I sat in the luggage store restroom, hugging my knees, listening to Quaid's plan. It was daring and brilliantly simple. It required a little finesse from me, keen psychological insight from the guys, and plenty of luck from the universe. The plan had two parts. If both succeeded, everybody got their problem solved in a single stroke.

And if not?

Quaid wheezed over the line. "Durwood has guns."

I knew I had to try. Cowering on a toilet seat, waiting for this nasty lady to stop knock-knocking, "Is someone still in there?", wasn't going to save my son.

I stood and smoothed my slacks. Twisting the stall deadbolt, I reentered the store. Nasty Lady stopped short of knuckling the door yet again.

"All yours," I said. "Hope you managed to hold it."

Garrison and his girl posse had migrated to the drone/VR section. Avoiding them, I went back to the window to peer across the plaza. Piper Jackson was alone again with her tablet. Her work seemed even more intense now—hard swipes, tendons taut in her elbow. Beyond, outside the east skyscraper, Zach shuffled in place with a group that must've been Mice.

Taking a route that concealed me from Zach as long as possible, I walked to Piper. I stopped a few feet away, as Hatch had, and spoke without facing her directly.

"I need a favor."

Piper gave no outward indication of noticing me, murmuring, "Bad time for favors."

"I know, but this is about my family." I gulped, remembering Quaid's advice. Focus on relationships. Let her feel you caring. "My brother."

Piper's finger froze mid-swipe. Her bottom lip curled, tight.

Though she'd said nothing, I assumed permission to go on. "It's my little brother—he just showed up. Over there by the east skyscraper. I don't want him involved."

Her eyes did the merest twitch that way. "Which one."

"With the skateboard? Bangs on the long side?"

Piper resumed work on her tablet. Her expression was so dynamic, struggle bending the planes of her face—I wished I could see the screen, what she was up to. Durwood had speculated Citibank could be the target, some massive balance-wipe along the lines of how the Mice had zeroed out Ted Blackstone's assets, or else a more general attack affecting many nearby systems.

I almost thought she had forgotten me when Piper said, "Cool for you to be in the Blind Mice. But not him?"

Her eyes flicked to me, fierce, then back to her screen.

"It's different. He's 14 and I'm—" I took a moment remembering my Mice age. "27. I understand the risks. I made a conscious decision joining the Mice was worth it."

"And is it?"

She asked like she was dubious on the point herself.

"Yes," I said. "I think so. I think change is coming."

Piper blew a breath sideways. "You right about that."

As she kept at her task, ever more furiously, I thought about her motivation. The internet had it her brother Marcus had been falsely convicted of industrial fraud while working at a Harvest Earth factory. Piper had testified against the plant manager, claiming he had ordered her to delete a file that would've exonerated Marcus. She had accused the company of burying the truth in order to keep customers from wondering about the healthfulness of its foods.

"About my brother," I said. "Can you just run him off? Say you made a mistake processing his application."

"We don't do applications."

"Right. But somehow or other, he got in—since he showed up here."

Piper curtly shook her head. "Josiah wanted big numbers today. 'More soldiers.'" Her eyes put quotes around the last term.

"My brother is no solider. He just can't be—he's my family." I thumped the word like Quaid said to. "I have to protect him."

She completed a last screen gesture, then squeezed shut her eyes. Scrubbed scruff at the base of her cornrows. Then marched across the plaza toward Zach.

I watched with a mixture of relief and sympathy as Piper singled him out of the group, spoke briefly, and pointed to the street. Zach gave no argument. His face—pale and so, so young—widened obediently and he toted his skateboard off at once.

His big move crushed.

Did he recognize the famous hacker? Had he been given a reason for his dismissal? I had no idea. He slinked down the sidewalk, chin bumping chest.

Has this ever happened to you, where a person you see every day of your life gets dropped into foreign circumstances and it jolts your perspective? I was so used to battling Zach, to him being this loud, sarcastic obstacle. I had forgotten how quickly—how dizzyingly—his world was growing. College on the horizon. Girls becoming girlfriends. Pranks becoming dead-serious choices about drugs or crime. All against this backdrop of broader unrest, protest, economic angst.

Home was the one place he still understood. The place where he felt a modicum of control.

Then and there, I resolved to keep the big picture in mind. He wouldn't be allowed to shout at Karen or me (Granny he never dared speak disrespectfully to), but I was going to engage him and forgive a mis-hung jacket and boost him up—even when he told me to go away.

Piper returned to her place beside the pillar. Not looking at me.

