Octavian leaves, and the door shuts behind him.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the closed door.
Jesus, this isn't me at all, and I keep doing it.
Lying to my siblings.
Hiding her under my own roof.
Keeping secrets from the people who should trust me most.
I stand and walk to the window, looking out at the grounds.
The pool glitters in the afternoon sun, the water blue and inviting.
Can I go for a swim? Just once?
Her voice echoes in my head, small and hopeful.
I shouldn't care. I shouldn't even be thinking about it.
But I am.
And there is a growing part of me that almost knows they will find something tonight, that she is really helping us, and my list of reasons to kill Cormac just got a little longer.
Because while she told me she feels she has no one to help her, maybe that is not entirely true.
21
ZARIA
Ihold the remote in my hand. Another documentary. I've seen ten of them in the last few days. Maybe more. I stopped counting after the one about Viking burial rites and how they'd burn the dead on ships, send them to Valhalla wrapped in smoke and flame. Just like the Order. Just like what they did to Sister Anna.
It's been three or four days since I last saw Callum. I've lost track. The only way I mark time now is by the meals they bring.
When Tommy comes in, he sometimes says something to me. The other guy just comes in, sets the tray on the dresser, and leaves without a word.
Either way, I just eat, watch TV, pace, and sleep.
Sure, at the Order it was bad, but at least I had others to talk to. The Sisters. Even when we weren't allowed to speak, we'd pass looks, share stolen smiles in the kitchen, whisper when the Brothers weren't watching. Here, I'm alone with my thoughts, and that's scarier than anything Cormac ever did to me.
But I'm thankful for the food, and the clothes, and the room. I am.
I really, really am.
I have to tell myself over and over that it's okay to have things and I don’t need to give thanks in the way I was taught to.
I shift in the bed, nudging my head deeper into the pillow.
That's the thing about waiting. You learn to read time in the way the light changes, the way your own body starts to give up hope. My chest loosens, not because I'm relieved, but because the small, stupid part of me that keeps expecting him finally starts to quiet down.
Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.
Maybe he's already decided what to do with me, and I'm just waiting for the axe to fall.
Then, the lock clicks.
I jolt upright as the door swings open.
