Annalise gives me a sideways glance, her scar catching the light. We aren’t used to hanging out with boys. Their lack of manners is intriguing, not threatening in the same way it was with our professors. But maybe it’s just these boys.
Quentin throws up his hands in annoyance. “Whatever,” he says. “I’m tired anyway. Where are the beds in this place?”
Sydney points up the stairs and he thanks her before walking away. Jackson calls after him that he’ll be up in a minute, but he makes no move to go that way. Instead, he looks at me.
“I think Sydney’s right,” Jackson says, earning a quick smile from her. “This Imogene, if she knows what’s happened to you, to her, she would want to fight. And … I don’t think her husband would just walk away from a multimillion-dollar investment.”
“You think he’ll be back?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Jackson says. “And I don’t think he’ll be alone.”
“Then should we leave now?” I ask. The idea of being attacked again is real and terrifying. I wrap my arms around myself, a flash of our battle with Guardian Bose playing across my mind.
“We can’t leave yet,” Sydney says. She motions to her outfit. “I need a shower and a change of clothes, at least.”
“She’s right again,” Jackson says. “I think we all need some rest. A few hours and then we can hit the road.”
My expression must give away my despair, because Jackson pouts his lips just slightly. “It’s going to be okay, Mena,” he adds. “I promise.”
I know he can’t promise a thing like that, but I appreciate his kindness. In my entire existence, the only kindness I’ve ever felt was given to me by the other girls. He’s the first boy, the firsthuman, to treat me like my life matters. It doesn’t make him special, but it does make him decent.
Sydney and I decide we’ll stay in the same room without saying it aloud. Jackson yawns, rubbing roughly at his eyes.
“Come on,” I say. “I’ll help you upstairs before the girls and I shower.” I go over to put my arm around his waist, and he leans his shoulder into me and hops a few steps. He seems significantly worse than he was earlier. I notice how his skin has gotten waxy in appearance, his body radiating heat.
Annalise and Sydney go ahead of us, and Jackson grunts when he straightens out his leg at the top of the stairs on the landing. He smiles, embarrassed, and I find his vulnerabilityendearing. The fact that he shows it to me helps me feel real.
Several weeks ago, Jackson came to find me at Innovations Academy after a chance meeting in a gas station. A seemingly romantic gesture. In reality he was investigating his mother’s death. Investigating Innovations Academy. The fact that we like each other is irrelevant. Once we started to realize what was really going on at the academy, he wanted to save us. But instead we saved ourselves and he broke his leg. He drove the getaway car, but now I’m helping him to walk. It’s hard to say who’s helping who at this point. But I’m glad he’s here, even if every second he’s with us puts him in danger.
There are people after us—Leandra said so. The corporation isn’t just going to let their girls walk away. They think they own us. And that’s why we have to destroy them.
The anger returns in such a swift cut that I flinch and begin to move Jackson down the hall, avoiding his quizzical look.
I push open a door and find an empty bed in a nearly empty room. I help Jackson inside, and he eases down on the bed. He stares at his leg like he’s mad at it for breaking in the first place.
“Do you … Do you need any help?” I ask. He shakes his head no.
“I’ll be fine,” he says. “But thank you. Have a good night, Mena.”
I back toward the door, wondering how he’s going to get his pants and shoes off, but I leave him to ask for help if he needs it. “Good night,” I whisper.
I slip out and head to the end of the hall, where a door isslightly ajar. The bedroom here is large, and I see Sydney’s clothes in a pile on the floor near the bathroom door, the shower going just beyond.
While she’s showering, I take the time to walk around the room, checking the drawers. I’m relieved when I find various items of clothing. I’m not sure whose room this was—Imogene didn’t mention anyone else living here—but I pull out a T-shirt and hold it up, finding it’s massively oversized. Next, I take out a pair of cotton shorts that will easily fall below my knees. But they’re clean and I’ll be grateful to shed the bloody garments clinging to my skin.
The shower turns off, and a few moments later Sydney comes out wrapped in a towel. She meets my eyes, her skin cleared of all blood while I stand bathed in it. I realize this blood is the contrast of where we came from to where we are. Her brown eyes begin to well up, and suddenly we’re both crying.
And even though I’m dirty, she opens her arms to me and we crash together, sobbing into each other’s shoulders.
“He tried to kill me,” she whimpers.
“They hate us,” I say at the same time.
Our hearts are broken as we process the traumas of our existence. And yet, we carefully avoid our biggest secret.
We’re not human.How can we possibly go on from that?
When we pull back, Sydney reaches over to brush my bloody hair away from my face. She presses her lips into a soft smile.
