“I’m warning you,” he says quietly. “You go up the ladder. Then the ties go back on.”
“Okay.”
He releases me. I don’t move.
“What are you waiting for?” he says. “Go.”
Still, I hesitate. “Can I just— Can I turn around for a second?”
“No.”
Blood is rushing to my newly freed arms, my skin prickling as it awakens. Absently, I massage my wrists. “Please,” I whisper. “This is important.”
“If you have something to say, say it. You don’t need to look at me.”
“All right,” I say, bracing myself. “I was going to ask, very politely, whether you might consider letting me go.”
“What?” He stiffens behind me, then laughs, the harsh sound colored by disbelief. “Let you go where?”
“Back to the Ark.”
Now he spins me around himself.
“Are you joking?” he says. The fiery lights cast a warm glow across his face, softening the harshness in his eyes. “Tell me you’re joking, Rosabelle.”
“I’m not joking.”
This seems to hit him like a blow. “After everything you’ve done, you think you can just ask to be sent home? Pretend this never happened? Is that how you usually get out of these situations? You just ask, very politely?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“I don’t even understand you,” he says. “These people have been torturing you and your sister for years and you’re just going to run back into their arms? You’re going to do whatever they tell you to do for the rest of your life?”
“It’s not what you think,” I say desperately. “I have to go back because I need to fix things. I have a plan, but it’s going to be complicated. Things are so much worse than you know, you don’t understand—”
“Then help me understand,” he says, his voice charged with feeling. “Tell me what’s happening. Tell me what’s going on—”
“I can’t,” I say.
“Why not?” he shoots back.
I’m shaking my head, trying to sort through my own tangled thoughts. I made my decision to eliminate Klaus the moment he threatened to kill Clara.
It’s the only solution to an impossible problem.
Klaus gave me eight weeks to destroy myself and, in the process, torpedo the epicenter of the resistance—which means I have eight weeks to get myself back to the island. Eight weeks to steal back the vial, find Klaus’s tank, drink the earth, launch myself into the waters of his synthetic mind, and hope my decomposing body will detonate the explosion necessary to kill him. It’s the only way to save Clara. It’s the only way to spare the rest of the world a fate like Leon’s. If I can take out Klaus before countless other agents launch their own attacks against The New Republic, I might be able to dismantle the entire system.
But I don’t want anyone to know my plan, because I don’t want anyone to try to stop me.
“I’m just— I’m not used to working with other people,” I manage to get out. “I’m used to doing things on my own, and I don’t know if I can trust your team—”
“Can you trust me?”
This question strikes me through the heart, rendering me silent. James steps somehow closer, his hands loose at his sides. No gun, no zip ties. He is, himself, the greatest weapon against my defenses. In his presence my shields warp, my heart slows, my fears quiet. In his presence my body yields to its original form: ice releasing under sunlight, returning to the sea.
“Rosabelle,” he says. “Do you trust me?”
I look up into his eyes, astonishing myself when I say, softly, “Yes.”
