Most of what I know about hostels comes from Josie, who backpacked around Europe one summer and around Australia and Southeast Asia the next. According to her, they’re for people who want all the discomfort of camping out but none of the peace and quiet. She likes them anyway, though, because you get to meet people from all over the world. Sure enough, the lobby is filled with a group of Swedish college students trying to figure out the best time to visit Alcatraz. Paul pays the extra $10 to have a second guest, introducing me as his “girlfriend” so awkwardly that I wonder if the lady at the desk thinks I’m a hooker. But she signs me in, under my own fake ID.

“Hostels have private rooms?” I say, as Paul shuts the door behind us.

“Sometimes. I took one here because I knew I needed some privacy to work.”

The room looks like a split-open supercomputer. He’s hooked together five different laptops and a couple of devices I don’t recognize. The screens scroll on and on with lines of glowing code. Although the room is shadowy, almost devoid of natural light, Paul doesn’t turn on the lamp, maybe to avoid glare on the screens, which flicker with every new line of data. “What are you doing?”

“Tapping into Triad’s servers.”

“I thought you already did that.” Sure enough, a tablet computer propped against the wall flips through various security camera images from within Triad headquarters.

“Some data is more heavily protected. If I can break into that before I leave the country, great. If not, I’ll have to make some educated guesses.”

“About what?”

Paul doesn’t answer me directly, just takes off his coat. The Firebird gleams dully against his black sweater. “You wanted answers. So let’s begin.”

I sit down on the side of the bed that isn’t heaped with computers. Paul sits cross-legged on the floor, not even a foot away—there’s no room in here for us to give each other personal space. My phone buzzes in the pocket of my skirt—which, I realize, it’s been doing almost this whole time. I didn’t even notice. When I pick it up, there are a couple dozen text messages from Theo in varying states of panic. Where are What did you This isn’t Did Paul My car Why did you Meg Are you okay?

With a wince, I set my phone to Do Not Disturb. “Theo’s going to kill me,” I say, then I think more about what Theo might be doing at this moment. “Conley wouldn’t hurt him, would he?” When I dashed out of Triad, I never even wondered whether I might be putting Theo at risk.

“Probably not,” he says.

“Probably?”

“The odds are better than fifty-fifty.” Paul seems to think this is much more reassuring than it is. “Today, he’s safe. I didn’t see anything unexpected on the security cameras after you left. Theo’s confused, and Conley’s angry.”

I remember how Conley acted as though he’d run into us at random, but then fell into step with us as if the CEO of a massive global corporation had nothing else to do on New Year’s Day. He was trying to be casual while following us into Lab Eleven, where he would have done . . . what?

“Theo idolizes Wyatt Conley,” Paul says. “He’s begun to realize the situation with Triad is mixed-up, but he refuses to see the extent of it.”

“What do you mean, refuses?”

Paul shakes his head, but fondly. “Theo is—ambitious, in the best sense. He believes in the real-world applications of our work, and he wants everyone to benefit and profit from what we’ve discovered. Working with big companies, convincing people like Conley to give us more funding—I can’t do that kind of thing. I try and it’s ridiculous. Like a dog walking on its hind legs.”

“You pitched Mom and Dad’s research to Triad?”

“Basically, I stood there while Theo did,” Paul says. “He talks to them, and hundreds of thousands of dollars in R&D fall down on us like rain. But Theo’s not just making use of Conley and Triad; he’s dazzled by them. He believes in Conley because he wants to believe.”

Although I want to defend Theo, I know him well enough to see the truth of what Paul’s saying.

Paul continues, “Theo would never have brought you anywhere near Triad if he’d realized Conley’s real agenda. It goes beyond spying, into coercion—perhaps kidnapping between dimensions—and Conley’s only getting started.”

“Are we to the part where this is somehow all about me? Because that makes no sense whatsoever. Or is it only something you said to get me out of Triad?”

There’s laughter on the staircase, loud voices speaking Italian or Portuguese, some language I can almost recognize, but not quite. We both wait for their footsteps to thump downstairs and away from us, as though any overheard word could be dangerous.

Finally, silence. Paul meets my gaze and holds it. “It’s not just something I said. It’s the truth.”

“Still not making sense. What do I have to do with any of this? Mom and Dad are the geniuses behind the technology. You and Theo come next. I’m the one sitting around the rainbow table asking stupid questions.”

“Stop calling yourself stupid. You’re not.” Paul takes a deep breath. “You have your own intelligence. Your own value. But that’s not what Conley wanted from you.”

“Conley doesn’t even know me.”

“No. But he knows us—your parents, Theo and me. He needs to manipulate us; he needs to control us. And there’s only one way. Don’t you see, Marguerite? You’re the only person all four of us love.”