“What?” I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Use your head,” Warner says quietly. “She’s asking practical questions about tech and society because she’s preparing for engagement in foreign territory. She wants to know whether the light is real because—”
And then it hits me. Hard. I slump back in my chair, feeling stupid. “Because she’s trying to figure out whether the building is underground.”
A sudden, shrill alarm rings softly through the room, and Warner stands up, sliding the receiver out of his pocket. He unfolds the razor-thin metal, and Kenji’s voice projects immediately into the room—
“Hey man, I know it’s super late and you’re supposed to be offline right now, but Maya told Agatha to tell Ian who calledmeto say that they’re all worried something weird is going down in the hall outside Rosabelle’s bedroom—”
I bolt upright, nearly knocking into Warner. “What does that mean?”
Warner looks at me, annoyed.
“I don’t know, man,” says Kenji. “But Ian says that Maya says your girlfriend is talking to Leon about— Oh,shit.”
The line goes quiet. Kenji’s just breathing.
“What?” we all say at the same time.
“James, get your ass over there,” he says, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Maya just sent me some footage from the hallway cams.”
“Okay, I’m leaving now— I’ll be right there— Is she trying to kill him again?”
“No,” says Kenji, subdued. “I think this dude might be trying to killher.”
Rosabelle
Chapter 34
The knock at my door comes in the night.
My eyes open, but my body is calm. It’s been ten days since I arrived at the facility, and I’m still no closer to a lead on the vial. In the end, Leon proved to be nothing more than a distraction; I haven’t seen him since the incident. I considered launching a covert sweep of his room just to be certain, but he’s locked himself inside since the day I killed him, citing me as the reason he refuses to emerge, not even for meals. I’m not sure how they’re feeding him.
Agatha and Ian officially hate me.
I’ve kept my focus on James, instead, watching him for signs, grasping for meaning in small details. Ultimately I’m at the mercy of another agent, waiting to be contacted by someone who has to find a way to reach me; if they fail, I will fail. There are only four days left. Lately I spend my nights staring up at the ceiling, holding on to the sides of my bed as my head spins.
James has poisoned me.
He’s in my veins. I’m sick with weight of him, sick at the sight of him. His voice haunts me; his presence disarms me. His face surfaces every time I close my eyes, so I try not to close them. I try not to think about his hands or his laugh or the way he quietly sighs,sometimes, when he looks at me. I try not to linger over a startling, terrifying desire to touch him. To be touched by him. Mostly I think about the guillotine that is my place of rest.
When the knock comes again, the interruption is almost a relief. I reach under my pillow for the butterknife I snuck into my room, holding it loosely as I pad, barefoot, to the door.
I wait, listening. Not breathing.
The knock comes a third time, and with it, a voice: “Rosybelle? Rosy-rose, are you awake?”
I flip the butterknife in my hand and unlatch the door, swinging it open. Leon is standing in the dim light.
“Can I help you?” I say to him.
“I got your note,” he says, looking unsteady.
I analyze his dilated eyes more closely, wondering at James’s assessment of his lucidity. I assumed Leon was terrified to be near me, so this burst of enthusiasm is a confusing surprise.
“What note?” I ask.
“I forgive you, Rosy,” he says, stage-whispering. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
