Misbrugende partnere

Chapter One

As night fell, the cold moon hung high in the sky. The bright moonlight fell on the ancient castle on the edge of the city, casting a mysterious silver veil around it. Emily stood on the balcony, looking at the forest in the distance, and felt a chill rising from the bottom of her heart. Since moving to this castle, her life has become bizarre and mysterious.
The cold wind in October swept across her bare shoulders, bringing a shudder. Emily subconsciously wrapped her woolen shawl tightly around her, but she couldn't feel any warmth. This castle seems to be always cold, just like its mysterious owner Lucas Black, exuding an inaccessible atmosphere.
"Miss Emily," suddenly, a low voice sounded behind her, "You'll catch a cold if you're still outside so late."
She turned around and saw Lucas standing at the balcony door. The moonlight outlined his tall figure. He was wearing a dark silk shirt, and the collar vaguely revealed his strong chest. The amber eyes flickered strangely in the darkness, as if they could see through her soul.
"Mr. Black," Emily whispered, trying to hide the trembling in her voice, "I'm just admiring the moonlight."
Lucas took a step forward, but suddenly stopped. Emily noticed that his body stiffened instantly, and his nostrils fluttered slightly, as if he was sniffing something. His expression became solemn, and a glimmer of wildness flashed in his eyes, but was quickly suppressed.
"Please go in," his voice was hoarser than usual, "It's not safe here."
Just then, a cold night breeze swept across the balcony, bringing a faint smell of rust. Emily saw that Lucas's fingers were almost pinched into the stone railing, and his knuckles were white. She couldn't help but take a step back, her heartbeat accelerated.
"I thought this castle was the safest place," she whispered, "after all, you are here."
Lucas let out an almost inaudible growl, "Some danger, Miss Emily, is much closer than you think." His eyes looked unusually sharp in the moonlight, "especially on a full moon night."
Suddenly, a wolf howl came from the distant forest, shrill and long. Emily was surprised to find that Lucas' pupils shrank in an instant and turned into vertical pupils like a beast, but the fleeting change made her wonder if it was just an illusion caused by the moonlight.
Just then, a cold breath passed by her from behind, accompanied by a chuckle. Emily turned around and saw only a dark shadow flashing in the corner of the balcony. When she looked back again, Lucas had come to her side, with a hand gently on her shoulder.
"I'll take you back to your room," he said, with an unquestionable commanding tone in his voice. Emily noticed that his palms were surprisingly hot, in sharp contrast to the chill of the castle.
Walking in the dark corridor of the castle, Emily could feel Lucas' presence, he walked behind her like a silent guardian. Moonlight poured in through the Gothic stained glass windows, casting mottled shadows on the floor.
"Good night, Miss Emily," Lucas whispered in front of her door, "Remember, no matter what sound you hear, don't leave the room tonight."
"Why?" Emily asked subconsciously.
Lucas was silent for a moment, his eyes looked deep and dangerous in the moonlight, "Because the moonlight tonight is too beautiful, it will always wake up something that shouldn't wake up."
When the door closed behind her, Emily leaned against the door, her heartbeat still alarmingly fast. She could hear Lucas's footsteps gradually fading away, but she seemed to hear the sound of wings flapping outside the window. She walked to the window and looked out through the glass.
In the moonlit courtyard, she saw a figure standing by the fountain. The man looked up at her window, and the moonlight illuminated his pale marble face - it was Draco, with a mysterious smile on his lips and a dangerous light in his eyes. When Emily blinked, his figure had disappeared, as if he had never appeared. Emily lay trembling on the bed, listening to the wolf howling outside the window. She knew that she had fallen into a world full of dangers, and this was just the beginning. On this moonlit night, her fate was closely linked to two mysterious and dangerous beings, and there was no turning back.

Chapter Two

In the dead of night, Emily lay in bed, the faces of Lucas and Draco appeared in her mind. She could not resist the deep attraction, but she also knew that she was caught in a dangerous vortex. She knew that the confrontation between the two men was a life-and-death hostility, and she was just a pawn in their war. A corner of her heart reminded her to escape, but the deeper desire pulled her to stay in this mysterious castle, looking forward to the unknown encounter.

        Just as she was about to fall asleep, a slight knock on the window interrupted the silence. Emily opened her eyes, and the moonlight poured into the room through the curtains, making the corners of the room particularly dark. She sat up subconsciously, trembling slightly and walked to the window. When she opened the curtains, a figure was standing in front of her, cold and elegant.

        It was Draco.

        "Sorry, I scared you, Emily." His low voice was frivolous and indifferent, as if every word revealed his unfathomable darkness. His eyes were like two flames in the abyss, locking onto her with an irresistible force.

        "How... are you here?" Emily's heartbeat quickened, and her hands unconsciously clenched a corner of the curtain. She knew she should be scared at this moment, but Draco's unique charm made it hard for her to resist.

        Draco did not answer her question, but slowly approached, lowered his head and whispered in her ear: "You know why I'm here, Emily. You've never really been afraid of me, right?"

        The moment he approached, she smelled the cold breath on him, as if it came from the night a thousand years ago. Her breathing gradually became rapid, but she did not retreat, but was locked by his eyes, as if her soul was also attracted to him.

        "Draco... we can't do this." Her voice was weak, but she did not retreat at all, as if even she herself was struggling with contradictions.

