This. This is why they reward us for violence, why they condition us to hate each other. This is why I’m not supposed to be here. Why we’re punished for a kiss. Why we’re Terminated if we’re caught breaching the Crux. Not because we’ll hurt each other. Because we’ll heal each other. Suddenly, every far-flung fantasy I’ve ever had about me and Fleur—taking her hand and running from this place—seems within reach. She said running was just a dream. That it could never happen. But that was before either of us knew it was possible. That was before she fell below the red line.
If she knew... if I could find a way to tell her... would she run with me? Could we get her out of here, away from the Observatory and off the ley lines, before the next Purge?
My hand slides to my pocket, the key card inside it suddenly heavy, as if it’s made of more than plastic. As if it’s made of gold.
Amber’s shout is tinged with panic. “You have thirty seconds to explain what’s going on!”
“I’ve got to go,” I mutter. It’s a risk, telling Amber anything. She would just as soon slit my throat as let me get away with anything. Not unless there was something in it for her. I keep an arm’s length between us as I drag on my shoes and head for the door. My mind’s on fire with questions. Countless possibilities. I don’t even notice when Amber kicks out my ankles, using my own momentum against me. My face slams into the mat.
“If you walk out of here without explaining what the hell just happened, I swear to Gaia, I’ll tell her everything I know!”
I haul myself up, right in her face, forcing her to look up at me. “Which is what, exactly?”
“That you snuck in here with a stolen key card. That you picked a fight with me, and...”
“And what?” Her mouth falls open, then closes again. “Who’s going to believe you?” She can’t prove it. Not without leaving the Autumn wing and breaking all the same rules. Not without risking her own Termination. Chronos would cut her down before he’d let those rumors spread like wildfire through the dorms. My lip throbs and my nose is bleeding. A tendon in my ankle is strained where she tripped me. “Do yourself a favor and forget I was here. Forget what you saw.”
I got what I came for. I don’t owe her anything. I sling the pool towel over my head and limp out the door.
9
Close and Secret
JACK
I slam the book of fables closed and throw it across our dorm room, narrowly missing the faux window. Chill stirs in his bunk in the next room. I rub my eyes, my nose still tender where the mat caught me. The purple and green northern lights on the window’s screen are the same colors as the bruise. I should have been in bed hours ago, but sleep won’t come. The dog-eared chapter of the professor’s book—some story about a lion who fell in love with a girl and gave up his teeth to be with her—has nothing to do with anything, but it reminds me of Fleur. It’s the same kind of tragic book she would probably check out of the library. For all their sacrifices, the lion and the girl don’t even get to be together, and the fact that the story has a crappy ending makes me resent it even more.
I prod my swollen lip. Every inch of me is exhausted and sore. Just a few hours ago, I thought I had all the answers. I’ve figured out how to keep us alive out in the world, but I can’t find a way to get us there. Noelle cut me off as I was sneaking back into the Winter wing. She tookone look at my fat lip, snatched her key card from my hand, and stormed off without a word. And that card was my best hope for getting us out of the Observatory. Even if I could convince Fleur to run away with me next spring, I can’t turn my back on Chill. Chronos would Terminate our Handlers as soon as he realized we were gone, and there’s no way I’d ever leave this place without taking him with me.
I guess I couldtrytalking to Poppy. Convincing her to save herself shouldn’t be hard. But with the promise of Anchorage dangling in front of Chill, convincinghimto run won’t be easy.
He was quiet when I limped into our room a few hours ago. He never asked me what happened to my face or where I got the book. Never bothered to say “I told you so” when the stasis sickness came back with a vengeance this afternoon. It may be my name on that ranking board in Gaia’s office, but my decisions reflect on both of us, and I guess I can’t blame him for not wanting to know where I went, or what I was doing. He hid behind his computer most of the day, pretending to be busy. Never bothered to ask if I wanted to walk with him to the mess hall before ordering my dinner, delivered to our dorm room on a tray, like I was some kind of hospital patient. He went to bed without bothering to say good night.
Shivering and queasy, I stare at the cellophane-wrapped bowls of cold vegetable broth and applesauce. My head aches and my stomach grumbles, my insides hollow and hungry for things I can’t have. Fleur’s probably right. Running from this place is just a stupid dream. It’ll be another nine months before I’ll have an opportunity to even talk to her, and that’s assuming she doesn’t kill me first. Even if I could manage to convince her to listen—to show her it’s possible—getting Chill and Poppy out of here would be a logistical nightmare. I’ve mapped out every viable scenario in my mind. There’s no way we could pull it off on our own.
Chill’s computer hums quietly, his desk neat except for a few telltale orange Dorito crumbs. My stomach rumbles again. Blanket draped over my shoulders, I reach for his bottom desk drawer, following my nose to a stash of smuggled junk food he keeps hidden under a stack of files. My fingers hover over the familiar fat accordion folders containing Chill’s surveillance records. Of Amber, Julio, and Fleur. How they hunt, what they spend their money on, the places they avoid and the ones they’re drawn to... all their weaknesses.
I pause over Amber’s. As strong as she was today, she reached for that yellow sun embroidered on her collar whenever she got nervous. Arizona is a soft spot, a vulnerability she clings to. All I have to do is figure out why. And if she wants it badly enough to risk helping me.
I shed the blanket and gather up the heavy stack of folders, surprised to find a fourth thin file underneath the others, labeled with a name I’ve never seen before.
Philippa Elaine Wells.
Curious, I set the others aside, surprised to find this fourth file is full of pictures of Poppy. Chill must have hacked her records from the Control Room servers, but why? I skim the contents for any clue to what he might be up to.
Cause of original death: respiratory failure resulting from cystic fibrosis, on the same day, in the same hospital, as Fleur. It’s all here—her surviving relatives, the websites she frequents, the music she downloads, the foods she eats... But Chill doesn’t need to hunt Poppy or even hide from her. He doesn’t need to know her weaknesses, so why bother keeping a file?
Unless it’s not Poppy’s weaknesses hidden in this folder, but Chill’s.
I tuck it back inside his drawer, feeling guilty for invading hisprivacy. My sleeve catches the edge of the stack and the other three folders smack onto the floor.
Breath held, I listen as Chill stirs. When he falls quiet again, I ease down beside Fleur’s scattered dossier. Under the dim circle of Chill’s reading lamp, I gather the pages into a pile in my lap: reconnaissance photos, bank statements, her library hold list, classes she’s taken, a list of the places she goes when she’s released... I memorized most of it years ago.
Fleur Attwell, formerly Mackenzie Ray Evans, born September 26, 1973, in Frederick, Maryland, died May 26, 1991, in Washington, DC. Cause of death: lymphoma.
I pause at a photo Chill must have hacked from Fleur’s personal files. A selfie of Fleur and Julio sitting side by side, their legs dangling over the edge of a boardwalk. She’s laughing, her pink hair blowing across her soft-serve ice cream cone. I try not to read too much into their relationship, but it’s hard not to. I can’t imagine sitting in a dark theater beside Amber. Can’t imagine either of us relinquishing our weapons long enough to share dessert.
I tuck the photo back into Fleur’s file. I wonder if Julio knows she’s up for the Purge. If he cares about her enough to risk his neck to save her.