"Done."

"Thank you," I said.

She didn't respond verbally, but her eyes softened. I thought about Marcus. I wondered if he had looked out for her. If she felt she had let him down when her testimony couldn't keep him out of jail.

This was the moment, I realized, for part two of Quaid's plan. When you have a person thinking about what matters, what keeps them up at night, he had said, then you're in. Quaid was an unqualified genius on such matters, but still I worried Piper would see through me. Maybe even think I'd used Zach to my own ends.

Here went nothing.

"So for today, the mission. I'm so grateful my brother's safe—is there anything I can do to repay you? Any way I can help?"

Piper screwed up her eyes. The words had felt so transparent leaving my mouth—I wanted to run back to that bathroom stall.

"Nn. Maybe." Her mouth pinched. "I was gonna use Amber. Looks like she raided her mom's closet." She glanced at a group of Mice near Hatch's cart. Around the fringes was a young woman in a pantsuit that didn't square with orange-tinted hair. "None of 'em look right."

I stood hopefully before her, feeling glad to have consistently tailored my jackets. My ex-husband had always dismissed the habit. Your sleeves need to be perfect length for temp work? But you never knew when it might matter.

Piper chewed her lip.

Finally, "Yeah. You'd be best."

She meant oldest, of course, but I wasn't about to argue. "Best for what?"

"For a nonthreatening bureaucrat."

"I can do nonthreatening," I said. "What kind of bureaucrat?"

She ignored the question.

In another minute, Hatch returned. He and Piper conferenced quickly, then summoned the various pockets of Mice by text to a subterranean tunnel between skyscrapers. The walkway was well-hidden from the plaza, concrete, dank. The group assembled by twos, threes, and fours. Garrison rushed to me—Hey, I was looking for you!—but stopped short when he saw I was with Piper.

Hatch produced an oversize Ziploc bag. Brawny shoulders rippling, he punched out the corners to stand it up.

"Phone," he told the first Mouse.

The kid looked back blankly before following Hatch's eyes to his pocket. He removed his cell and placed it in bag.

Hatch walked the bag to the next Mouse, and the Mouse after that. Phones rattled in like ice cubes in a glass.

My heart roared in my chest. Were they going to check everybody's messages? Even if not, the bag was clear—Durwood's texts would flash on my screen for anyone to see. If he sent something incriminating, I was blown.

It wasn't till Hatch had gone through most of the group that I had the idea to turn off my phone. I whipped it out—too urgently, maybe—and depressed a side button.

Shut down, NOW! Come on.

The dialog box took forever appearing. Hatch was two Mice away.

I tapped Power off but nothing happened. I stabbed the button again. The screen went to sleep, but the green light along the top stayed blinking: still on.

COME ON!

I stabbed repeatedly until the display returned, then tapped Power off again, then was receiving the "Your phone will shut down" notification when Hatch reached me.

I said, "I'm just shutting down so it doesn't annoy people."

"Unnecessary," Hatch said. "The bag is RF-blocking. Nothing goes through. No tweets, emails. Nadda."

The muscles of my gut relaxed. Then my phone chimed. I would've sworn the ding was twice its usual volume.

I looked automatically.

D Jones: update position when possible. Wack on site?

And like that, my gut was a brick again.

Hatch asked, "Need to respond to that?"

I forced my throat to make words. "No no, I—er, it's fine."

And tossed my phone into the bag.

Instantly I regretted this. I should've kept my head about me and replied, or at least swiped the message away.

A half-dozen more Mice deposited their phones, including Piper. Hatch dropped his in last. I peered through scant tunnel light to see whether my phone had jumbled safely into the middle, or was exposed on the outside.

It was exposed. Top of the heap.

Hatch zipped the bag shut. "Follow me, gang. Time to make the mayhem."

As everyone fell in behind the tattooed leader, Piper caught my elbow.

"Hang tight," she said. "We have more disguising to do."

The others clopped off down the tunnel, Hatch carrying the phone bag in a fist.

I was confused. "Aren't we disguised already?"

"Not enough." From a satchel bag, Piper pulled two pairs of glasses. "Lobby we're hitting has facial recognition. These throw off 3D contouring. Slow it down, at least."

She slipped a chunky-framed pair on herself and handed me ones with silver rims and a rectangular shape. As I fit them onto my nose, Hatch's group—and my phone full of Durwood's texts—was fifty yards away and shrinking.

"But the mission—are they going somewhere else? What're they doing?"

Piper watched the others disappear through fake lenses. "Not a thing."