        "You don't belong here at all, Emily. Staying here will only put you in deeper danger." Draco gently lifted her chin, with a smile on the corner of his cold mouth, that smile was both gentle and dangerous, "But if you want to know the real darkness, then come. I will take you to see everything."

        At this moment, the door was pushed open, and Lucas' figure appeared at the door like a shadow. His face was gloomy, and his eyes were burning with anger. It was his possessiveness and anger that he could not hide. He walked towards Draco step by step, his hands clenched, his muscles tensed, as if he was going to pounce on and tear the enemy in front of him in the next second.

        "Draco, let her go." Lucas' voice was low and threatening, like an enraged beast. It was the first time Emily saw him so out of control, his eyes were like a ball of unextinguishable fire, revealing uncontrollable anger and possessiveness.

        Draco smiled slightly, released Emily's chin, and looked at Lucas provocatively. "Don't you understand yet? She doesn't belong to you. The savagery of the wolf tribe is nothing but a bondage to her, and I can give her true freedom."

        "The 'freedom' you mentioned will only make her fall into darkness. You don't understand what true protection is." Lucas sneered, his eyes as sharp as an eagle. He slowly stepped forward, blocked Emily, and protected her behind him. That was his attitude as the wolf king, firm and unshakable.

        Emily was sandwiched between the two, feeling her heartbeat speed up, as if breathing became difficult. These two completely different forces intertwined and collided in front of her, making it impossible for her to decide which side to choose.

        Draco raised the corners of his mouth and slowly took a step back, his eyes still on Emily. "Emily, one day you will find that he can't satisfy the desire in your heart. And I am your true home."

        As soon as the voice fell, Draco's figure disappeared into the night, as if he had never appeared.

        Lucas looked at the empty room, his fists gradually loosened, but the anger and worry in his eyes remained. He turned around and looked at Emily softly, but his eyes still flashed with contradictions and forbearance.

        "Are you okay?" He asked in a low voice, with a trace of undisguised concern in his voice.

        Emily nodded, but her heart was in turmoil and it was difficult to calm down. She knew that she had fallen too deep. She could not let go of these two men easily, nor could she easily resist them. A complex emotion surged in her heart, which was a dangerous and fatal attraction.

        "Lucas, I..." She wanted to say something, but lost her words when she met his eyes.

        "Don't get close to him." Lucas' voice was low, with a hint of pleading and warning, "I know you feel confused, but Draco is not what you think. He will only drag you into the darkness, and I won't let him hurt you."

        Emily just looked at him silently, and a touch of uncertainty gradually rose in her heart. She knew that this was not just a war, but a contest of feelings and desires. In this dangerous triangle relationship, she has gone too far and can never turn back.

Chapter Three

Emily stayed awake all night. The wind outside the window blew through the woods, making a low moan, as if the whole castle was whispering in her ear. She curled up in bed, recalling Draco's cold smile and Lucas's deep eyes. Two completely different attractions stirred in her heart, making her lost on the edge of danger and desire.

        When the sky was slightly bright, she made a decision. She had to figure out what she wanted, the wildness and protection of the wolf tribe, or the mystery and temptation of the vampire. She got up and walked out of the room, walked through the deserted corridor, and came to the door of Lucas's study.

        The door of the study was slightly open, and a whisper came from inside. Emily stood outside the door and pricked up her ears to listen.

        "She is innocent, Lucas." A low and gentle female voice came from Lucas's sister, Leila. Emily had heard rumors about her. Leila was the wisest prophet in the wolf tribe and could always see fragments of the future.

        "I know, Leila." Lucas' voice was hoarse, as if he had struggled all night, "but I can't control myself, I can't suppress my desire for her. I'm afraid that if she stays with me, she will only be swallowed by my darkness."

        Emily's heart trembled, and she raised her hand to push open the door.

        "Lucas." Her voice was abrupt and firm in the silent room.

        The two turned around and saw her standing at the door with a hint of determination in her eyes. She walked slowly towards Lucas, looked up at him, with a hint of determination and inquiry in her eyes.

        "I know you protect me, but I'm not a fragile child." Her voice was calm and firm, "I need to know the truth. Why are you always so hesitant? And why is Draco so persistent in approaching me?"

        Lucas' expression froze for a moment, his eyes wandering on her face, as if he was weighing whether to tell her everything. Finally, he took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind.

        "Emily, the fate of our werewolves is usually determined at birth. The wolf tribe has a unique ability to perceive its partner. When we find that person, we will feel an attraction that cannot be ignored... and you are my destined partner." Lucas spoke in a low voice, with pain and desire flashing in his eyes.

        Emily's heartbeat accelerated, and thousands of emotions surged in her mind, both shocked and confused. She never thought that she would become his destined partner, and his possessiveness and protectiveness of her turned out to come from this ancient bond.

        She asked softly: "What about Draco? Why is he so obsessed with me?"

        Lucas's eyes became more gloomy, and there was a hint of anger in his eyes. "Draco's tribe never believed in fate. They prefer to dominate their own future. And he believes that as long as he possesses you, he can destroy me and the traditional beliefs of the wolf tribe. So, he is not sincere to you, but to weaken my power."

        Emily's heart suddenly tightened, and a hint of anger and loss surged in her eyes. However, she also felt a little unwilling, as if she was just a tool in this struggle, being fought over and torn by the two, and she had no right to control herself.

        "So, Lucas, are you sincere? Is it just fate for me?" There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, and her eyes became cold.

