Chapter 3 — One Bed, No Sleep

“We need a hotel.”

Rowan stared at Eli from across the kitchen table. “That is your solution?”

“My solution is documentation. Your apartment has cameras that invent alibis. The shop has old wiring. A hotel gives us key records, staff, hallways, and a building manager I can annoy if anything happens.”

“And one bed?”

Eli looked down at the message on his phone. “The protocol was specific.”

“It was cruel.”

“Same thing, possibly.”

They checked into a lakefront hotel under Rowan’s name because every room Eli could afford had either two beds or a mattress visible through the lobby window. Rowan booked a suite with one king bed and a sitting room, then looked apologetic about it.

Eli pretended not to notice that the sight of him at the desk, signing a receipt with his sleeves rolled to the forearm, made Eli’s thoughts abruptly less investigative.

By ten, the room had become a small surveillance station. Eli placed two portable audio recorders on the nightstands, another near the door, and his phone on the dresser with the camera facing the bed.

“This is not creepy at all,” Rowan said.

“You’re welcome.”

“What are the rules?”

Eli looked at him. “Rules?”

“If we’re doing this because a machine ordered it, I want the boundaries stated.”

Something in Eli eased. “No touching unless we ask.”

“Agreed.”

“No lying.”

Rowan hesitated. “I’ll do my best.”

“That is not how rules work.”

“Then no lying.”

“And when the sun comes up, we leave.”

Rowan nodded. “All right.”

They changed in the bathroom one at a time, a precaution neither of them mentioned. Eli came out in an old T-shirt and sweatpants. Rowan came out in a black long-sleeved shirt, barefoot, his hair still damp from the shower.

The bed looked enormous. It did not help.

Eli took the left edge. Rowan took the right. There was enough space between them for a third person, a fourth person, a very judgmental priest.

The lights went out at eleven forty.

For ten minutes, neither spoke.

The city glittered beyond the curtains. Somewhere below, a siren rose and faded.

“You’re awake,” Eli said.

“So are you.”

“I’m conducting an experiment.”

“On what?”

“Whether rich people buy quieter ceilings.”

Rowan laughed, low and brief. The sound curled through Eli more effectively than it should have.

After another silence, Rowan said, “I used to avoid staying over because you hold on to things in your sleep.”

Eli turned his head. “What things?”

“My shirt. My sleeve. Whatever you could reach.”

“You’re lying.”

“No lying was your rule.”

Eli looked toward the dark shape of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you always apologized when you woke up.”

“For grabbing your shirt?”

“For needing anyone.”

That landed harder than it deserved to.

Eli rolled onto his back. “Maybe I still do.”

Rowan did not answer. But the mattress shifted slightly, as if he had moved closer and caught himself.

Eli slept eventually. Not deeply. He dreamed in sharp pieces: white lights, a hand slipping from his, a voice saying choose, choose, choose.

He woke with a gasp and a fist closed in fabric.

Rowan’s shirt.

For one mortifying second, Eli froze. Then he realized Rowan was awake too, curled toward him, one arm firm around Eli’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Rowan said. His voice was rough with sleep. “You’re here.”

Eli’s heart was trying to break through his ribs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

The word was quiet but absolute.

Rowan’s hand moved once between Eli’s shoulder blades. A question, not a claim.

Eli nodded against his chest.

Rowan held him until the room stopped spinning.

He should have pulled away then. Eli knew he should. Instead he tipped his head back.

Rowan was close enough that Eli could see the tension in his mouth.

“You can let go,” Eli whispered.

“Do you want me to?”

No machine. No countdown. Just the question.

Eli’s fingers slid from the front of Rowan’s shirt to the nape of his neck. Rowan inhaled sharply. His skin was hot under Eli’s palm.

“I don’t know,” Eli said.

“That’s an answer.”

Rowan stayed still. Eli could feel the restraint in him like a held breath. It made something reckless rise in Eli’s chest.

“You said you were afraid you’d want the tasks,” Eli murmured.

“I am.”

“Do you want this one?”

Rowan’s eyes closed for a moment. “Yes.”

The honesty of it pulled Eli closer.

Their mouths nearly met.

Every light in the room died.

The recorders clicked off. The air conditioner stopped. For one suspended beat, there was only Eli’s hand at Rowan’s neck and Rowan’s breath against his lips.

Then the far wall came alive.

A projector, invisible a second earlier, cast a shaking image across the wallpaper.

Two boys sat in a white room behind glass.

Eli knew them at once.

Seventeen-year-old Rowan was pressed against the wall, blood at one temple. Seventeen-year-old Eli stood in the center of the room, crying so hard his shoulders shook.

An off-screen voice asked, “Do you understand the consequences, Elias?”

Young Eli looked directly into the camera.

“Delete that night,” he said. “Delete it from me. Delete it from Rowan too. Please.”

The image cut to black.

Eli fell back against the pillows as if struck.

Rowan sat up beside him, breathing hard. “I didn’t know it had that file.”

“You knew there was a night.”

“I knew there was an accident.”

“And you let me live with a hole in my head?”

“I thought it was what you wanted.”

“You thought?” Eli’s voice cracked. “Or you needed me not to remember something about you?”

Rowan recoiled as if Eli had shoved him. “That isn’t fair.”

“No. It isn’t.”

The hotel lights returned. The projector was gone. On Eli’s phone, a new folder had appeared:

SLOANE_ARCHIVE

.

Eli grabbed it before the screen could erase itself and copied the contents to one of his recorders.

“Dr. Adrian Sloane,” he read. “Who is he?”

Rowan’s face had gone hard with dread. “The scientist who ran the program.”

“Is he alive?”

“No.”

Three knocks sounded at the suite door.

Neither moved.

Then a woman’s voice came through the wood. Cool. Controlled.

“Rowan. Open the door before I have security do it.”

Rowan swore.

Eli opened the door first.

Mara Vale stood in the hallway in a red dress beneath a black coat, rain shining on her dark hair. Her eyes moved from Eli’s rumpled shirt to Rowan on the bed, then back again.

She did not look surprised.

“Calder knows the protocol woke up,” she said.