“We all do things to survive. I’ve accepted that.”
And in that moment I realize I have, too. I had to kill Hoyt.
“The things we’ve done to survive don’t make us undeserving of happiness. It’s a hard lesson,” he adds. “But one you need to learn if you’ll ever—”
“I’ve learned plenty already, thank you very much.” I smile then. I can’t help myself. “Guess I’m not such an ideal recruit, am I?”
He looks me over thoughtfully. “So you have a few rough edges. Who doesn’t in here?”
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not staying.”
Grinning that infernal smile again, he shakes his head. “We’ll see.” He exits the room, the door clicking softly after him.
We’ll see. What’s that supposed to mean?
My chest feels tight and uncomfortable as I stare at the closed door, thinking over his words. I can be your friend. His eyes fill my mind, that melting brown tugging at some hidden part of me, the part that used to believe I had a right to happiness. With a jolt I realize I haven’t felt this way since Sean. Since before everything that happened at Mount Haven.
Rolling to my side, I pull the covers up to my chin as if that will somehow shield me. My mind drifts, eyes scanning the bare wall before me. I think about Caden leaving on his mission. Heading into danger. He might not even come back. People drop like flies around me these days. Another reason I shouldn’t let anyone in. Still. My lips whisper a plea.
God, please keep him safe . . . bring him back.
I spend the rest of the day alone with my thoughts. A dangerous pastime. Rhiannon brings me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Phelps drops in to check on me twice. They’re the only break I get from wondering about Caden’s mission. About Sean and the others. Are they at the refuge already? They think I’m dead, lost forever. I’m convinced of this. Are they broken up about it? I know Gil has to care. I haven’t known Sabine very long, but she’s a survivor. She’ll move on. No pieces to pick up. Sean, I’m not so sure. Yes, things had been tense between us. I shut him out. But he cared about me, and he had convinced me to escape Mount Haven. He’s probably blaming himself. That much I know about him.
I sleep restlessly that night, waking frequently. Junie returns late. I can tell from her stealthy movements that she’s trying not to disturb me. There’s no clock, but all the small sounds that alert me to life and activity in the compound have fallen silent. It’s like someone flipped the off switch.
I crack open an eye to observe her. She’s turned on the lamp, so I can study her in the dim light. She looks bedraggled as she grabs a few things and heads out again. When she returns half an hour later, her hair is wet and her face scrubbed pink from a shower. She looks so young. Nothing like a tough soldier girl.
“Sorry,” she mutters as I stir when she pulls herself up to the top bunk. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was awake. How’d it go?”
“I’m wiped out. Covered a lot of ground.” The mattress springs squeak above me as she settles into bed. She chatters about her mission and I listen closely, absorbing every word in case she lets something useful slip. “Patrols are thicker out there. Must be because of you and your friends. How many were in your group again?”
“Three. And me,” I reply into the dark, looking up at the bed above me as if I can see her there, through the mattress.
There is a pause, and the mattress squeaks as she shifts her weight. “If your friends made it across, we’ll track them down. Caden sent a message.”
“What?” I demand sharply, forgetting my shoulder and sitting up on my elbows, then dropping back down with a cry of pain.
Her head pops over the side, wet hair dangling. “You okay?”
“Yes. Fine. What did you just say?”
“Caden had me get a message over to one of our contacts. It will make the rounds to the refuges. We should know soon which one they made it to.”
My heart thuds faster in my chest. He meant it when he said he’d help me. I flatten my hands over my stomach, excitement rushing through me. Caden’s going to get me across. I see his face then, the eyes, that smile I want to distrust. But I can’t. I wait to see if she’s going to volunteer anything more, but soon her breathing drifts down to me in slow, measured pulls, and I know she’s asleep.
No longer alone in the room, I feel my muscles loosen. I test my shoulder, rotating it slowly, wincing at the soreness. I finally feel the tug of sleep. Her presence actually makes me feel better, and that’s when I realize just how uneasy I’ve been all day. I’m not sure what to think about that. I’m not looking for friends. I know better than that.
This is probably the reason Caden assigned me to her room. It’s not simply that she has an extra bed. He knew she would put me at ease. I don’t know why I’m so sure of this about him, but I am. Shaking my head, I chase off the idea that he’s someone I might want to know better. That’s a dangerous thought.
The following morning Junie coaxes me out of bed to breakfast by singing an old Celine Dion song. Apparently she was raised in foster care, and one of the women who watched over her was a big fan. She makes me grin . . . even if her voice is reminiscent of a dying cat.
“She might have had terrible taste in music,” Junie says, talking about her “warden,” as she calls her, “but she would pop us popcorn before bed.” She shrugs. “She wasn’t so bad. I’ve had worse. A lot worse.” Hearing this, I can’t help but think of Sean. He was brought up in foster care, too. Those children were tested earlier for HTS, almost as soon as the science became available.
