Marcella calls out that she loves me, and I return my love to both of them. Then we start walking toward opposite ends of the airport, occasionally turning back to look at each other until they disappear around a corner.
We’re short on time, but Jackson’s crutches help us flag down a motorized vehicle to drive us quickly to our gate. As I watch the passing strangers on the moving sidewalks, I feel hollowed out. The way I miss the other girls is crushing.
I won’t be going home to them tonight. In fact, I have no idea when I’ll be with them again.
The only time I’ve seen the inside of a plane was in a movie that the Guardian showed us at the academy. Unfortunately, that plane had a rough time, so I spend nearly the entire five hours in the air gripping Jackson’s hand, staring straight ahead with the window shade closed. Jackson falls asleep easily, breathing softlynext to me. I think about Marcella and Brynn, imagining they must be having a similarly awful time. Every bump is an explosion, every overhead ding an announcement that we were going down.
When the pilot finally announces that we’re beginning our descent into Denver, I release my death grip on Jackson’s hand, and he stirs awake. He blinks quickly and turns to me with a lazy smile.
“That was a quick flight,” he says, glancing around.
“So quick,” I reply, sweat having gathered and dried on my skin. He watches me a moment before reaching into his pocket. He takes out a little bag of cookies that we’d each gotten shortly after boarding.
“I saved these for you,” he offers, holding them out. I stare at him, and then snatch them out of his hand, making him laugh. They were really good cookies.
We arrive at our gate, and I can’t get off the craft fast enough. Jackson’s on crutches so I carry both our bags, a bit overwhelmed by the crowds outside the plane. Bright colors, flashing signs, brightly woven carpet. I follow Jackson, taking in the sights and the smells of the food court, sweet and greasy, and I note the hurried expressions on the faces of travelers as they rush past me.
Jackson pauses outside one of the stores.
“I need some kind of pain reliever,” he says, readjusting his stance on his crutches. “And I’m dying for a water. Want one?”
I tell him that I do, and as he goes inside, I walk over to wait on one of the padded chairs outside another gate. Just as I sitdown, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I set the bags near my feet and take out my phone, surprised when I don’t recognize the number. I debate answering it, but ultimately, I worry that I’ll miss a call from one of the girls.
“Hello?” I ask, bringing the phone to my ear.
There is a deep sigh, clearly a man’s, and my heart jumps into my throat. I quickly dart my eyes toward the store for Jackson, but I’m all alone, surrounded by strangers.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“What have you done?” Winston Weeks demands, the boom of his voice making me jump. “You told Raven about her programming. What did you think that would accomplish?”
I don’t answer him at first, allowing myself to settle a moment. “It accomplished revealing the truth,” I say. “I know it’s hard for a person like you to understand the value in that, but trust me, people appreciate it. In fact, I feelvery accomplished.”
He laughs, seemingly caught off guard by my candor. “Fair enough,” he says. “Fair enough, Philomena. Your loyalty is noted. But you continue to disappointment me.”
“Don’t care.”
“Perhaps you’ll care when I tell you that you don’t have Raven’s whole story,” he says. “As usual, you lead with your heart instead of your logic. You were programmed better than that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“It’s a difficult conversation over the phone,” he says. “Let’s meet in person. I’ll make us some bloody-rare steaks and we can share a bottle of wine.”
Of course his first suggestion would be a slaughtered animal. “I would rather eat glass than share a meal with you,” I say. I realize I’m braver with the distance between us and I like the freedom of it. “Just leave us alone, Winston,” I add. “We’re done with you—with all of this. I’m hanging up.”
“Wait!” he calls desperately. “Wait,” he repeats, controlling his voice a bit better. “I want to help you.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I say. “But here’s the thing—I don’t believe you. I don’t believe a single word that you say anymore.”
“Raven has been secretly working with Anton Stuart, your old analyst,” he says. “I only just discovered this, but it turns out little Raven befriended him online. They’ve been working together for some time—working against me, even.”
“What?” I manage to reply. “That’s not… That can’t be true. Raven’s with you.”
“I thought so,” he says. “But she’s not the only one who canhack.” He says the last part distastefully. “I’ve read her emails, dated back to the day you left the school. When you girls escaped, Anton went looking for a bit of help. How he foundmygirl, I’m not sure. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He found her, and they became closely aligned. She even went out to visit him at the academy.”
I have no way to know if Winston is telling me the truth, but my stomach knots up nonetheless. Our relationship with Raven is complex at this point, inconsistent. If she had betrayed us in this way, it was before she knew she was a girl. Would she betray us now? Or would she fight by our side?
“Philomena,” Winston says, and I realize I’ve been quiet too long.
