I jerk toward her, but Finn’s grip is surprisingly strong on my arm, and he keeps me in place.
“Leave her,” he says. “Just leave her.”
We don’t waste any more time with Cecily Holden. She’s made her bed, and she may have to lie in it, but I’ll be damned if any of us spend another second in one down here.
Forty-Two
Out in the hall, Sloane,Aisha, and Jasper have changed out of their hospital gowns. Jasper is back in the clothes he disappeared in, but Sloane and Aisha are outfitted in an odd assortment of items. A pair of gray sweatpants that Sloane has to roll three times at the waist and an oversized T-shirt that readsBlackridge Pe Department. Aisha wears a pair of leggings that stretch halfway down her shins and a hoodie with uneven seams. Finn slips into the room to swap his thin pants for a pair of black sweats and another hoodie, oversized and pastel pink.
“We found our own stuff,” Sloane says, her jaw set, “but it’s too small now.”
Finn, easing his way back into the hall, gripping the wall for dear life, huffs a laugh.
“Yeah, those are my sweats, Sloane,” he says. He has his typical cocky smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes. He blinks afew too many times each minute. He looks like he wants to protest when I return to him, put an arm around his waist, but he sinks quickly into my side. Most of his weight is shuffled onto me, and though I can tell he doesn’t like the show of weakness, he doesn’t step away either.
He’s who I’m most worried about. Jasper is almost entirely awake and steady. He hangs to my side, gripping my hand tight. Sloane and Aisha are still out of it, the latter more so, but they hold on to each other with ease.
Finn, however, is wobbly. A glaze to his eyes and an exhaustion that must be bone deep.
Even if he could walk by himself, I wouldn’t let him. It’s like I need convincing that he’s real, that this whole thing wasn’t some big hallucination on my part.
For months he was a specter, and that made falling for him safer. Easier. But now he’s here, tangible. All of them are. And as vehemently as I wanted to keep him, Sloane, and Aisha far enough from me that there’d be nothing to lose, I failed long ago. Now I don’t think I know how to let go.
“You can have them back later.” Sloane pats her thighs. “They’re so not my style.” She flashes him a grin. “I’m digging the pink, though.”
Finn snorts.
“If y’all are done comparing outfits, I’d really like to get out of here,” Aisha says.
“Jo?” Sloane asks. “Please tell me you got the code for the door.”
“Cecily won’t give it up,” Finn says.
“She knows it, though. If we could get her to talk—” I say.
“She won’t,” Finn says. “If we get that door open, all of this is over. She dies.”
An idea prickles in the back of my skull. It’s a horrible one, dangerous enough to get us all killed in the process. But if Cecily’s main goal is self-preservation, the only way to get her to save us is to make it worthwhile for her.
“Does everyone remember those stop-drop-and-roll drills from school?” I ask.
Finn’s brows knit together. He looks between the others and me, lips parting.
“Yeah, but there’s no fire,” Sloane says. “Lot of good rolling will do us.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. Look at Aisha and Jasper. “I need you to find rags or T-shirts or anything cloth. Get them wet. Tie them around your mouth. Get one for Finn and me, too.”
Finn shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s a bad idea—”
“Cecily won’t open the door for us. But I’m willing to bet she’ll open it for herself.”
“Are you willing to bet our lives on it?” Sloane asks.
I look around the hallway, this bunker these kids have spent years trapped in. A never-ending cycle of sacrifice for one man’s delusion about fighting for his daughter.
“There are likely sprinklers. Or some kind of fail-safe. This probably won’t work,” Aisha says.
“We’re screwed anyway, aren’t we?” I ask.
