Harmonic by Erica O’Rourke Page A

I’ve told her more.
    I’m relieved when the elevator stops at the Archives. Laurel brushes a quick kiss over my lips. “See you after work?”
    I nod as she steps out. Next to me, Garnett is turning red and staring at the floor. “Have a nice day,” he mumbles.
    Laurel doesn’t reply, and the doors slide shut. For the rest of the ride, I keep my hands folded and my gaze straight ahead, avoiding Garnett’s curious look.
    â€œWhat’s on tap for today?” he asks once we’re in the office. “More cut sites?”
    â€œMaybe later,” I say. “I had a run-in with some Free Walkers last night.” Some instinct keeps me from mentioning Laurel’s involvement.
    His eyebrows shoot up. “Without me?”
    â€œI got the report while I was at home. I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal to check it out.”
    â€œBy yourself?” He frowns. “We’re supposed to be partners.”
    â€œWe are,” I say, sidestepping the question of whether I went alone. “When I got to the Echo, the Free Walkers had started a cleaving, but it wasn’t the usual procedure.”
    I try to describe what I witnessed—their staccato movements and the strange, split nature of the unraveling—but Garnett shakes his head.
    â€œI never saw them in action before,” he says. “What happened next?”
    â€œThey spotted”—I almost say us , but catch myself—“me. I made it back through the entry pivot right before it disintegrated.”
    â€œClose call.” His gaze is fixed on me. I shift under the weight of it. “I wish you’d told me about it first. Four against two isn’t great odds, but at least I’ve got training.”
    â€œI know. It won’t happen again.”
    â€œGood.” He drops his empty coffee cup in the trash. “Anything else I should know about?”
    I hesitate, thinking about Sal and cinnamon coffee. The tingling along the back of my neck has returned.
    Four against two, Garnett said. How would he know the Free Walkers used four-person teams if he’d never seen them before? I didn’t mention it, and Consort Cleavers always work in threes.
    This is how they keep an eye on you, Del told me.
    But there are other explanations—Garnett’s an expert on Free Walkers; Lattimer might have filled him in. And surely, if he had been there last night he would have helped us.
    Unless he was there as a Free Walker. Unless Garnett’s the mole.
    â€œAddie?”
    â€œIt’s nothing,” I say, rubbing a hand over my nape. “I’m just tired.”
    â€œRunning for your life will do that.”
    â€œLaurel’s pulling some reports for me,” I say. “I want to look them over before we head out.”
    â€œI bet,” he says, sotto voce .
    I settle down to work, poring over the report on Sal’s death, scrutinizing the outdated photo. It’s definitely the man I remember from the coffee cart, but I have no way to track him down. It’s been too long since my last visit to that Echo; I can approximate the pitch, but that’s not good enough. I need the exact frequency, and the only person who knows it is refusing my visits.
    â€œWhat are you looking for?” Garnett asks as I scowl at the screen. I’d nearly forgotten he was there, he’s been so silent and unmoving. Like a hunter in a blind. “Those Walks are too old for me to track anyone.”
    â€œOh. Yeah. I was . . . getting some background.” I push my chair back. “I should go check on those records.”
    Garnett’s eyes narrow. “Want company?”
    â€œNah,” I say, forcing brightness. “Why don’t you talk to the team that was attacked? See if they remember anything else about the Free Walkers.”
    â€œSure,” he says with a wry grin. “I’ll get right on