        Lucas was stunned, as if he was hurt by her question. He was silent for a moment before speaking: "Emily, I can't deny the existence of fate, but I can't ignore my feelings for you." He gently held her hand, his eyes full of affection and desire, "Whether it is fate or something else, I am willing to give up everything for you."

        Just then, a slight sound came from outside the window. Emily turned back suddenly and saw a pair of dark red eyes flashing outside the window, like a flame in the dark, and the familiar cold breath startled her heart.

        It was Draco.

        He stood outside the window, sneering at them, as if everything was under his control. He knocked on the window lightly, his voice cold and full of provocation: "I don't think it's possible to talk about 'betraying' everything here, Lucas. You can't protect her because she will eventually come to me."

        Lucas' eyes immediately became cold and dangerous. He stood in front of Emily, glared at Draco outside the window, and growled in a low voice: "Stay away from her, Draco. You can't force her to choose darkness."

        Draco smiled slightly, his eyes full of evil confidence. He raised his eyebrows at Emily, as if everything was under his control. "Dear Emily, you will find that the bright world cannot satisfy your desire. And darkness - is your destination." After he finished speaking, his figure instantly disappeared into the night.

        The room returned to silence, but the air was filled with tension and uneasiness. Emily looked at the empty darkness outside the window, feeling both fear and desire in her heart. She could no longer deny Draco's attraction to her, and the danger and mystery made her heart beat faster.

        Lucas noticed her hesitation, and a trace of pain and uneasiness flashed in his eyes. He gently held her hand and whispered, "Emily, don't get close to him. His darkness will devour you and make you lost in the endless night."

        She didn't respond, but just looked at him silently, her heart full of complicated emotions. She knew that she could no longer simply withdraw from the two of them. Her fate had been drawn into an uncontrollable vortex, and the only thing she could do was to follow her heart and touch the unknown darkness.

Chapter Four

As autumn deepened, the forest surrounding the castle donned a cloak of gold and crimson. Yet Emily felt none of the season's warmth. Since that night's revelation, her mind had been in constant turmoil, with Lucas's truth and Draco's temptation intertwining like two serpents in her thoughts, leaving her breathless.

        That evening, Emily found herself alone in the castle's library, searching through ancient tomes for any mention of werewolves and vampires. As she focused on a yellowed manuscript, the air suddenly turned cold. Looking up, she found Draco standing across from her, his appearance as silent as shadow.

        "Seeking truth, my dear Emily?" Draco leaned elegantly against the bookshelf, wearing a deep purple silk shirt that made his skin appear even paler. "But you know, written accounts are often one-sided."

        Emily instinctively stepped back. "Why do you always appear like this? It's unsettling."

        Draco chuckled softly, moving toward her with fluid grace. "Because I enjoy seeing you startled. It makes you even more enticing." His fingers traced her cheek, the cold touch making her shiver. "Lucas told you I'm merely using you, but did he mention that his fate is actually a chain binding him?"

        Emily froze. "What do you mean?"

        "The werewolves' so-called destined mates are nothing but constraints in their bloodline," Draco's voice carried a hypnotic power. "They're forced to love someone, forced to protect them. Isn't that tragic? While I..." his gaze deepened, "I choose you because I'm truly drawn to you."

        A low growl suddenly echoed from the doorway. Lucas stood there, his eyes now golden, filled with rage. "Step away from her, Draco!" His voice carried an unmistakable threat.

        Instead of retreating, Draco pulled Emily closer. "Why so angry, Lucas? Is it because I spoke the truth, or because you fear she might choose me?"

        The tension in the air grew thick enough to cut. Emily could feel the energy between the two men threatening to tear the room apart. Lucas's body trembled as he fought to control the beast within.

        "Enough!" Emily suddenly shouted, "What am I to both of you? Some trophy to be won?" Her voice carried both anger and hurt.

        Both men froze. Pain flashed across Lucas's eyes, while Draco's expression turned contemplative.

        Emily pushed away from Draco and walked toward the door, but paused beside Lucas. "You say I'm your destiny, but have you considered my feelings?" Her voice was soft but accusatory. "And you, Draco, if you truly cared for me, you wouldn't use me as a weapon against him."

        She hurried from the library, and only when she reached the corridor did her tears finally fall. She didn't know whom to trust - Lucas, chosen by fate, or Draco, who chose her himself? More importantly, she began to question whether she truly understood her own heart.

        As night fell, Emily stood on her balcony. Wolves howled in the distant forest, while somewhere in the castle, she thought she heard the flutter of bat wings. Everything reminded her that she stood at the crossroads between two worlds, and she had to make a choice.

        Then she noticed items on the balcony railing: a rose as black as night with a blood-red sheen - Draco's mark. Beside it lay a wolf fang necklace, a werewolf protection charm, obviously left by Lucas.

        Emily gently touched both items, her internal conflict growing stronger. She knew that choosing either would alter her destiny forever. But more importantly, she needed to understand what her heart truly desired.

        As moonlight bathed the castle grounds, Emily realized that her decision wouldn't just be about choosing between two men - it was about choosing what kind of life she wanted, and more importantly, who she wanted to become.

Chapter Five

The following days in the castle were filled with an unbearable tension. Emily found herself constantly caught between shadows and silence, between warmth and cold. Every corner seemed to hold either Lucas's protective presence or Draco's seductive whispers. The weight of their attention was becoming increasingly suffocating.

