“Wow.” I lean against the window. “Nice. You two were made for each other.”
Warner visibly unclenches.
A little.
“So, why can’t Rosabelle go back to supermax?” Juliette asks. She tries to sit up. “Why is it so hard to find somewhere to put her?”
“Because she knows how to break out of our prisons,” I explain. “Her escape from supermax wasn’t luck. It was premeditated strategy.”
Juliette’s eyes light with understanding, then dim with concern. “Because it was built by The Reestablishment,” she says.
I nod. “She told me she spent hundreds of hours of sim training breaking out of every single one of our prisons. Which means traditional incarceration is no longer an option.”
“I still can’t believe she told you that,” says Nazeera, shaking her head as she pushes off the wall. “That’s critical information about The Reestablishment’s access and reach here on the mainland. Information we’re using now to better detain her—to derail her from her own objectives. Why expose a weakness? What was her angle?”
I shrug. “I think she was just really confident she’d escape and never see me again.”
Nazeera frowns. “That doesn’t explain why she’d confide in you. I know you guys have a kind of tenuous alliance,but you’re still on opposing sides, still fighting for your own causes. Why would she share things with you that might put her own interests in danger?”
The question is loaded.
Everyone turns to look at me.
21
James
The collective weight of all these stares is uncomfortable, but Warner’s gaze is the heaviest. I’m guessing he knows more about what Rosabelle is feeling than I do, but if he’s picked up on any emotional cues from her that might fuel my delusion, I don’t think he’s planning on sharing.
Me, on the other hand? I can’t even pretend to hide how I feel about her. I don’t even want to.
Even now I’m trying to ignore the constant, steady ache that chases my every waking moment. It’s like she buried a knife in my chest at an expert angle, and now I just have to live with it, because removing the knife might kill me.
I look away for a second to try to cool my thoughts, but my mind decides to make things things worse by cuing up the sound of her voice instead.
I’m trying—I’m really trying to be a better person, but if even one of them hurts you I swear I’ll slaughter them all—
I take a tight breath.
God, the way she looked at me.
This is the memory that haunts me most when I’m alone, in the dark, struggling to sleep. The way she’d grabbed my shirt, as if there was any chance she could scare me away with a desperate promise to keep me safe.
I feel suddenly overheated.
I always knew my romantic expectations were warped, that growing up with Warner and Juliette had messed me up for life. I’ve never been interested in the kinds of relationships built on things like shared hobbies and favorite seasons; it doesn’t matter to me whether we like the same foods or listen to the same music. I’ve always wanted something bigger than that, something I didn’t even know how to name. For years I thought there was something wrong with me.
Turns out, I was right.
Apparently, what I’m really looking for is a girl who threatens to murder my enemies.
Rosabelle has set the bar too fucking high.
“Look,” I say, trying to take a full breath. Everyone is still staring at me. “Uh, I can’t tell you what Rosabelle is thinking. I really wish I could. But I feel like we’ve gotten off topic. I was just trying to say that Hugo is a bad choice for custodian. She’d sooner kill her dad than open up to him, and I think we can understand what that feels like.” I nod to the group. “We’re all a bunch of traumatized weirdos with murderous daddy issues. Kenji exempted, of course.”
“Weirdos?” Warner echoes, insulted.
“Daddy issues?” Nazeera pulls a face.
