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“Joining. Me. You. All of us, together.”

That would be a temptation. John was his own revolution, and based on the shit state of the world, doing quite well. But how much more effective could he be with Epstein behind him?

“I’m not sure I’m willing. It’s one thing to cross him, another to try to kill him.”

“Preferably capture.”

“In order to turn him over to people who will kill him.”

“Previous subtleties of situation are now irrelevant. There are only two positions. For war, against war. Not choosing is choosing.”

It was a fact she hadn’t been able to dispute, which was how she’d ended up here, on the LRT that circled Tesla, a magnetic train without sound or vibration, the only evidence of motion the city blowing by outside. Shannon looked out the window and considered what it meant that John wanted a war. He was the greatest strategic mind alive, a man who thought not five steps but five years ahead, and if he wanted a war, it was because he believed he could win it.

That was a very sobering thought indeed. Brilliants were outnumbered 99 to 1. Any victory would involve oceans of blood.

Focus, Shan. You’re already outmatched. Don’t be distracted, too.

You don’t know if your ace in the hole is actually an ace—or even if it’s in the hole.

And John is supposed to board at the next stop.

Normally, being on a job made the colors of the day a little brighter and the taste of the air a little sweeter. But now all she felt was nervous.

The train glided into the Ashbury station without a sound. A handful of passengers got off, others climbed on. Midday, and the car was nearing capacity. Shannon had one boot propped up on the opposite seat, gave tiny headshakes to the people who eyed it. She scanned the people boarding, those navigating the rows. Two teens flirted. A young woman hummed softly to a newborn. An old lady dozed, her head rocked back at an awkward angle. A man in a cowboy hat moved down the aisle. The brim was pulled low to hide his face, but he had John’s physique. Shannon flexed her fingers, ready to slide into character, only the man walked right past her. Shit.

When she looked back at the opposite seat, someone was sitting in it. A boy, probably sixteen, staring right at her. Shannon’s boot was still on the seat, his legs on either side of it.

Well, aren’t you slick.

“Listen, I’m flattered, but I’m waiting for someone,” she said.

The boy said nothing. But now there was a d-pad in his hand that hadn’t been there a moment before. Without a word, he held it out to her.

Her heart fell. Of course. Well, it had been a long shot. She took the pad, which glowed to life.

“Hello, Shannon,” John Smith said on the screen. “I have to say, I’m disappointed.”

“You’re disappointed? At least I showed up. I’m here. Where are you?”

“I’m not in New Canaan right now,” he said. “Which is probably for the best, since I see you have some new friends. I count six of Epstein’s best tactical assets, including the fellow in the hat you thought was me. I suppose they’re just commuting?”

“They’re here for protection,” she said. “We didn’t know what to expect—”

“Stop,” he said. “This is me.”

She took a deep breath, let it out. “Okay.”

“We’re going to chat for a minute. But first you need to see something. Colin?”

The boy opposite moved in a blur, his hand flying into and out of his pocket. When he opened it, she saw a small cylinder topped with a button. Her stomach twisted.

“In the interest of time, let me dispense with your thoughts. No, you cannot move faster than Colin, nor can you shift without him noticing. He’s gifted and very, very good. And yes, LRT station scanners are attuned to conventional explosives, so no, Colin couldn’t have boarded with any. Which is why half an hour ago he injected himself with radio-triggered explosive nanites. Individually they’re not much, but when they self-organize into a lattice in a host body, they pack a punch. The blast will take out most of this car.”

She stared at Colin, took in his sunken cheeks, his fervent eyes, the sweat at his temples and throat. “Why?”

“I’d ask you the same question. We go back a long way.”

“It wasn’t easy. But I don’t want a war, and you do.”

“I don’t want a war, Shannon; I have one.”

“So why waste time talking to me?”

On the screen, John sighed. “On the off chance you were telling the truth about Epstein’s offer. I thought there was a chance that he’d come around and realized we’re on the same side. There are only two, after all, brilliants and straights. All the rest is window dressing, and sooner or later the whole world is going to come around to my point of view.”

“You mean you’re going to force it to.”