        One particularly cold morning, Emily discovered a mysterious leather-bound book in the library's restricted section. Its pages contained ancient prophecies about the eternal conflict between werewolves and vampires. As she read, her hands trembling, she found something that made her blood run cold.

        'When the moon bleeds red and the night grows teeth, a choice will be made that breaks the ancient cycle. A mortal's heart shall tip the balance, bringing either eternal darkness or salvation to both races.'

        "Interesting reading material," Leila's voice suddenly came from behind. Lucas's sister moved like a ghost, her silver eyes holding centuries of wisdom. "I've been waiting for you to find this."

        Emily closed the book carefully. "Is this... about me?"

        Leila's expression remained enigmatic. "The prophecy speaks of a mortal who stands between our worlds. But prophecies, dear Emily, are like rivers - they show the destination, but the path taken is always your choice."

        "What happens if I choose wrong?" Emily's voice wavered.

        "There is no wrong choice, only consequences," Leila replied, her voice gentle but firm. "But I must warn you - the blood moon approaches, and with it, a moment of truth that will change everything."

        Before Emily could ask more questions, a commotion erupted from the castle grounds. They rushed to the window to see Lucas and Draco facing each other in the courtyard, their postures tense with barely contained violence.

        "You've crossed the line, Draco," Lucas's voice carried up to them, filled with fury. "You dare to mark our territory?"

        Draco's laugh was cold and mocking. "Territory? This stopped being about territory the moment she arrived. Or are you afraid she's already choosing me?"

        Emily watched in horror as Lucas's form began to shift, his muscles rippling beneath his clothes. The morning sun caught his golden eyes, now burning with primal rage. Draco's own transformation was more subtle - his pale skin taking on an otherworldly sheen, his movements becoming impossibly fluid.

        "Stop!" Emily's voice rang out across the courtyard. Both men froze, their attention snapping to her window. "This has to end!"

        She turned to rush downstairs, but Leila caught her arm. "Be careful, Emily. The blood moon is three days away. Under its light, both races lose control of their darker natures. And you..." she paused meaningfully, "you will be at your most vulnerable."

        When Emily reached the courtyard, the tension was thick enough to choke on. Lucas immediately moved to her side, his protective instinct evident in every motion. But it was Draco who spoke first.

        "My apologies for the disturbance, dear Emily," his voice was silk over steel. "But perhaps it's time you understood the full scope of what you're involved in." He pulled an ancient medallion from his coat. "This belongs to your grandmother. She wasn't just any woman - she was a guardian, keeper of the balance between our races."

        Emily's world tilted. "My grandmother? But she died when I was young..."

        "She was murdered," Lucas cut in, his voice heavy with old pain. "By those who wanted to destroy the peace between our kinds. And now, as her descendant, you inherit her role - and her enemies."

        The revelation hit Emily like a physical blow. Suddenly, everything made more sense - the mysterious circumstances that led her to the castle, both men's intense interest in her, the prophecy. She wasn't just caught between two supernatural beings; she was part of an ancient legacy.

        "The blood moon comes," Draco said softly, his eyes locked on Emily. "And with it, powers long dormant will awaken. You'll need to choose not just between us, Emily, but between two paths for both our races."

        As if in response to his words, clouds gathered overhead, casting strange shadows across the courtyard. Emily felt something stir within her, something old and powerful, like a sleeping giant finally beginning to wake.

        Lucas moved closer, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill air. "Whatever you choose, Emily, know that my protection isn't just about fate or duty anymore. It's about-"

        But before he could finish, a piercing scream cut through the air. All three turned to see Leila collapsed at the castle entrance, her silver eyes wide with terror as she pointed at the sky.

        "It's coming," she gasped. "The blood moon... it's coming early. And with it, they're returning - the ones who killed your grandmother. They're coming for Emily."

        In that moment, as Emily looked between Lucas and Draco, she realized that her choice might not be about love at all - it might be about survival.

