I move past him into the corridor, and the cool air hits me immediately. The hum of the Rot is louder now with voices in the distance, the clang of metal on metal, the scrape of boots on concrete. Somewhere far off, someone is laughing, the sound out of place against the low murmur of activity.
Strange to think someone could find a reason to laugh in this place.
Rogue falls into step beside me, close enough that I can feel his presence but not so close that it feels suffocating.
For a few paces, we walk in silence.
Then: “So. Sting kissed you,” he says.
I nearly trip. “Excuse me?”
“Last night,” Rogue continues, as if we’re discussing the weather. “He kissed you. How was it?”
My face burns. “None of your business.”
“It is, actually,” he replies. “We share everything down here. Resources. Information.” He pauses. “Women.”
I stop walking and turn to face him. “I’m not a resource.”
“No,” he agrees, meeting my gaze. “You’re not. But youaresomething we’re all watching very closely.”
“Why?”
His eyes glitter behind the mask. “Because you’re dangerous, Vi. Not in the way most people down here are dangerous. You’re dangerous because you don’t always know when to stay small. And dangerous things either get controlled—” He steps closer, his voice dropping. “—or they get destroyed.”
“And which one am I?”
“That,” he says softly, “depends on you.”
“You just told me I was doing well.”
“I did say that. About yesterday.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. My pulse pounds in my ears. I can feel the weight of his attention, the way he’s measuring me, calculating.
“Come on. You’re going to be late.”
I follow him, my mind spinning.
Sting kissed me. And apparently, everyone knows. Which means Armen knows. Which means...
I don’t know what that means.
We turn a corner and the corridor widens as we passby what used to be the mall’s second-tier shops, like those that sold baseball caps and T-shirts. A few Rotters pass us, their eyes flicking to me briefly before looking away. One of them, an unmasked man with a scarred face and a bored expression, lingers a second too long, his gaze dragging over me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
Rogue notices. “Move along,” he says to the guy.
He does. Immediately.
“You’re scaring people,” I mutter.
“Good,” Rogue replies. “That’s the point.”
We keep walking, my knee aching with every step. I force myself not to favor it too much. I don’t want Rogue, or anyone else, to see weakness.
“Question,” I say.
“Answer,” he replies.