And in that moment I realize I have, too. I had to kill Hoyt.
“The things we’ve done to survive don’t make us undeserving of happiness. It’s a hard lesson,” he adds. “But one you need to learn if you’ll ever—”
“I’ve learned plenty already, thank you very much.” I smile then. I can’t help myself. “Guess I’m not such an ideal recruit, am I?”
He looks me over thoughtfully. “So you have a few rough edges. Who doesn’t in here?”
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not staying.”
Grinning that infernal smile again, he shakes his head. “We’ll see.” He exits the room, the door clicking softly after him.
We’ll see. What’s that supposed to mean?
My chest feels tight and uncomfortable as I stare at the closed door, thinking over his words. I can be your friend. His eyes fill my mind, that melting brown tugging at some hidden part of me, the part that used to believe I had a right to happiness. With a jolt I realize I haven’t felt this way since Sean. Since before everything that happened at Mount Haven.
Rolling to my side, I pull the covers up to my chin as if that will somehow shield me. My mind drifts, eyes scanning the bare wall before me. I think about Caden leaving on his mission. Heading into danger. He might not even come back. People drop like flies around me these days. Another reason I shouldn’t let anyone in. Still. My lips whisper a plea.
God, please keep him safe . . . bring him back.
I spend the rest of the day alone with my thoughts. A dangerous pastime. Rhiannon brings me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Phelps drops in to check on me twice. They’re the only break I get from wondering about Caden’s mission. About Sean and the others. Are they at the refuge already? They think I’m dead, lost forever. I’m convinced of this. Are they broken up about it? I know Gil has to care. I haven’t known Sabine very long, but she’s a survivor. She’ll move on. No pieces to pick up. Sean, I’m not so sure. Yes, things had been tense between us. I shut him out. But he cared about me, and he had convinced me to escape Mount Haven. He’s probably blaming himself. That much I know about him.
I sleep restlessly that night, waking frequently. Junie returns late. I can tell from her stealthy movements that she’s trying not to disturb me. There’s no clock, but all the small sounds that alert me to life and activity in the compound have fallen silent. It’s like someone flipped the off switch.
I crack open an eye to observe her. She’s turned on the lamp, so I can study her in the dim light. She looks bedraggled as she grabs a few things and heads out again. When she returns half an hour later, her hair is wet and her face scrubbed pink from a shower. She looks so young. Nothing like a tough soldier girl.
“Sorry,” she mutters as I stir when she pulls herself up to the top bunk. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was awake. How’d it go?”
“I’m wiped out. Covered a lot of ground.” The mattress springs squeak above me as she settles into bed. She chatters about her mission and I listen closely, absorbing every word in case she lets something useful slip. “Patrols are thicker out there. Must be because of you and your friends. How many were in your group again?”
“Three. And me,” I reply into the dark, looking up at the bed above me as if I can see her there, through the mattress.
There is a pause, and the mattress squeaks as she shifts her weight. “If your friends made it across, we’ll track them down. Caden sent a message.”
“What?” I demand sharply, forgetting my shoulder and sitting up on my elbows, then dropping back down with a cry of pain.
Her head pops over the side, wet hair dangling. “You okay?”
“Yes. Fine. What did you just say?”
“Caden had me get a message over to one of our contacts. It will make the rounds to the refuges. We should know soon which one they made it to.”
My heart thuds faster in my chest. He meant it when he said he’d help me. I flatten my hands over my stomach, excitement rushing through me. Caden’s going to get me across. I see his face then, the eyes, that smile I want to distrust. But I can’t. I wait to see if she’s going to volunteer anything more, but soon her breathing drifts down to me in slow, measured pulls, and I know she’s asleep.
No longer alone in the room, I feel my muscles loosen. I test my shoulder, rotating it slowly, wincing at the soreness. I finally feel the tug of sleep. Her presence actually makes me feel better, and that’s when I realize just how uneasy I’ve been all day. I’m not sure what to think about that. I’m not looking for friends. I know better than that.
This is probably the reason Caden assigned me to her room. It’s not simply that she has an extra bed. He knew she would put me at ease. I don’t know why I’m so sure of this about him, but I am. Shaking my head, I chase off the idea that he’s someone I might want to know better. That’s a dangerous thought.
The following morning Junie coaxes me out of bed to breakfast by singing an old Celine Dion song. Apparently she was raised in foster care, and one of the women who watched over her was a big fan. She makes me grin . . . even if her voice is reminiscent of a dying cat.
“She might have had terrible taste in music,” Junie says, talking about her “warden,” as she calls her, “but she would pop us popcorn before bed.” She shrugs. “She wasn’t so bad. I’ve had worse. A lot worse.” Hearing this, I can’t help but think of Sean. He was brought up in foster care, too. Those children were tested earlier for HTS, almost as soon as the science became available.