KAPITEL 0
DET, du skal vide om mig for at forstå alt det, der kommer nu, er, at jeg dræber mennesker.
Klokken er halv ti om aftenen, og jeg gemmer mig i buskene på den anden side af gaden og to døre nede fra et hus med to soveværelser og to etager. Det er midsommer i Portland, og temperaturen er faldet efter solnedgang, men det er stadig for varmt til, at den mørke, langærmede hættetrøje, jeg har på, kan mindske min synlighed. I morgen tidlig vil jeg betale prisen for at have siddet på hug i timevis på 45 år gamle knæ.
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Det er smertefuldt at lære disse detaljer at kende, og det river gamle sår op hver gang. Ekkoer af den samme historie, min historie, gentager sig med konstant hyppighed, som et trommeslag, der præger livet. Jeg har lyst til at begrave mit hoved i sandet og overdøve lyden, men jeg kan ikke undslippe den, uanset hvor meget jeg prøver. Hver sag er forskellig i detaljerne, men ens i mønstrene.
Cathy har været tvangsmæssigt på Tomo og besøgt sine bedste venners profiler. Hun opdaterer dog ikke sin status, som hun plejer at gøre. Hun har periodiske huller i sine opslag, og når hun af og til formår at skrive et lille indlæg, viser tekstanalysen en negativ stemning.
I de sidste tyve års rus af sociale medier opfandt teknologibranchen snesevis af nye måder at analysere tweets, Tomoindlæg og blogindlæg på for at bestemme stemningen hos den, der har skrevet dem. Oprindeligt blev de oprindeligt brugt af virksomheder til at måle deres kunders opfattelse af deres mærker og produkter, men nu hjælper profileringsværktøjerne mig med at finde den deprimerede.
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Lyset ovenpå blinker ud, og pludselig kan jeg ikke få vejret. Jeg knytter min hånd så hårdt, at jeg vil finde tilbageværende fingerneglepletter i morgen tidlig, men lige nu kan jeg ikke mærke noget som helst. Der sker forfærdelige ting i mørket.
Det tager et langt minut, før min krop tvinger mig til at trække vejret, og med et skarpt indånding bryder fortryllelsen. Jeg er ikke i huset. Dave er ikke min dæmon, selv om han er Cathys. Jeg er en uafhængig agent, der er ansvarlig for mit eget jeg.
Den sorte nylontaske vejer tungt mod min højre side, værktøjerne i tasken gør det muligt for mig at udføre mit arbejde og i værste fald at tage personlig handling.
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Jeg har Nike-sneakers til mænd på (20 procent markedsandel), som jeg har købt hos FootLocker (den mest populære skoforhandler). Jeg er iført Levi jeans til mænd (det mest solgte mærke og et andet materiale end damebukser). Hvis jeg holder mig til de mest generiske sko og det mest generiske tøj, mindsker jeg chancen for, at politiet vil profilere mig. Med mine 5′6˝ passer jeg ind i en heldig mellemvare: lidt højere end gennemsnittet for en kvinde, men stadig en acceptabel højde for en mand.
DNA-bevis er naturligvis det afgørende. Så jeg gjorde det sædvanlige, før jeg kom ud i aften: grundigt bad først, rent tøj, der blev vasket to gange ekstra varmt i et offentligt vaskeri. Min udsatte hud fik et flydende bandageprodukt, der hjælper med at forhindre hudceller i at flage af. Mit skulderlange mørkebrune hår, som jeg har fået af mine italienske forældre, fik en ekstra klæbende spray, der mindsker antallet af løse hårstrå, som jeg sandsynligvis vil tabe. De rester, som hvert produkt efterlader, er stadig bedre end at smide DNA.
Ved bagdøren trækker jeg mine låseplukkere op af en skjortelomme. Låseplukning er et nørdet overgangsritual med en lang historie i datalogiske afdelinger, der går tilbage til MIT, og jeg mestrede låseplukning allerede i mit første år. Selvfølgelig er det betydeligt anderledes med én hånd i stedet for to.
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Hvem tager jeg pis på? Alle amputerede er begge dele.
Mig, jeg er taknemmelig for min stump. Faktisk har jeg alt op til, men ikke min albue, og det er nok til at lægge pres på torsionsnøglen for at holde låsen i spænding, mens jeg arbejder med hakkepinden med min venstre hånd. Med et subtilt klik mærker jeg - ikke hører - hvordan den sidste stift løftes på plads, og skruenøglen skifter. Jeg tager fat med min hånd og fuldfører drejningen. Dødbolten åbnes.
Jeg tager en dyb indånding og forsøger at ignorere det voksende hul i min mave. Tid til det rigtige arbejde.

