“Over my body,” Kiera says. “Over his.” She nods at me. “Over whoever they decided to chain to me.”
“Yes,” Reyes says simply. “Over you.”
Cam clears his throat. “The relays,” he says. “The route Evelyn’s reports took. Who was she sending them to?”
Reyes’s shoulders slump the tiniest bit. She knows she’s bleeding information now; there’s no putting it back.
“Angelina Wraith,” she says. “Sterling’s mother. She runs the central node. Your mother reported to her. So did I.”That’s new. My mom is alive somewhere.
“Location?” Cam presses.
“Last I knew...not here. You burned one Nesting House. There are others.”
Of course, there are. Why stop at one termite mound when you can infest a continent? “How many kids,” Kiera demands, voice lethally low, “are still in beds like those? Sedated. Silent. Waiting for someone to decide if they’re a success or a failure?” Reyes doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.
Kiera stands. Too fast. The room wobbles around her. I’m on my feet with her, hand on her elbow, before she tips. “Sit,” I murmur.
“I can’t,” she says through her teeth. “If I sit, I’ll start thinking about them instead of the ones upstairs, and I’ll tear this place apart.” Her hands are shaking. I turn her slightly, putting my body between her and Reyes, between her and the door, between her and the urge to run until the mountains run out.
“Westart with the ones we can reach,” I say quietly. “These kids. This house. This program head. One thing at a time.”
She stares at me, eyes dark and furious. “One thing at a time,” she repeats. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not,” I say. “But it’s possible.”
Behind us, Cam snaps his laptop shut. “I’ve got enough to start tracking,” he tells Reyes. “If we have more questions, you will answer them.”
Reyes nods once. “I will.”
“Not because we trust you,” I add, looking over my shoulder. “Because you owe it to them.” I jerk my chin toward the kids’ room. “And all the ones we haven’t met yet.” She doesn’t argue. Kiera’s breathing has evened out a little, but the color still hasn’t returned to her cheeks. The pain is still there, coiled low in her body like a separate animal. “We’re done for tonight,” I say. “Cam, get Reyes back to the room and double the restraints. She twitches wrong, you call me.” He nods.
“I don’t need…” Kiera starts.
“You need to lie down,” I say. “You promised me thirty minutes with Evelyn. You already broke that. I’m not letting you break yourself just to win an argument.”
She glares at me, but it’s missing heat. “Bossy,” she mutters.
“Obsessive,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
I steer her toward the thin mattress we’ve claimed in the corner. She sits because her legs won’t let her stand. I kneel in front of her, ignoring the way my shoulder protests the movement.
“Tomorrow,” I keep my voice low so the others can’t hear, “we start planning the next extraction. But tonight…” I rest my hands on her knees, feeling the tremor. “Tonight you breathe. You let your body remember it’s not a weapon. It’s a living thing that gets a say.”
“You realize you sound like a therapist and not a hitman right now?” Her mouth twists into a small smile.
“I sound like a man who watched you almost collapse on the staircase and doesn’t want to see what happens if you keep pretending you‘re made of steel,” I say.
She looks at me for a long time. Then, slowly, she nods. “Fine,” she says. “One night.”
“One night and you get formally checked out,” I agree. “Then we go back to being monsters.”
She huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Deal.” I stay there a second longer, knees aching, shoulder burning, fingers curling around the ridge of her kneecaps like an anchor. The program can debate fate versus design all it wants. Right here, right now, the only design that matters is this: We’re alive. We’re together. And someone, somewhere, is going to pay for making that a question.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Reyes’s words keep echoing long after Cam walks her back to the makeshift cell. The safe house feels wrong—too small, too bright, toonormalto hold everything I’ve learned. The kids’ soft breathing drifts through the cracked bedroom door. “Sit,” Cam demands for the second time tonight.
“I’m fine,” I lie for the hundredth time in my life.
