I jerk forward without warning, gasping as hundreds of laser prongs retract from my body, releasing me from a simulated paralysis.
The alarm goes silent.
I slump in my seat, the back of the chair biting painfully into my neck, my senses slowly awakening. Cold seeps into my skin, bruises blossoming along my inner arms and elsewhere—everywhere. I can already feel them blooming, as they always do, along my torso, wrapping around my back.
My heart rate is still too slow; my lungs still compressed. I strain for breath, my limbs trembling. I can feel the pressure of his hands now, the familiar shape and weight. I attempt to pull away but his grip only tightens.
I look up, searching, as if through water.
My pupils contract, restoring my vision by degrees, the room slowly focusing. In the clearing blur my mind conjures his face from memory, portraits old and new layering like double exposures before resolving into the present moment. Up close he’s tenser; sharper; but his hair is the same as it ever was: pitch-black to match his eyes. I stare at him vacantly, even as gales of sensation wash over me: the clasp of childhood; the press of sunlight; a breathless dash through summer rain.
Sebastian smiles, but the effort is strained with genuine concern. I look away, my tired eyes falling upon the expanse of his upper body,the subject of my endless fascination. So many hours of my life I spent wondering how I might carve his heart out of his chest.
“Rosa,” he says softly, a finger slipping under my chin, lifting my face. He grazes my cheek with his thumb and I’m too tired to flinch. “Congratulations. Your authorizations have been approved for another month.”
I say nothing to this.
I always say nothing.
My monthly interrogations have always been managed by Lieutenant Soledad but executed by Lieutenant Rivers. Now that Soledad is dead, I suppose Sebastian—Lieutenant Rivers—will assume both roles. I never did get used to his promotions over the years; I never acclimated to calling him anything other than Sebastian. He and I grew up together. Our mothers were best friends.
For so many years, he was everything to me.
“I’m always grateful to be the one to do this for you,” he says, squeezing my hands. “When we’re married, I can take even better care of you. My personal reports will be far more exhaustive, which means I can petition for longer periods between interrogations.”
I swallow, the movement painful. My throat is desiccated. “Sebastian.”
“Yes?”
Again, I swallow. “May I have some water?”
He shakes his head, retreating, his eyes pinching in distress. “Your meal vouchers haven’t renewed yet. As soon as they come through,I’ll let you know.”
Once more, I swallow.
My rations diminish from week to week, leaving nearly nothing by the end of the month; this supply replenishes only after I’ve cleared my interrogations. The problem is that I receive hardly enough food even for one person. Clara isn’t counted in the distributions. The Reestablishment doesn’t believe in wasting resources on the weak.
“Why do you have to give her so much?” he asks. “What’s the use? When you know how it’s going to end?”
I pull away from him inelegantly, stumbling as I fight to stand. Sebastian reaches for me automatically, and in my haste to escape him I slam into a wall of steel cabinets, awakening a cascade of sound. The lingering disorientation is almost worse than the interrogation itself.
I don’t like to lose control.
“I need to see Clara,” I say, trying to steady myself. “I need to tell her I’m leaving. I’ve never left the island before and I’ll need to make plans for her. I need to wash the windows. I didn’t wash the windows today and if I don’t wash the windows every day soot stains the glass and she can’t see outside and she needs”—I stumble, the room tilts— “she needs to be able to look outside or she, she— I should speak with Zadie. One of her boys just lost his rations for the week, and if I give her some of my meal vouchers maybe she’ll help care for Clara while I’m gone—”
“Rosa—”
“I’d like to go home.” I cut him off, touching my fingers to my mouth in alarm.It occurs to me that I might be talking too much, and the realization scares me. “I’m tired,” I say, my hand falling away. “I’d like to go home now.”
Sebastian takes a breath. “All right,” he says. “You’re allowed a brief interlude before deployment tomorrow. I suppose you can take it now.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll fly you back, and we can run through tomorrow’s itinerary one more time. Remember,” he says, and I finally meet his eyes. “Klaus was only able to map out a program of action for twenty-four hours. By sunrise we’ll have just under three hours of script left. After that, the subject’s behavior is no longer certain. You’ll be on your own to manage him.”
I nod blindly. “I understand.”
“Give me a minute to grab some things before we go,” Sebastian says, flashing me a smile. “Now that we’re engaged, I can stay with you overnight.”
