44. RAVEN

44

RAVEN

Three weeks have passed since the meeting at Archer's place when Archer and Alex Ortiz finally produce a verdict.

"It's time we handled this Tsariuk situation," Ortiz says at one of our meetings. "I don't think we have an option."

I should care, but it's not up to us, not the first step. "Why are we not discussing it with her?"

Her meaning Maddy. Or Milena. This whole double identity is fucking with me more and more lately, considering everyone knows about it, and we all get mixed up with calling her Maddy and Milena interchangeably.

"She will flip out," Archer says. Maybe. "She doesn't want to see her father. Do you want her to sneak out of Zion and go to the mainland? Because she will."

I hadn't thought about it. But knowing Maddy-Milena, I realize that she could absolutely do something reckless like that.

The thought scares me for a second. Trying to get away from me, and everyone, Maddy might choose to vanish.

It's quiet for some time until I say, "So, what do you want to do?"

"Tomorrow," Archer says. "Tomorrow I will get Tsariuk's info, and we will get in touch. We'll make the first move."

The depressing ending of the meeting gets even worse with the notification from the local delivery on my phone. When I get to my house, there is a large container on my porch.

This Side Up , the red sign says, and I have an urge to kick it or throw it out.

I undo the wooden crate, then another box inside, the retainers holding the pot in place, the seal from the pot, then the protective fabric around the plant.

The flower is… red. Deep bright red, almost unnatural. Nothing really special, except the meaning attached to it and the fact that Maddy thought it was extraordinary, finding special meaning in ordinary things like this.

I wanted to give this flower to her. Now she doesn't want anything to do with me, and I have a sudden urge to smash this plant against the wall.

Instead, I bring it inside my house and set it on the floor right by the balcony doors so that when I have a drink at night, I can look at it and remember what it felt like to dream.

I feel like cutting myself into shreds.

"Wherever she is I am standing in complete darkness; her absence blots me out," wrote Henry Miller.

Maddy's absence turns my body inside out, and no cutting can distract my obsessed mind.

Except maybe the little dude who knocks on my door that very afternoon.

"'S so empty," he says, looking around my place almost disappointed like something was supposed to change since the last time he'd been here.

That's an accurate assessment of my one-bedroom bungalow, though I'd use the word "minimal."

"It's easier to figure out what's wrong when the place is clean," I say, repeating Mac's words. "Things get lost in a clutter. Mess is contagious. Discipline is a habit."

Sonny walks around like he's trying to find something wrong, with that "huh" expression on his face.

"Cool," he says. "What's that?" He points at the flower.

I tell him the story behind it. "Maddy told me that," I say to add credibility to it.

He grins. "Maddy's flower."

"Maddy's flower," I repeat.

"You need more. Like many more."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. She likes flowers. She needs more," he says with a sadness that's not childlike at all.

I asked Mac once why my mother didn't want me.

He said, "Some choose to give birth to children. Others—to raise them. And a few have the privilege to guide them in life. It's a blessing when they do it right."

I thanked Mac for what he did with my life many times. I still do, at least with what he will accept from me—tractor trailers full of generators, solar panels, and food supplies for his community, healthcare where they can't get it, college grants for those who want to study but can't get out of the contamination zones, Gen-Alpha's most potent drug they can't afford.

I look at Sonny now and think about Zion, which doesn't have much future unless we do something about Port Mrei. For that, we need people who can bring kindness instead of weapons. We need to teach children compassion instead of striving for wealth.

Sonny notices me watching him and freezes for a second like a deer in the headlights. I wink at him, and his face relaxes. And he winks back, with that fucked-up wink where his entire face contorts, his mouth crooked.

I stifle a burst of laughter. I hope I can guide this kid somewhere—whatever future Ayana can build for him, if I'm still here. Wishful thinking. Wishful kindness, I suppose.

When he snatches a pack of chips from my kitchen—he thinks he is sneaky, not knowing I keep them there just for him—I call my IT guy at the Center.

"Any news about the private network used to jailbreak Ayana?"

"Not really. It's heavily encrypted. Whoever set it up is good. Very good. But I can tell you what region it comes from."

"And?"

"Every time we try to break into the network's encryption, a warning image pops up. A symbol actually. It's a crown with the initials AT on it."

Aleksei Tsariuk.

I want to say that it's a surprise, but it's not.

Now I really think we need to sit down and discuss this.

As soon as I hang up, my phone rings again, and I stare at the screen, my blood chilling.

Unknown ID.

I pick up, wondering what this call brings this time. Another threat from Butcher?

"Good afternoon, Mr. Levi."

"Yes?" I say, not recognizing the voice. But one thing instantly catches my attention—the cut-throat Russian accent.

"Please, do not hang up. It is in your best interests," the low stern voice says, making my skin crawl.

I know exactly what he is about to say. It has to be a messenger sent by the Tsar.

But I'm wrong.

"My name is Aleksei Tsariuk." It's the Tsar himself. "And I would very much like to talk to you about my daughter."

Fuck.