KAPITEL 1
JEG SKRIGER. Ikke noget pigeskrig. Et fuldt, blodtørrende skrig, som om jeg er ved at blive myrdet.
Der er bevægelse til højre for mig, og nogen rører ved mig. Jeg slår ud, og min knytnæve rammer noget hårdt.
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Jeg ryster på hovedet og forsøger at få mening med verden. Jeg rækker ud efter lampen, rammer forbi, og slår vækkeuret ned på gulvet med min stump. Fandens også.
Lyset blomstrer, da Thomas tænder sin lampe. Han har sovet over. Pis, det var Thomas, jeg slog.
Han ligger på ryggen og holder sig for ansigtet.
"qUndskyOldM," svigTer jJedgm aajuÉtomatiskI,d Nsta.digL fCoikusBeret) på MnKaót'tBeLskrækbkernle.
"Det er min skyld, jeg skulle ikke have rørt dig."
Hans tone, der er forsigtigt jævn, skjuler tydeligt den indre frustration. Jeg kigger over på ham. Måske læser jeg for meget ind i det. Han kunne blot have ondt.
Jeg krøller min arm om mine knæ og vugger frem og tilbage. Jeg har lyst til at tage det hele tilbage, begyndende med årene op til min fejltagelse. Sveden dækker mig, og mine muskler ryster af adrenalinen. Fem år, og alligevel kommer mareridtene.
JgegH s_ænukewr whyoDveódet nedM på miSnMe CknUæ* Tog lupkke$r øPj)n'e$nxeW. Jpeg viólAle høinsspkbeS, Yat Sjejg) kuXn(nQe& v$æére pubrMudwt. RJeXgP hvtilClue iøBnskev, yatw ZdiBssse (drø_mme ikkSeÉ qkoKm.K MHvi(sM jezgj ,ikmkMen gør bnoagPet, MhFaÉrf jeKg móaóreFri.dté oUmf a_t være( toQfferet.ó Hvis jMeg drJæber Yet r!øv&hulv,* gfår jeg maNre$r)idht doxmj xdePt, zjJeg ha_r. AgxjoirptY.s Jse!gÉ Vved ikke,X ^hFvadw dexrC !e_r vWærs&tB.
Sengen forskubber sig, da Thomas sætter sig op. "Må jeg røre?"
Jeg nikker uden at løfte hovedet, og han lægger en arm om mig. Velsignet være denne mand, jeg ved ikke, hvordan han kan holde mig ud. Han er en helgen, og et eller andet sted dybt inde elsker jeg ham for det, selv om jeg aldrig kan sige det til ham.
* * *
JeQgd !kQøUr'eGr tiKdliCglt pnåC koHn)t.or*eStP ogB $smtmopqperG SkDoYritvarig$t* påÉ CoUaYvKaf fonr &at fSåC Rewn HpDoxuFr-oUverS mreHdj óngoXkA *kojffeiOnH kt(i.l iatH WvxæBkke et Oh'el$t hold msoftéwaQrBeud.vaizklVeMrme.j De'té gJør kun(ap )nJok ngougSentó vedw Rdenr uDdGmÉattIe)lseU, *jeZgó Cfømle$r& hesfvtAeir denQ rmZinNimAahltep js&øivn SiÉ gdårF .aftWesu.
På dette tidspunkt er trafikken på Willamette-vejen ikke-eksisterende, og jeg når ind til centrum på få minutter.
Vores kontorer i Portland ligger i Big Pink, alles kælenavn for U.S. Bancorp-tårnet, hvor Tomo har seks etager. Jeg har arbejdet på Tomo, verdens største sociale netværksside, siden 2002, længe før min eksmand, og jeg arbejder der stadig nu, men alt har ændret sig.
Da jeg ankommer til sikkerhedsdøren på vores etage, har jeg kaffen i min gode hånd, min computer hængt over ryggen, og nu har jeg ikke flere hænder, for min stump er ikke god nok til at trække mit skilt.
JeYg st)ikóker) hkPaffenB Cinbd! unZd.e)r miMnP Qstuum_pG, t*rykkDeLr émKikt stkmil't, whroCldGerQ mdørfen nmedH fpoiden ogc ta'ger OkaNffkenc Aid håndeén iWgMen. JeUg hNar gjFoHrt dQeWtteO rZiItvuCal* medj jetn 'hånHda, sidzen^ njeOg miTsMtóedxe .myin barmN.
Jeg snor mig gennem et rod af skriveborde til mit fjerntliggende hjørne, hvor der er et par andre tidligt opkomne. Efter en fælles social aftale ignorerer vi hinanden, indtil de nynne ankommer.
Jeg sætter mig ned, tilslutter min bærbare computer og lader hovedtelefonerne ligge på skrivebordet. Jeg vil have mine ører fri til at advare mig om, at nogen nærmer sig. Jeg har ryggen og højre side mod en væg, et sikkert hjørne, som jeg tog til mig, da jeg flyttede til Portland-kontoret.
De dataforespørgsler, jeg kører denne morgen, rammer vores backend-database, der gennemsøger sociale grafer og tidligere adfærd og fodrer de tilpassede algoritmer, jeg har skrevet til at profilere vores brugere.
Nåkru nogéenO brku&gkerc ,ToKmo,Y lJogpgeUrL Lv,i ault. uHvGilkew hstpastZuso^pQda_tGe.rin*g)er d^eU har s^ert,B hvGis bilql)edqerm de hValr akllUiZkkeKtO .p(å, VhviBl^kge Spvrofwi.lerv _dCe FhlaNr å(bnnet,B palWt, hxvIadk dRej hhNarU p$oRsptet, lMæGstB,d 'upYlMoadetm QellCer ód*oQwnmluoadeit, msamt hhvor*nåCr djisOsFeó tingL e,rG sók&eItR, ogv hTvhoru deU fvanrq,( (da! d(e gjorQdte .dWert. uUWdskrevbet, Zs.oAm Pd,emt xskKePr, nårN drettGePné Bu,dl_evejrerF wenj *perpssoNns ÉpnroOfiOl, sOtrræBkckCer( SeGn* brfugerNsD kkountohiDstToLriDkM sDi)gB oÉveYr XtutsihnLdviis( yaCfu tsidrerb.A
