“This is your fault!” I say. “You betrayed him.”
“I saved him,” Clover retorts. “You poisoned him against his family, against the Continent. He knew what had to be done when he learned the truth about you, but he chose to hide it instead. You made him commit treason.”
She takes Ender’s hand. A jewel glints on her finger, and it takes me a second to realize that it is my ring. The one I saw in Ender’s study. Green and delicate and made forme.
My heart cracks at the sight. Clover follows my gaze, and her mouth curls in a satisfied smile.
“The Director agrees I’m the better match for him,” Clover adds smugly. “Our papers will be signed by the end of the week, and the wedding will be soon after.”
I look at Ender, silently begging him to see the truth, to pull away from her. How can he avoid my touch and welcome hers?
“You gave her my ring,” I whisper.
Ender is silent.
Something inside me fractures at his dismissal. I thrash against the restraints, struggling to rip them off.
He turns to the technicians.
“Call me when she’s fixed.”
He walks out without sparing me a second glance.
Clover smiles as the door seals shut. She remains in the room, prepared to watch it happen.
The technicians close in, their voices fading into static.
All I can see is Ender’s back disappearing from view. Nothing will ever hurt as much as this moment and the realization that he gave her everything. He erased me from his life without a care in the world. I stare at the space Ender occupied until my vision blurs. My chest feels hollowed out like someone dug a fist inside and ripped out my heart.
The technicians move closer, their footsteps soft and orderly. I don’t even have the strength to fight; it is no use. There are no keys on them; stopping time would do nothing but delay the inevitable.
One of them adjusts the tray. The sound of metal clinking makes me quiver.
“Hold her steady,” a voice says.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
This is it.
This is how they destroy me.
Cold, meticulous fingers brush my neck, searching for the right placement.
“Lower,” another voice murmurs.
That voice is familiar.
My eyes snap open.
The woman standing over me keeps her head bowed; her thick hair is tucked beneath a sterile cap. A mask hides the lower half of her face, but her green eyes are unmistakable.
Mercy.
My breath catches painfully in my throat. Her gaze flicks to the camera in the corner, then back to me. She shakes her head once; the message is clear: don’t speak. My heart slams against my ribs. My sister is here. Mercy came to save me.
The second technician steps closer, taller, broader, blond-haired. He pretends to check the restraints. When he leans in, his shoulder blocks the camera’s view for half a second.
Gray.
