The Girl Who Dared to Stand (The Girl Who Dared #2)(19)

I rubbed my fingers against each other, trying to put the pieces together. Ezekial hadn’t supported Scipio’s role in making decisions on behalf of humanity. Had he joined that group he mentioned earlier, to fight the idea? Prometheus? Who were they—and could they even still be around after all this time? Could they be behind the changes in the main Scipio’s behavior? Lionel had mentioned that it would take decades to crack Scipio 2.0. Had someone managed to do just that? Had they been trying it for three centuries, and only recently cracked it? And if so, and they truly didn’t believe in an AI running the Tower, why hadn’t they just shut Scipio down, if that was their goal?

Or did they have something else in mind? And if so, what was it?

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve some of the pressure that was beginning to develop there, signaling the onset of a stress headache. It was just so much to take in, and I had a feeling that we had only scratched the surface. I was tired. Exhausted. And emotionally drained from the events of the day. We all were, really.

I leaned back, suddenly wishing desperately that Cali and Roark were here. They would know what to do—they would be able to handle this. At least make better sense of it than I could. They could even tell us what to do. I’d be very grateful for that.

Honestly, I just wanted them back. But that was beside the point.

“Hey, Scipio?” Quess called gently, breaking the silence.

I started to look over at Quess, but found Scipio instead. The holographic projection seemed to be leaning against a bookcase behind us, hands shoved into the pockets of his antiquated uniform, his face lost in deep thought. Watching him, I realized how difficult it must’ve been for him to see Lionel’s death.

“Scipio?” I called his name quietly, and a moment or two later he blinked, his blue eyes sliding over me.

“Yes?” he said, looking around. “I’m sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. And who are you?”

“Quess,” the young man supplied cheerfully. “Short for Quessian Brown. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Scipio replied, bowing.

“Grey Farmless,” Grey said when Scipio turned his inquisitive glowing eyes toward him.

Scipio smiled politely and nodded. He arched an eyebrow and smugly asked, “I take it that shutting me down is now off the menu?”

“I guess so.” Quess leaned forward to peer at Grey and me before settling back into the cushions. “Seems so,” he amended. “Anyway, that’s not what I was going to talk about. I have a question.”

“Oh.” Scipio turned his eyes on me, his face quizzical. “Of course. I imagine you’d have many.”

“I think we all do,” Grey said, and I nodded.

“Yes, but I’m going first,” Quess said, and I rolled my eyes. “So… Who is Karl?”

That was a good question. I had almost forgotten that little detail in the aftermath of watching Lionel getting murdered, so I was glad he had remembered.

Scipio opened his mouth and then closed it. “That’s classified,” he said after a second. “And before you try to argue that the person who made it classified is now dead, I can assure you that this is worth keeping secret. Until I decide I can trust you.”

“Decide to trust us?” Grey exclaimed, standing up. “I mean sure, Quess and I would’ve killed you no problem, given the name you carry and the trouble your big brother has been causing us. But we heard you out. We decided not to kill you!”

“Don’t forget, you did threaten to electrocute me,” Quess pointed out congenially.

“You deserved it,” Scipio shot back, crossing his arms over his chest, and I sighed. Not quietly, either.

The three men turned toward me, and I leaned forward. “Guys, I don’t mean to be that girl, but we don’t have a lot of time here, and the others will need our help. Let’s speed this up.”

“Not until he tells us who Karl is,” Quess insisted stubbornly. “He needs our help if he wants to be moved to a new computer.”

“Yeah, but we are not going to threaten him,” I said, shifting in my seat so I could face Quess fully. “He hasn’t threatened us, except in self-defense, and if he wants to take time to get to know us, I say that’s fair.”

“He is standing right here,” Scipio said, and I realized how rude I had just been in talking about him as if he weren’t present.

“I’m sorry,” I said, instantly contrite. “I should’ve said ‘you’, not ‘he’.”

Scipio smiled. “It’s really okay,” he replied. “I’m just happy that you cared enough to apologize. And thought me worthy of it.”

Grey shifted next to me, and I glanced over at him, noting the disgruntled expression on his face. He stared at Scipio for a long moment, and then abruptly stood up. “Look, it’s great that we aren’t enemies, but I’m still failing to understand a few things—namely, what does all of this matter to our current situation? It happened three hundred years ago, and none of this is particularly helpful for keeping Devon and the rest of the Knights from finding us right now. I mean, Liana, we are exposed in this room without Quess’s paint. What if they’ve already started pinging for us?”

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and I empathized. Those were all valid concerns, and ones that were more critical than Scipio at this juncture.