“Flight 417, you are cleared to land.”
Then she added something meant only for Maya.
“And tell Ethan he can stop pretending now.”
Maya looked toward the fighter.
The F-16 banked.
For the first time, she saw the opposite side of its fuselage.
Painted beneath the wing was a black identification number.
ICARUS-02.
Maya’s pulse stopped.
She looked at Adrian.
“What does 02 mean?”
Adrian did not answer.
“Tell me.”
His voice was barely audible.
“In every Icarus trial, assets were numbered in pairs.”
Maya looked at Lucas.
“Lucas is 417.”
“No.”
Adrian shook his head.
“Flight 417 was chosen because of him.”
He pointed to Ethan’s aircraft.
“Ethan was Icarus-02.”
Maya stared at the fighter.
“Then who was Icarus-01?”
Adrian looked directly at her.
Before he could answer, every screen in the cockpit changed.
A photograph appeared.
Maya.
Twenty-three years old.
Wearing a hospital gown.
Unconscious.
A serial number printed beneath her image.
