His hand moves toward the knife.
“Pick it up.”
Gray’s long fingers twitch even harder. His jaw is ticking, too. He doesn’t look happy. I don’t blame him. He’s not in control of his own body, and I can’t imagine how terrifying that feels. The level of trust he’s showing by allowing me to do this to him is awe inspiring. I don’t think I would ever trust somebody that much.
“Pick it up.”
His fingers wrap around the handle.
“Flip your other palm.” I glance at his other hand. Those fingers spasm, too, before he flips his palm around. “Cut yourself. Doesn’t have to be deep.”
His features are strained. Stretched taut. He is not in control at all.
“Cut yourself. Come on.”
I’m feeling the strain, too. I recognize the sensation. It happened when the firing squad was resisting me, as we waged a battle, their will against mine.That’swhat drains the gold energy, I realize. The subject’s resistance. That’s when the beads of sweat roll down my temples. That’s when I start to feel weak.
Hawkins has been teaching me to breathe through it. Before, I was trying to push the gold away. Now I draw it even closer. Make it part of me.
With the tip of the blade, Gray scratches a line in his palm.
It’s thin, barely breaking the skin, but I don’t have the energy to keep going. I release my grip on his mind, and the knife clatters to the ground.
He shudders from a full-body shiver, his green eyes stricken. “The fuck,” he mutters.
I gulp. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No, no.” He rubs his forehead, then shakes out his hands. “That was…I can’t even describe it. It’s like every part of your body is fighting. You don’t want to do it, and you’rewatchingyourself do it, and…”
He shivers again, and in that moment, I know he comprehends it. Why inciters are so feared.
Yet when our eyes lock, he doesn’t look afraid of me.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“Don’t be. You need to be able to control it. I agreed to help you.” He shrugs. “Don’t feel guilty that you have this power. We don’t choose our abilities.”
“You’re right. I didn’t choose incitement. Sort of like how you didn’t choose…precognition.”
He sputters out a laugh. “I already told you, I’m not a precog.”
“You also promised you’d tell me your ability if I guessed it correctly,” I say in accusation.
“And you haven’t guessed it yet.”
“I’ve guessed everything! There are no more abilities to guess!”
“I don’t know what else to tell you, cowgirl.” He winks at me. “Be better.”
“I hate you.”
There’s nothing in the De Velde file that raises any red flags for me, though that isn’t to say it’s not fascinating. I spend the entire evening engrossed by it. Lyddie’s mother is apparently a super genius, and her father is a master strategist, credited with planning the Valterra Ridge ground attack.
I understand a lot better now why the first time I read Lyddie’s mind, she was thinking one thought on repeat:You’re not good enough.
It must be daunting being the progeny of two exceptional, brilliant people. Lyddie doesn’t lack intellect, but I wouldn’t call her brilliant.She does belong in Intelligence, though. I won’t take that away from her, no matter how much I want to strangle her to death.
Several days later, the Authority holds another briefing, but it isn’t until late afternoon that all field operatives are summoned to the mess hall.
