“I’m positive,” Rosabelle says, ducking between buildings. She drops down into a crouch, scanning the area with a surgical precision I find fascinating.
I’ve never really watched her work before.
It was harder than I anticipated getting her off campus. She wasn’t authorized to leave The Waffle, which meant that I had to do some technically illegal things to get her out—which I’ll definitely pay for later.
Luckily, Rosabelle knows how to run.
She kept up with my pace fairly well despite the differences in our strides, but after sprinting across the city for nearly twenty minutes straight, she finally needed a second to catch her breath and recalibrate.
We both did.
I watch her brace herself against the wall.
“I’m convinced it’s a diversionary tactic,” she says between breaths. “Your people must’ve been close to success, or else they wouldn’t have tried to draw so much attention away.”
“Someone blew up a fucking hospital wing,” I say, blind panic still clawing at my chest as I peer around the corner. “We had to divert some of our forces.”
“That’s what they wanted,” she says, straightening. “It’sa move meant to fracture your troops. You and I need to stay focused on the original mission—”
“I know,” I say. “I know we need to get the vial. But there are assailants out there actively murdering burn victims and we can’t do anything to help. It’s horrible.”
“Where are you getting this information?” she asks. “Who’s sending you these updates?”
“We have a team that runs stealth drones during operations,” I explain. “They stay in the command center and give us real-time updates.”
She dismisses this with a single shake of her head. “Easily hacked.”
This response stuns me.
I stare at her before returning my eyes to the skyline, where smoke still spirals into the milky night. The flames have diminished, but we’re not close enough to sight the full scale of the damage.
“You think this scene is fake?” I ask, glancing at Rosabelle over my shoulder, some of the tension leaving my body. “I mean, to be fair, The Reestablishment has messed with our perception of reality before, but I don’t think this is a stunt.”
“I don’t think it’s a stunt, either,” she says. “I think it’s a trap.”
“You mean like some kind of an ambush?” I fall back, dropping down next to her so our voices don’t carry.
Our shoulders touch.
She immediately shifts away from me, moving a few feet out of reach.
I’m not offended. I don’t even blame her. I’m just trying to talk to her and I’m getting distracted. Her skin is like porcelain in this light. She has this celestial look about her, like she might’ve been born in the sky, like she might’ve fallen from the stars. I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from. I didn’t even know I could think thoughts like this.
She kissed myheart.
I’m a fucking poet now.
Rosabelle looks up at me as if I’ve spoken aloud, and for a second I think maybe I did—until I remember that I’d just asked her a question.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe an ambush. Maybe something else. All possibilities nefarious.” She tilts her head back, peering at the roofline. “I really can’t believe how little surveillance you have across the city.”
“I can’t believe you think my own people are lying.”
My pager goes off again and I read the message, then show it to her: it’s another urgent call for all soldiers to report to the hospital immediately.
“I don’t trust it,” Rosabelle says. “A sudden humanitarian disaster is a convenient way to divert troops from a real target. Even if your brother suspects foul play, he’ll have no choice but to abandon his position to assess the reported damage, and that might be exactly what they want.” She hesitates. “Then again, I could be wrong. Maybe I’m not the right person to ask.”
“Why not?”
