even.â
âLafferty?â There was a Dr. Lafferty who had written my Quantum Bio textbook from last year, but he was a man.
âLafferty. I told you about my interview with her three days ago. The medical director at ICE? Bree, are you sure youâre feeling okay?â
âI ⦠yes. Lafferty. I got her name mixed up in my mind with someone else ⦠named ⦠Dafferty.â
âDafferty?â
âSo she said that nerves are normal.â I tried to get us back on track.
âYeah, and that thereâs nothing to be nervous about. âItâs only Shifting,â she said. âPeople have been doing it for millennia.ââ
â Shifters have been doing it for millennia,â I said quietly, but Wyck didnât hear me.
âBesides, I told her Iâd made you a promise.â He reached out and grasped both my hands in his. âYou want a Shifter boyfriend. Youâve got one.â
What? I fought the urge to yank my hands away as I quickly replayed the conversation weâd just had. From the way Wyck was talking, I was the one who had pressured him into Shifting. But that was the opposite of what I wanted. I mean, yeah. I wanted a Shifter boyfriend. I wanted Finn. My Shifter boyfriend. I wanted Wyck to have never heard of the possibility. I wanted ICE to have never invented the IcePick and even make it a possibility.
No, a voice chimed in my head, thatâs what Real Bree wants . I couldnât act or think like Real Bree anymore. I had no idea what this Fake Bree wanted, what she needed, what she had been up to for the last six months. This was like waking up from a coma, only to find out that your comatose self had been not only living your life the whole time, but had been living it all wrong.
My solution: keep Wyck talking.
I maintained a steady stream of small talk all the way back to the Institute and managed to glean the following about the time Iâd lost: I had still ended up Anchored, but for made-up health reasons, not for breaking the rules. Quigley wasnât a teacher at the Institute anymore. She had left to pursue humanitarian efforts, taking care of Shifters who had succumbed to the Madness, at Resthaven. Granderson had joined her there full-time as well, just as he had on my timeline.
When we reached the entrance to the Institute, where Wyck was still in the transporter program, I leaned forward to brush my hair against the scanner, but Wyck blocked it with his broad torso.
âWhy the hurry?â He bent down, and at first I assumed he was picking something up but instead he whispered something into my ear that really made Real Bree want to slap him.
I closed my eyes and tried to pretend that somehow it was Finn standing in front of me, that somehow I wasnât betraying him or missing him or ⦠I reached up, without opening my eyes and brushed my lips against Wyckâs. They reciprocated with enthusiasm.
Okay, then.
I tried to return his kiss with an approximation of anything but revulsion. I kept my brain busy by coming up with a mental to-do list: Research this Lafferty woman, Infiltrate ICE, Strangle my future self when I caught up with her.
Wyck finally came up for air, and in the corner of my vision, I saw what looked like a photo flash from across the street. I glanced over, but I must have imagined it. There was nothing there.
âYou seem distracted,â Wyck said.
âIâm just tired.â
He patted me on the shoulder. âYou should go get some rest.â
âI should.â
Or.
I should plant another peck on Wyckâs cheek, wait until he disappeared into his room, and run straight back out to catch a Pod to Resthaven.
Option two it was.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
âThis had better be important.â Quigley swept into her office and stared me down. Her furnishings and picturesâold-fashioned to the point of archaicâwere much more suited to Resthaven