Free Return Once More by Trisha Leigh Page B

true, Caesarion left Alexandria around then. The date of her murder seemed like the best place to find him.
    If he hadn’t left the city yet, he would be at the palace, and missing
that
would be hard.
    With plan in place to get in and out as quickly as possible, I headed down the cold halls in my bare feet, slipping into the Research Lab. I had to swipe my wrist tattoo to open each door, but as with everything else, the information was stored but not monitored. As long as I didn’t give anyone a reason to be suspicious, all of my actions would disappear among the hundreds of other wrist swipes today.
    The fashion holo pulled sizes and color preferences from my stored bio stats, styling me in a cream-colored linen dress that reached my feet. Black and teal scarves fell off my shoulders and ringed my waist, and heavy turquoise and gold jewelry adorned my neck and wrists. It wanted my hair darker, almost black, but there wasn’t time to dye it. I hated itchy wigs; my dark brown would have to do. Way to go, Israeli heritage. The leather sandals it chose were softer, more comfortable than the shoes I’d worn in Rome. Black makeup smudged my eyelids and trailed underneath, making me look like a sort of attractive raccoon.
    The jewelry, scarves, and makeup were added because I’d entered “elite” into the social strata column. Cleopatra and her family had wealth beyond imagining, and no one without status would be able to get near them, except the servants. I could have easily slipped into the palace as a slave, and perhaps it would have been the smarter call and simpler to blend in, but at the last moment, I knew I didn’t want to go unseen.
    If Caesarion looked up, if our eyes met, I wanted him to notice me. Just for a moment, to glimpse the look in his eyes when he felt our connection. A boy like him would never notice a servant girl.
    Nerves quickened my heartbeat. If I waited until tomorrow, or even another five minutes, I would change my mind.
    A quick rummage through the closet produced all of the recommended pieces. The memory of old movies with teenage girls digging through piles of clothes looking for a missing shoe or that one skirt they wanted to wear made me smile. I simply punched in identification numbers attached to each piece of clothing, and drawers slid out, hangers popped away from the racks. The makeup and jewelry followed suit. The girl in the mirror looked exactly as the holo had styled her. It was now or never.
    Excitement struggled to take over my nerves, the desire to see Caesarion still warring with the deep-seated worry that something could go wrong. If it did, I would be alone and the only way to get help would be to turn myself in. It might be dumb to take the risk—I knew Analeigh would think so—but I didn’t want to wait. Nothing would go wrong. In and out.
    I wanted my moment.
    To be extra sure that Analeigh, who loved mornings like some kind of psychopath, wouldn’t freak the hell out and sound some kind of alarm, I sent her a quick wrist comm, scheduled to be delivered at the same time her alarm went off:
    Don’t worry.
    Dressed in the light linen that swished pleasantly in the deserted halls, I hurried to the portal chambers, swiped my wrist tat, and another record of my movements swirled into the void. I really should have paid more attention to Sarah as she babbled on about comps and how to trick them, but it was one trip. One hour. Two at the most.
    The doors air locked behind me with a suction sound, and my ears popped.
    An attack of anxiety and second thoughts weakened my knees, and I sank down onto one of the cold metal benches. I wouldn’t get caught. People were asleep. No one knew I had Jonah’s cuff, and the overseers and Elders had no reason to check my movements.
    Out of nowhere, hot anger flared, burning my stomach. Jonah had run off; if my absence did trigger some unknown alarm, people might assume I’d done the same.