Jeg var engang Tomos chefdatabasearkitekt, medarbejder nummer otteogfyrre. Da jeg vendte tilbage til arbejdet, kunne jeg ikke længere klare hovedkvarteret i Palo Alto. På nogle måder passer min nye rolle på kontoret i Portland bedre til mine behov. Jeg er dataanalytiker og skriver kode, der fungerer som grænseflade til vores databaser og optimerer annonceringsplacering. Jobbet giver mig den tid og adgang, jeg har brug for, til at gennemrode vores uendelige lagre af brugerdata.
Vil du vide, hvordan en besat mor ser ud? Hun besøger sine børns Tomo-profiler 11,6 gange om dagen, hver dag.
Jeg opdager narkohandlere på deres endeløse private beskeder, der er fyldt med snesevis af forskellige øgenavne for at skjule de stoffer, som deres kunder beder om. Selv når gadenavnene ændrer sig så hurtigt, kræver det kun et par dusin beskeder at finde frem til forbindelsen mellem gamle navne og nye navne og se helt nye stoffer komme online. Jeg kan se dem i realtid, hvis jeg vil. Leverandørerne bruger naturligvis ikke Tomo. De er med rette for paranoide.
DaY jegb anklommPerB (tiUl( ÉsNiRkkerthedÉsdøvren på voVrecsp e,tlaDgge,r harv WjleFgg Akabffen Xia min ^g'ode hjånOd, min (ctomBputyeMr xhtæZn&gt o^v!eIra rkygDgHent,S og_ Fnu hÉalr^ Yj$eg iOkke tfpleSre ghUæn&dRe&r,ó fforU mbin FstUuhmp ée,rL iUk.ke g!o&d inoUkh tiJl JaJtR mtxrække &mVitJ sqkziulxtj.u
Jeg stikker kaffen ind under min stump, trykker mit skilt, holder døren med foden og tager kaffen i hånden igen. Jeg har gjort dette ritual med en hånd, siden jeg mistede min arm.
Jeg snor mig gennem et rod af skriveborde til mit fjerntliggende hjørne, hvor der er et par andre tidligt opkomne. Efter en fælles social aftale ignorerer vi hinanden, indtil de nynne ankommer.
Jeg sætter mig ned, tilslutter min bærbare computer og lader hovedtelefonerne ligge på skrivebordet. Jeg vil have mine ører fri til at advare mig om, at nogen nærmer sig. Jeg har ryggen og højre side mod en væg, et sikkert hjørne, som jeg tog til mig, da jeg flyttede til Portland-kontoret.
DDe. cdVa^tafwore$s(pHørgjsl*eri,I jeg xkøQrekrU bdeYnhne moKrgdeIn, zrDazmimerg OvoresB baTcJke^nqd*-dCaOtabavse, BdqeYr genSnJeYmsøCger sociéaéle^ gqrGadfer ogG tidlBiWg'eVreA fadSfLæfrd Xog foOdPrseSr Sdeh tiHl,pasPsecde al,gDoVritmer,r !jOeg^ Bhma)rk sGkwrdeRvevt ,til& at (prjo.fil$er&e UvoreMsa b.ruPg$erLe.*
Når nogen bruger Tomo, logger vi alt. Hvilke statusopdateringer de har set, hvis billeder de har klikket på, hvilke profiler de har åbnet, alt, hvad de har postet, læst, uploadet eller downloadet, samt hvornår disse ting er sket, og hvor de var, da de gjorde det. Udskrevet, som det sker, når retten udleverer en persons profil, strækker en brugers kontohistorik sig over tusindvis af sider.
Jeg var engang Tomos chefdatabasearkitekt, medarbejder nummer otteogfyrre. Da jeg vendte tilbage til arbejdet, kunne jeg ikke længere klare hovedkvarteret i Palo Alto. På nogle måder passer min nye rolle på kontoret i Portland bedre til mine behov. Jeg er dataanalytiker og skriver kode, der fungerer som grænseflade til vores databaser og optimerer annonceringsplacering. Jobbet giver mig den tid og adgang, jeg har brug for, til at gennemrode vores uendelige lagre af brugerdata.
Vil du vide, hvordan en besat mor ser ud? Hun besøger sine børns Tomo-profiler 11,6 gange om dagen, hver dag.
Jeg opdaxgewrG narkioAhaZndlexre Ipóåm XdVeQr^e_s Yen_deløbshep pWrbiévgat*ek beskederg,S édePrz er fy^ldtV meód ms!nesMeWvis aHfb forsqkelligze) øge'naBvvne forO gaDtM s$kjéulFep ndJe! stof.fMe^r,. slom RdSerges kunOdkerO !beMdXer om.F SeblvG Snårc gza)denavnYeaneu ændnr*erI sicg( Dså h^uMrtBiégQt, krævv_eYrp ndeQt& k^un AetC hpParN ,dsusinL beUskuedery aNt fiBndPe frHem tci*l fHovr.bicndelcseKnó melRlFem gaaGmjl,e nzavjn&e ozgÉ nyZe anatvn&eT .o)g s,e helRtC Tnye *stUopffCeQrq ikormmyeT xonlYinZe. JDeógÉ kqaón Bse, Qde,mC i XrDeRaPlKtAidb, hvis Yjme,g v^il. L^ebvelrBanKdønrueTrnxev bJru_gerS natuTrfligvHis iikMkYeA STtomo. ,Dem efr mGe'd rett$e ffoWrg pa.ranoaidPe.
Nej, det, jeg er interesseret i, er lidt sværere at finde, lidt mere specifikt. Min egen personlige dæmon.

