Then back to him.
“Start small,” he says, placing a glass of water in front of me. “Open up your appetite slowly.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I reach for my fork and nearly drop it, steeling myself as I try to control the tremors. I have to give up on my right hand and use my left, which is shaking only a little, and though the motions are awkward, I finally manage to spear a piece of waffle.
The effort leaves me feeling out of breath.
“Stop staring at her,” James barks at the others. “Let her eat her food in peace.”
They look away like chastened children, turning their eyes to their plates, or else around the restaurant. James stares pointedly into the distance, his hand clenched around his water cup.
Slowly, I bring the bite to my mouth.
Sugar and heat dissolve against my tongue. Pressure builds behind my eyes.
My chest nearly caves in.
“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” comes a friendly, booming voice.
31
Rosabelle
There’s a sudden clamor as a trio of bodies separates from the dense crowd and head in our direction.
Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone but me pushes out of their seats to greet the new arrivals. I sense no imminent threat, nor anyone I recognize, so I look away as they exchangeheys and hugs andhow’ve youbeens.
In fact, the moment James rises from his chair and retreats a few feet, I fall back inside myself.
Almost at once, my heart ceases its panic.
My pulse begins to slow.
In his absence the diner dims, sounds muting into something manageable. I sink more freely into the soft contours of my own mind, then force another two bites into my mouth, chewing and swallowing. The effort gets a little easier each time, but it’s a struggle not to take breaks between bites.
A cold calm soon settles over me.
It’s harder to find my center when James is coming and going around me, but now, in this steady reprieve, it’s almost a gift to pull on this old skin, hermetically sealing my head inside my head. In order to survive, I can never allow myself to truly live—and it would be a lethal mistake to forget that. This is not the time for erratic emotion. Nowis the time to sort out my plans.
I will go back to the Ark tonight.
First, I will convince these people to let me go home.
I didn’t know what would happen to me after failing to take off at the airfield. I assumed I was out of chances; I assumed they’d do the obvious thing and imprison me for the rest of my life, torturing me to the point of death and holding me there, in purgatory, never healing me more than necessary in order to keep me too weak to escape. I thought they’d hack me slowly to pieces in the pursuit of information and retaliation.
It’s what The Reestablishment would’ve done.
Instead, I’m sitting here in a warm, borrowed jacket, eating waffles in relative peace.
I once thought these people were stupid.
I’m beginning to realize I’ve been neatly tricked. My shields were slowly stolen when I wasn’t looking. My mind softened with my own permission. I gave up information without coercion.
I never anticipated James.
A plan is coming together in my mind, the shape of it influenced by the rebels’ subtle maneuvers. I once feared the idea of allying with them, of shackling myself to a new master; but I’ve been so accustomed to the cruel practices of The Reestablishment that it never occurred to me a compromise could be peaceful. It never occurred to me I might ask for something without being forced to pay for it in blood. I’m seeing now that I might not need to pledge my allegiance toanyone in order to achieve my aims.
