It missed you, too,” I say as he opens the door. Unlike the doors that no longer exist in the Outer—the ones tucked in cracks and folds—the Hyde School door opens not onto darkness, but onto the campus. The school is visible even from the Narrows side. I look out, sca

“You coming?” asks Wes.

I reach for the list in my skirt pocket as if I can feel letters writing themselves on the page.

“One more,” I say with a sigh and a glance back over my shoulder. “You go on ahead.”

Wes hesitates, but nods and steps out onto Hyde’s grass. I close the door between us and count to ten, twenty, thirty…and then I unlock it with my own key and step through, beelining for the Wellness Center. I half expect to see yellow crime scene tape, but the building is quiet. The trophy hall is empty and perfectly still, and I hold my breath as I make my way toward the storage room door, bracing myself for the scene beyond the glass insert. But when I look through, the air catches in my throat. I push the door open and hit all three switches, showering the room with light.

It’s untouched. Immaculate. No toppled shelves, no scattered equipment, no blood on the floor. Nothing except the void, the remnants of which still hover in the middle of the room, snagging and repelling my gaze at the same time, the only proof that anything happened here.

“I thought it would be best to clean up.”

I spin to see Owen leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “Good morning.”

My fingers curl into fists at my sides. I hate that I’m relieved to see him. I’ve been dreading this moment since last night, and yet the thought of his not being here was in a way more frightening. But now that he’s here, I need to figure out what to do. I have to dispatch him, and soon, but the questions that have been filling up my head all night are now trying to climb my throat.

Owen slides the knife out of the holster at his back. “Still determined to fight me?” I hesitate, my eyes flicking from the glinting knife to his face and back. This is not the way to beat him. I force my hands to unclench. “Ready to listen, then?” He arches an eyebrow, feigning surprise.

“You claim there’s a way to live without lies,” I start. “How?”

Owen smiles, returning the knife to its hidden sheath. “Isn’t it obvious?” he says. “Your life is only made of secrets and lies because the Archive is. You exist in the shadows because the Archive does.” His blue eyes glitter with excitement. “I am going to drag the Archive out of the dust-covered dark and into the light of day. I’m going to give it back to the world it claims to serve.”

“How?”

“By opening the doors,” he says, spreading his arms. “By letting the Archive out and the world in.”

“The world can’t even see the doors, Owen.”

“Only because it’s forgotten how. The whole world is wearing blinders. But if we take them off, eyes will adjust. Lives will adjust. They’ll have to.” I shake my head. “It’s time for change, Mackenzie. It’s messy, but the era of secrets must end. The world will adapt, and so will the Archive. It must.” His brow furrows, darkening his eyes. “Think about what the Archive’s secrets have cost us. Histories only slip because they wake into a world they do not know. They succumb to panic. Confusion. Fear. But if the Archive weren’t a secret—if everyone knew what came next—they wouldn’t be afraid. And if they let go of their fear and began to understand, then if and when they woke, they wouldn’t slip. Ben wouldn’t have slipped. Regina wouldn’t have slipped. No one would slip.”

“Histories aren’t meant to wake in the first place,” I counter. “And what you’re suggesting—a mass awakening—is madness for the living and the dead. Crew will hunt you down before you even start.”

“Not if they are with me.” He takes a step forward. “You think you are the only one who doubts, Mackenzie? The only one who feels trapped? Do you know why the Archive keeps everyone isolated? It’s so they feel alone. So that when one of them feels fear or anger or doubt—and they all do—they think they are the only ones. They stay quiet, because they know that one life doesn’t matter to the Archive.

“Crew are stronger, paired minds, willing to obey or disobey as a group, but not daring enough to do so. Keepers and Crew all know: if one person or pair rises up, the Archive will simply cut them down. It can always extinguish one voice, Mackenzie. But it can’t douse them all. Fear. Anger. Doubt. They have been piling up like kindling inside the Archive, and the whole place is ready to burn. The Archive is doing everything it can to keep the fire from starting, but all that’s needed is someone to strike the match. So believe me when I tell you that the Crew will go with me. And the other Keepers, too. The question is, will you?”

I open my mouth, but I’m cut off by the sound of steps in the trophy hall beyond the door. Owen falls silent beside me as voices take shape.

“I know the official missing person mark is forty-eight hours,” someone is saying, “but what with all the disappearances, I thought it best to let you know.”

“I’m glad you did,” replies a gruff voice I recognize at once. Detective Ki