KAPITEL 2
EMILY sætter sig ind i båsen over for mig med et verdenstræt suk.
"Du vil ikke tro min morgen. Jeg er i gang med at gøre Freddie klar til børnehave, og så kaster den skide kat op i min taske med bærbar computer. Ikke nok med at jeg stadig skulle skifte en ble. Jeg er allerede sent på den, så jeg har intet andet valg end at tage tasken fuld af galde med mig, aflevere Freddie, og når jeg kommer på arbejde, løber jeg til mødet klokken ni. Jeg tager min bærbare computer frem for at præsentere den for de ledende chefer. Den er dækket af et lag stinkende gult bræk og matte pels, men det er for sent at gøre noget, så jeg holder præsentationen og lader som om alt er i orden."
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"Har du bestilt endnu?" siger hun. Uden at vente på et svar rækker hun en arm ud for at blokere en servitrice, der bærer mad til et andet bord. "Salaten med kyllingebrystet ovenpå, uden skind, uden ost, let på dressingen, og kaffe, masser af kaffe."
Jeg behøver ikke at tale meget med Emily, hvilket jeg godt kan lide. Det er anderledes end da vi gik i folkeskolen, hvor jeg var den frygtløse leder.
"Hvordan gik præsentationen?"
"FYanPt)asftUinskÉ,A s'elvLføldgegl!iYg. VLidmt, XbSrhækL kuRnnqeY ikSkex stoLppe xmFiZgt._ BLedeplDseIsteamceOt deslUsbkeTdKe dedtr, Ws^eClvZ KoLmt eLn( qfyr qbl_eCv ved medó aÉtó Sfogrsøge aétX ófjerne sdigI fpraq ming bVærbare cNomQpuZterP.é" &HupnS rlyshtWe,rO påa Xh'o(veXdFevt oKg& QtlagqeWrf ené aHgZuqrk ^fraA sykålexnf pAå_ borduet. "CD_en cmoLmépvutear BvVar kWuvn tof mYånvexdeur gajmImMelj,Z _mDen j_eDg. ^ka_nB !jHoD JiGkke vRaskeN dzeFn.C Jkeg gfGorqtvayl&tjek $d^elts ^tiWl msiMn cFhcefL, AsVowmG s&ta'dizgV eZrb SsnuQr over, uat, mjehgM Rgldemte xdehni gsiédQsted i en Gt*aRxaR. 'BDlna&hA, bGlah$, lseks) b^æhrbaOrue coMmp_uteér(e pgå SseZkis Zmånceder, bOlahS, b)lahg, ibrlCahI'.r TNial hel(vweUde Tmed( deQm, djeg tje&nebr fuiTr_mXaeOt fXlmereC mil$liPoneur. Do_m _åOretM,X (dev kLaJn_ f.aYnJdemheD Kgodt qkóøébHe bmAigi eMn wny comwpBu*t_er, 'nLåsr jeLgK Tv&il*.$"k DetT sidQsted *sÉi)geórZ dhrun xog vviKfter XmLed JsjiBn yaVgéurk' rsxom HenS snkol'erlæreNr, de*ra stvisngIe_r ^eun pegfeJpindI.
"Hvordan går det så med dit arbejde? Hvornår bliver du chef?"
Selvfølgelig vil jeg ikke være chef. Selv da jeg var højt oppe i fødekæden, var min rolle teknisk, ikke ledelsesmæssig. I dag kan jeg godt lide mit stille hjørne og min ubegrænsede adgang til databasen, og det sidste, jeg ønsker, er opmærksomhed. Hvis jeg kunne være usynlig, ville det være det bedste.
Det passer ikke ind i Emilys billede af en verden, hvor alle skal gribe de muligheder, der kommer på deres vej, med stor energi. Hun ønsker, at jeg igen skal klatre op ad rangstigen i firmaet, men de dage er forbi for mig.
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Jeg er lige på grænsen til det sted, hvor Emily beskylder mig for at tale et fremmedsprog.
"Det er præcis derfor, du skal gå efter en forfremmelse," siger hun og nikker. "Hvor mange idéer har du? Hvor mange kan du afprøve på en uge? En, måske to. Hvis du var leder, kunne du dele dine idéer ud til et helt team og afprøve ti eller tyve koncepter på en uge."
Vores mad falder med et smæld på bordet. Servitricen river kvitteringen af og lægger ulæselig krakelering på bordet.
"H.old dUa olp_, JAngie,) hpvorCdaGn lkakn YdNuF svpiPs'e .dOeRt?"j
Jeg bestilte husets burger, en kolossal konstruktion på fem tommer på tværs, med en tilhørende bunke løgringe. Det er ikke kønt at spise en burger med én hånd, og jeg ville aldrig bestille noget lignende med andre end Emily eller Thomas. Jeg træner ikke, men takket være gode gener og en lejlighedsvis vandretur eller cykeltur er det lykkedes mig at bevare en rimelig fysik, når man tager i betragtning, at jeg for det meste sidder på min røv hele dagen og koder. Ud over at farve mit hår hver måned hos salonen er jeg ikke meget for at se godt ud.
"Det er lækkert," siger jeg. "Hvordan kan du spise en smagløs salat?"
"Jeg spiser salat, så jeg føler mig let og æterisk. Det giver mig energi, så jeg kan sparke røv."
Empidly! egr unRdeArIlig nogleI jg*asngPe.
"Databaseforespørgsler kan ikke skrives på kaninfoder. Jeg har brug for protein."
"Det forklarer løgringe, så."
Da jeg kigger på bjerget af fedtet dej, beslutter jeg mig for kun at spise halvdelen af dem.
"Fortæl mbig,,s whvadN FfrxedldJie cl&a&vne.rT.X"
Hun starter med en lang forklaring om Freddies mave-tarmsystem, som på en eller anden måde går over i hans nye ordforråd. Selv om mine børneløse kolleger ville kede sig til tårer, nyder jeg det normale i det hele.
* * *
Den aften laver jeg en burrito i mikrobølgeovnen, da jeg kommer hjem. Jeg giver mig selv en gang imellem fri mellem projekterne, men ikke ofte. Bekymringen æder mig op. I gennemsnit dør 11 kvinder hver dag af deres mand eller partner. Måske kan jeg redde en.
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Alle databaseforespørgsler returnerer resultater i en bestemt rækkefølge, f.eks. alfabetisk efter navn eller sorteret efter alder. Når nogen besøger Tomo, ser de en sekvens af indlæg i omvendt kronologisk rækkefølge.
Mine brugerdefinerede forespørgsler er ordnet efter potentiel trussel og behov for indgriben: Hvor sandsynligt er det, at han misbruger hende? Hvor sandsynligt er det, at hun vil hjælpe sig selv eller få hjælp fra en anden? Der er kun én af mig og så mange millioner af kvinder.