"There was. Once. Before he disposed of them."
"Disposed of them?"
"Recycled. Removed. Forgotten."
She walked around me and stood in front of the chair.
"This is where Batch 39 died. Where she stopped being useful. Where he decided she was more trouble than she was worth."
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
She smiled, and her face shifted again—young, old, hollow, hungry.
"Ask yourself, Bunny. Ask yourself why you can't remember. Why your memories keep changing. Why the girl who wasn't there keeps appearing in your dreams."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do."
She stepped closer, and her hand found my face, and her thumb traced my lower lip—the way Gabriel used to.
"You're not hunting for Gabriel. You're hunting for yourself. For the pieces of yourself you lost when he broke you."
"You don't know me."
"I know you better than you know yourself."
She pulled away and walked toward the door.
"I can take you to him. But first, you have to prove you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
"Ready to see the truth."
She walked out of the room, and I followed.
I didn't trust her.
I didn't believe her.
But I followed.
Because following was the only thing I knew how to do.
7
The Other Bunny
The room was deeper than I expected.
We walked through doorway after doorway, each one darker than the last, the walls narrowing until I could almost touch both sides at once. Rue led the way, her footsteps sure and steady, her blonde hair catching the light from somewhere I couldn't identify. She didn't look back. She didn't need to. She knew I would follow.
She knew.
She'd been watching.
