Chapter 3 - Devon Price Had Said No
I called Devon from the hallway outside the ballroom.
No warning.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Rachel?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“Depends how much money you need.”
Same voice.
Older.
Still him.
“I’m at Fort Mercer.”
Silence.
Then:
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“The anniversary.”
He knew.
Everyone from RT-01 had received the glossy brochure.
None of us had been invited.
At least I thought none of us had.
“Did you send your tag?”
“Yes.”
“I have it.”
“I know.”
Three months earlier, after the brochure arrived, I had called all five original cohort members.
I said I was going to ask why we had been omitted.
Four mailed me their ceremonial tags.
Devon mailed his overnight.
He had included one note:
Make them say the names.
That was why the scanned archive note mattered.
“Devon.”
“What?”
“Did you ever ask Return Track to erase you?”
“No.”
“Did I ask on your behalf?”
He went quiet.
I heard traffic somewhere near him.
“You tried.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“After you lost it on Mason.”
“The email.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“You sent us all copies.”
I remembered now.
I had CC'd the cohort.
“You replied.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you say?”
Devon took a breath.
“Rachel, don't do this.”
I closed my eyes.
He continued.
“You were angry because Jenna’s interview got cut into some inspirational garbage.”
That was true.
Jenna Ortiz had spent an hour explaining that recovery did not necessarily mean returning to the same job.
The final video used eleven seconds.
“I said my name stays.”
“Yes.”
“You remember?”
“Now I do.”
I leaned against the ballroom wall.
“How did my memory miss that?”
“Because you had fifty things happening.”
Fair.
New prosthetic fittings.
Pain.
Medical board.
My marriage ending quietly in the background.
Return Track meetings.
I had been twenty-three and convinced volume could substitute for control.
“Did Mason know?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I emailed him separately.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What did he say?”
“That the privacy hold would be temporary.”
There.
“Exact words?”
“Something like, ‘Ninety days while legal cleans up consent.’”
I looked through the glass doors toward Mason.
He was inside talking to Hale.
“Did you ever follow up?”
“Twice.”
“What happened?”
“First time Elliot said the registry wasn't public.”
“And second?”
“Mason called.”
“When?”
Devon went quiet.
“Three years ago.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Mason called me three years ago.”
“About what?”
“The names.”
My anger changed shape.
“What did he say?”
“That the program anniversary was coming eventually and he wanted to know whether I wanted mine restored.”
I stared through the glass.
Mason had never mentioned that.
“What did you tell him?”
Devon laughed softly.
“I told him not to touch anything until he contacted all six.”
“Why?”
“Because by then I was pissed at you too.”
I almost smiled.
“Fair.”
“No.”
He sounded more serious.
“You don't get ‘fair’ yet.”
I stopped.
He continued.
“You were the strongest one in that room, Rachel.”
“I was missing half a leg.”
“Not what I meant.”
I said nothing.
“When command wanted an answer, they looked at you. When one of us didn't want to argue, we let you.”
His voice tightened.
“And you liked it.”
That one hurt.
“You think I wanted to run everybody?”
“I think after the accident, people asking you what you wanted felt better than people deciding for you.”
I stared at the carpet.
Not wrong.
“Did I erase you?”
“No.”
“Did Mason?”
Devon took time.
“I think all of you made it easy.”
Then:
“But if he tells you he tried to fix it, ask why he stopped after one phone call.”
I looked toward Mason.
May you like
He had stopped talking to Hale.
He was watching me through the glass.
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