The Duplicate

Chapter Twenty-four

Sympathy tugs my heart as I watch Dax lock the bolt of his apartment door from the outside. He tries to act nonchalant about it. He even mutters a quiet "there we go" as he turns the key. But his voice shakes, and his eyes are sad and scared.

I understand exactly what he is going through. He's not the only one who has been ripped away from home.

"You'll come back, Dax," I say, softly, "when all of this is over." Door now locked, he bends down to haul his over-sized backpack onto his shoulders and flashes a feeble smile my way. I try to smile back. "Everything will work itself out."

He nods. "Of course."

We both pretend, for a moment, to think it's possible to go back to the lives we had before this mess. But judging by the way Dax's smile doesn't reach his eyes, he knows as well as I do there's no going back.

"We should go," I say. The corners of my lips tug up a little more, apologetically. "He's probably waiting."

"Right."

Adjusting my purse strap, I pluck my suitcase off the floor and start to truck it down the hall. Dax's footsteps, softened by the carpet, fall instep beside me.

"At least—" I bump my shoulder gently against his "—I'll no longer be the only prisoner he's collected. Maybe he'll tear even more people from their homes. Then we can start some sort of club."

Dax snorts, halfheartedly. His eyes brighten, just a bit. "Yeah, maybe."

We round the corner. The elevators and Trip—who pressed ahead while Dax fumbled around for his keys—pop into view. The moment we're in his sights, Trip shoots us an impatient side-ways glance.

"Done wasting time?"

I scowl at him. "It took all of two minutes."

"To lock a door," Trip says, "that will most likely be knocked down."

"He's leaving home. Because of you. Give him a break."

At the sharpness of my tone, Trip turns a dark glare on me.

"It's okay, Eve, really," Dax cuts in. He has his glasses off and is cleaning the lenses with his T-shirt. Head drooping, he takes a peek up at Trip. "Uh, so, we should probably discuss where we're going. Right, Triple?"

After a second or two of staring me down, Trip allows the change of subject. "I don't know where we're going yet." He looks away and watches the numbers change over the elevator. 12, 13, 14. "And I don't care. We just need to get out of this building."

The elevator's stainless-steel doors breeze open, and the usual voice hums over the intercom. "Floor Fifteen."

"You don't have any ideas?" Dax asks.

Trip steps into the elevator, giving an irritated look. "I'm making this up as I go, Dax."

"Well, that's worked out great so far." The words slip from my lips before I can catch them.

A drawn-out sigh presses from Trip, through his nose. He leans against the back wall of the elevator. Fist clenched at his side. Eyes straight ahead, refusing to look at me as I lug my suitcase into the elevator. Surprisingly, he doesn't fire back at me. But that's not necessarily a good thing. That grim silence is even more unnerving than his stare downs.

I clear my throat, deciding I've pushed my luck with him enough for one day.

Slipping his glasses back on, Dax stations himself next to the control panel and pokes at the ground floor button a few times. "But you've got some sort of plan, don't you? What about the Database? Have you come up with something?"