“Raine, I have to talk to you. About last night. Is there somewhere we—”

“Not now. I have to get ready first. If my father sees me like this when everyone arrives, I’m not sure what will happen.”

Her hair is loose, falling across her shoulders. She wears a thin loose-fitting white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and smudged pants like she just came from her rooftop garden.

“Give me twenty minutes,” she says. “I have to shower and change.” She walks away and then turns, looking at me sternly. “We won’t have long. Make sure you have something to say this time.”

I nod. Maybe I’ve only slipped to an eight on the trust meter.

She disappears down the hallway and I step into the living room to wait. It’s less painful to stand than to ease myself in and out of chairs so I walk around the room, examining the artifacts the Secretary has collected. Maybe as I wait I’ll come across one of those bits that Carver has instructed me to find fast, but it mostly looks like expensive things a designer has collected for him. Items are artfully arranged on shelves and in nooks, a Chinese vase, silver filigreed masks, an antique tortoiseshell letter opener, things with no personal connection other than being suited to his tastes like the antique sword hanging behind his desk.

In the far corner, on a shelf almost out of view, I find three beautiful leather-bound volumes that look like antiques too, but when I pull them out I see they’re photo albums, not casual snapshots but professional photos taken for special occasions. Something personal at last. The first album has pictures of Raine as a toddler. The first photo is one of Raine dressed in a matching red dress and hat, held in the arms of a woman with auburn hair and a beaming smile. Raine’s other mother. I turn the pages, one after another, some with Raine alone, many with her mother, but only one with the Secretary present. He never did know what to do with me. And yet, he saves these pictures.

I look at the next album, Raine as an older child, five, six, seven … always smiling with her mother. At least she had that much, an adoptive mother who cared about her. Was this woman really unaware of how the Secretary obtained Raine, or was she so desperate for a child that she didn’t care? And finally the last album, beginning at about age twelve, only a quarter filled, probably because her mother died. The last picture is of the whole family, her mother, gaunt with a weak smile, Raine with a brave one, and the Secretary not looking directly at the camera but instead gazing somberly down at his wife and Raine. Worry or burden? Was he already wondering what to do with Raine once his wife was gone? Keep her or give her away?

“The Secretary doesn’t like those to be viewed.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Hap setting a tray of tea on a table. I flip another page. “Then why does he keep them?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But before he returns home, I would advise you to put them back where you found them.”

I turn around. “The Secretary isn’t here?”

“There was a security breach two nights ago. His duties have required additional attention. But he’s due back later this evening.” A security breach? Just at the same time I went down into the tunnels? Since when did his duties include securing supposedly abandoned tunnels? This only confirms that the tunnels are home to more than half-dogs.

I place the albums back to where I found them. “Thanks for the tip.” If there was ever a time I needed to butter up nugget-head this is it. “And thanks for the tea too. I don’t need anything else. You can go.”

He doesn’t move.

“I won’t touch any more albums if you’re worried,” I add.

“I’m not worried. For an Eater and Breather, you appear to be a fast learner.”

Eater and Breather?

Besides Dot, I’ve never heard another Bot use that term. Dot used it in a soft, endearing way. Hap uses it with utter contempt. I know Raine is his priority, even above the Secretary. Is that what this is all about? He resents me and the way I’ve wormed my way into her life? He must have been aware of every single night she went down the rope ladder to be with me. He used to be her lone confidante. Now she has another.

I take a step closer to him. “I’m not trying to replace you, Hap.”

“And that would be quite impossible, considering your abundant limitations.”

I grin. “I’ll remember that.”

For the first time I see the expression on his nugget-head change, his eyes narrowing like a cat that’s come to an understanding with a mouse, the closest thing I’ve seen to satisfaction on his face. He nods.

“Dorian has the night off,” he says. “So I’ll excuse myself now to finish preparing tonight’s refreshments.”

As soon as he leaves, I waste no time heading down to the lower level. How long do I have before Raine returns? Ten minutes? Fifteen?

* * *

The Secretary’s office is in disarray, as though he left in a rush. Drawers and files are open. A half-finished drink still sits on his desk. His haste could be my gold mine. I race through the open files first, but there are only four memos that all seem to be standard bureaucratic transmittals. Trying to open up something else could be tricky, perhaps sending the whole system crashing, or setting off alarms if I touch the wrong file. Instead, I look through the drawers. Paper trails are rare these days, paper itself seldom used except for certain types of documents, and the only paper I find of consequence is a small handwritten note on a torn scrap of paper, yellow and brittle with age, that shows an address: