Main Shatter Me 2 - Unravel Me
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tis waas ok not amashing
18 June 2020 (19:17)
I didn't ship adam with Juliette anyways, after reading destroy me I had a whole different view. I won't lie I have readen better books than this, so if you wish to read another book I recommend "the red queen" by victoria aveyard. And the book is awesome.
21 April 2021 (18:39)
the spelling on these reviews are killing me...
25 April 2021 (02:23)
This book really made me confused. I don't know whether to ship Juliette and Adam or Juliette and Aaron. By the way, the spelling in these reviews make reading them a challenge.
03 May 2021 (01:42)
Full on Adam hater, Juliette and Warner 4 ever, also what's the deal with yalls grammar, Lol.
12 June 2021 (10:18)
Never liked Adam. Also do y’all need a free spelling and grammar lesson? It’s on YouTube if you want. Check it out!
07 July 2021 (18:56)
I’ve read shatter me and destroy me (all in the course of one day) and at first I hated Warner but after reading destroy me I’ve gained new insight in him. And honestly I think it’s just the fact that their relationship is toxic. And Adam is good for Juliette but I still ship her and Warner.
23 July 2021 (05:41)
I just finished unravel me and screw Adam and Juliette love Aron and Juliette
24 July 2021 (03:13)
DEDICATION For my mother. The best person I’ve ever known. Contents Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven Chapter Forty-Eight Chapter Forty-Nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty-One Chapter Fifty-Two Chapter Fifty-Three Chapter Fifty-Four Chapter Fifty-Five Chapter Fifty-Six Chapter Fifty-Seven Chapter Fifty-Eight Chapter Fifty-Nine Chapter Sixty Chapter Sixty-One Chapter Sixty-Two Chapter Sixty-Three Chapter Sixty-Four Chapter Sixty-Five Chapter Sixty-Six Chapter Sixty-Seven Chapter Sixty-Eight Chapter Sixty-Nine Chapter Seventy Chapter Seventy-One Chapter Seventy-Two Chapter Seventy-Three Acknowledgments About the Author Credits Copyright Back Ads About the Publisher ONE The world might be sunny-side up today. The big ball of yellow might be spilling into the clouds, runny and yolky and blurring into the bluest sky, bright with cold hope and false promises about fond memories, real families, hearty breakfasts, stacks of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup sitting on a plate in a world that doesn’t exist anymore. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s dark and wet today, whistling wind so sharp it stings the skin off the knuckles of grown men. Maybe it’s snow; ing, maybe it’s raining, I don’t know maybe it’s freezing it’s hailing it’s a hurricane slip slipping into a tornado and the earth is quaking apart to make room for our mistakes. I wouldn’t have any idea. I don’t have a window anymore. I don’t have a view. It’s a million degrees below zero in my blood and I’m buried 50 feet underground in a training room that’s become my second home lately. Every day I stare at these 4 walls and remind myself I’m not a prisoner I’m not a prisoner I’m not a prisoner but sometimes the old fears streak across my skin and I can’t seem to break free of the claustrophobia clutching at my throat. I made so many promises when I arrived here. Now I’m not so sure. Now I’m worried. Now my mind is a traitor because my thoughts crawl out of bed every morning with darting eyes and sweating palms and nervous giggles that sit in my chest, build in my chest, threaten to burst through my chest, and the pressure is tightening and tightening and tightening Life around here isn’t what I expected it to be. My new world is etched in gunmetal, sealed in silver, drowning in the scents of stone and steel. The air is icy, the mats are orange; the lights and switches beep and flicker, electronic and electric, neon bright. It’s busy here, busy with bodies, busy with halls stuffed full of whispers and shouts, pounding feet and thoughtful footsteps. If I listen closely I can hear the sounds of brains working and foreheads pinching and fingers tap tapping at chins and lips and furrowed brows. Ideas are carried in pockets, thoughts propped up on the tips of every tongue; eyes are narrowed in concentration, in careful planning I should want to know about. But nothing is working and all my parts are broken. I’m supposed to harness my Energy, Castle said. Our gifts are different forms of Energy. Matter is never created or destroyed, he said to me, and as our world changed, so did the Energy within it. Our abilities are taken from the universe, from other matter, from other Energies. We are not anomalies. We are inevitabilities of the perverse manipulations of our Earth. Our Energy came from somewhere, he said. And somewhere is in the chaos all around us. It makes sense. I remember what the world looked like when I left it. I remember the pissed-off skies and the sequence of sunsets collapsing beneath the moon. I remember the cracked earth and the scratchy bushes and the used-to-be-greens that are now too close to brown. I think about the water we can’t drink and the birds that don’t fly and how human civilization has been reduced to nothing but a series of compounds stretched out over what’s left of our ravaged land. This planet is a broken bone that didn’t set right, a hundred pieces of crystal glued together. We’ve been shattered and reconstructed, told to make an effort every single day to pretend we still function the way we’re supposed to. But it’s a lie, it’s all a lie. I do not function properly. I am nothing more than the consequence of catastrophe. 2 weeks have collapsed at the side of the road, abandoned, already forgotten. 2 weeks I’ve been here and in 2 weeks I’ve taken up residence on a bed of eggshells, wondering when something is going to break, when I’ll be the first to break it, wondering when everything is going to fall apart. In 2 weeks I should’ve been happier, healthier, sleeping better, more soundly in this safe space. Instead I worry about what will happen when if I can’t get this right, if I don’t figure out how to train properly, if I hurt someone on purpose by accident. We’re preparing for a bloody war. That’s why I’m training. We’re all trying to prepare ourselves to take down Warner and his men. To win one battle at a time. To show the citizens of our world that there is hope yet—that they do not have to acquiesce to the demands of The Reestablishment and become slaves to a regime that wants nothing more than to exploit them for power. And I agreed to fight. To be a warrior. To use my power against my better judgment. But the thought of laying a hand on someone brings back a world of memories, feelings, a flush of power I experience only when I make contact with skin not immune to my own. It’s a rush of invincibility; a tormented kind of euphoria; a wave of intensity flooding every pore in my body. I don’t know what it will do to me. I don’t know if I can trust myself to take pleasure in someone else’s pain. All I know is that Warner’s last words are caught in my chest and I can’t cough out the cold or the truth hacking at the back of my throat. Adam has no idea that Warner can touch me. No one does. Warner was supposed to be dead. Warner was supposed to be dead because I was supposed to have shot him but no one supposed I’d need to know how to fire a gun so now I suppose he’s come to find me. He’s come to fight. For me. TWO A sharp knock and the door flies open. “Ah, Ms. Ferrars. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by sitting in the corner.” Castle’s easy grin dances into the room before he does. I take a tight breath and try to make myself look at Castle but I can’t. Instead I whisper an apology and listen to the sorry sound my words make in this large room. I feel my shaking fingers clench against the thick, padded mats spread out across the floor and think about how I’ve accomplished nothing since I’ve been here. It’s humiliating, so humiliating to disappoint one of the only people who’s ever been kind to me. Castle stands directly in front of me, waits until I finally look up. “There’s no need to apologize,” he says. His sharp, clear brown eyes and friendly smile make it easy to forget he’s the leader of Omega Point. The leader of this entire underground movement dedicated to fighting The Reestablishment. His voice is too gentle, too kind, and it’s almost worse. Sometimes I wish he would just yell at me. “But,” he continues, “you do have to learn how to harness your Energy, Ms. Ferrars.” A pause. A pace. His hands rest on the stack of bricks I was supposed to have destroyed. He pretends not to notice the red rims around my eyes or the metal pipes I threw across the room. His gaze carefully avoids the bloody smears on the wooden planks set off to the side; his questions don’t ask me why my fists are clenched so tight and whether or not I’ve injured myself again. He cocks his head in my direction but he’s staring at a spot directly behind me and his voice is soft when he speaks. “I know this is difficult for you,” he says. “But you must learn. You have to. Your life will depend upon it.” I nod, lean back against the wall, welcome the cold and the pain of the brick digging into my spine. I pull my knees up to my chest and feel my feet press into the protective mats covering the ground. I’m so close to tears I’m afraid I might scream. “I just don’t know how,” I finally say to him. “I don’t know any of this. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing.” I stare at the ceiling and blink blink blink. My eyes feel shiny, damp. “I don’t know how to make things happen.” “Then you have to think,” Castle says, undeterred. He picks up a discarded metal pipe. Weighs it in his hands. “You have to find links between the events that transpired. When you broke through the concrete in Warner’s torture chamber—when you punched through the steel door to save Mr. Kent—what happened? Why in those two instances were you able to react in such an extraordinary way?” He sits down some feet away from me. Pushes the pipe in my direction. “I need you to analyze your abilities, Ms. Ferrars. You have to focus.” Focus. It’s one word but it’s enough, it’s all it takes to make me feel sick. Everyone, it seems, needs me to focus. First Warner needed me to focus, and now Castle needs me to focus. I’ve never been able to follow through. Castle’s deep, sad sigh brings me back to the present. He gets to his feet. He smooths out the only navy-blue blazer he seems to own and I catch a glimpse of the silver Omega symbol embroidered into the back. An absent hand touches the end of his ponytail; he always ties his dreads in a clean knot at the base of his neck. “You are resisting yourself,” he says, though he says it gently. “Maybe you should work with someone else for a change. Maybe a partner will help you work things out—to discover the connection between these two events.” My shoulders stiffen, surprised. “I thought you said I had to work alone.” He squints past me. Scratches a spot beneath his ear, shoves his other hand into a pocket. “I didn’t actually want you to work alone,” he says. “But no one volunteered for the task.” I don’t know why I suck in my breath, why I’m so surprised. I shouldn’t be surprised. Not everyone is Adam. Not everyone is safe from me the way he is. No one but Adam has ever touched me and enjoyed it. No one except for Warner. But despite Adam’s best intentions, he can’t train with me. He’s busy with other things. Things no one wants to tell me about. But Castle is staring at me with hopeful eyes, generous eyes, eyes that have no idea that these new words he’s offered me are so much worse. Worse because as much as I know the truth, it still hurts to hear it. It hurts to remember that though I might live in a warm bubble with Adam, the rest of the world still sees me as a threat. A monster. An abomination. Warner was right. No matter where I go, I can’t seem to run from this. “What’s changed?” I ask him. “Who’s willing to train me now?” I pause. “You?” Castle smiles. It’s the kind of smile that flushes humiliated heat up my neck and spears my pride right through the vertebrae. I have to resist the urge to bolt out the door. Please please please do not pity me, is what I want to say. “I wish I had the time,” Castle says to me. “But Kenji is finally free—we were able to reorganize his schedule—and he said he’d be happy to work with you.” A moment of hesitation. “That is, if that’s all right with you.” Kenji. I want to laugh out loud. Kenji would be the only one willing to risk working with me. I injured him once. By accident. But he and I haven’t spent much time together since he first led our expedition into Omega Point. It was like he was just doing a task, fulfilling a mission; once complete, he went back to his own life. Apparently Kenji is important around here. He has a million things to do. Things to regulate. People seem to like him, respect him, even. I wonder if they’ve ever known him as the obnoxious, foul-mouthed Kenji I first met. “Sure,” I tell Castle, attempting a pleasant expression for the first time since he arrived. “That sounds great.” Castle stands up. His eyes are bright, eager, easily pleased. “Perfect. I’ll have him meet you at breakfast tomorrow. You can eat together and go from there.” “Oh but I usually—” “I know.” Castle cuts me off. His smile is pressed into a thin line now, his forehead creased with concern. “You like to eat your meals with Mr. Kent. I know this. But you’ve hardly spent any time with the others, Ms. Ferrars, and if you’re going to be here, you need to start trusting us. The people of Omega Point feel close to Kenji. He can vouch for you. If everyone sees you spending time together, they’ll feel less intimidated by your presence. It will help you adjust.” Heat like hot oil spatters across my face; I flinch, feel my fingers twitch, try to find a place to look, try to pretend I can’t feel the pain caught in my chest. “They’re—they’re afraid of me,” I tell him, I whisper, I trail off. “I don’t—I didn’t want to bother anyone. I didn’t want to get in their way....” Castle sighs, long and loud. He looks down and up, scratches the soft spot beneath his chin. “They’re only afraid,” he says finally, “because they don’t know you. If you just tried a little harder—if you made even the smallest effort to get to know anyone—” He stops. Frowns. “Ms. Ferrars, you have been here two weeks and you hardly even speak to your roommates.” “But that’s not—I think they’re great—” “And yet you ignore them? You spend no time with them? Why?” Because I’ve never had girl friends before. Because I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong, say something wrong and they’ll end up hating me like all the other girls I’ve known. And I like them too much, which will make their inevitable rejection so much harder to endure. I say nothing. Castle shakes his head. “You did so well the first day you arrived. You seemed almost friendly with Brendan. I don’t know what happened,” Castle continues. “I thought you would do well here.” Brendan. The thin boy with platinum-blond hair and electric currents running through his veins. I remember him. He was nice to me. “I like Brendan,” I tell Castle, bewildered. “Is he upset with me?” “Upset?” Castle shakes his head, laughs out loud. He doesn’t answer my question. “I don’t understand, Ms. Ferrars. I’ve tried to be patient with you, I’ve tried to give you time, but I confess I’m quite perplexed. You were so different when you first arrived—you were excited to be here! But it took less than a week for you to withdraw completely. You don’t even look at anyone when you walk through the halls. What happened to conversation? To friendship?” Yes. It took 1 day for me to settle in. 1 day for me to look around. 1 day for me to get excited about a different life and 1 day for everyone to find out who I am and what I’ve done. Castle doesn’t say anything about the mothers who see me walking down the hall and yank their children out of my way. He doesn’t mention the hostile stares and the unwelcoming words I’ve endured since I’ve arrived. He doesn’t say anything about the kids who’ve been warned to stay far, far away, and the handful of elderly people who watch me too closely. I can only imagine what they’ve heard, where they got their stories from. Juliette. A girl with a lethal touch that saps the strength and energy of human beings until they’re limp, paralyzed carcasses wheezing on the floor. A girl who spent most of her life in hospitals and juvenile detention centers, a girl who was cast off by her own parents, labeled as certifiably insane, and sentenced to isolation in an asylum where even the rats were afraid to live. A girl. So power hungry that she killed a small child. She tortured a toddler. She brought a grown man gasping to his knees. She doesn’t even have the decency to kill herself. None of it is a lie. So I look at Castle with spots of color on my cheeks and unspoken letters on my lips and eyes that refuse to reveal their secrets. He sighs. He almost says something. He tries to speak but his eyes inspect my face and he changes his mind. He only offers me a quick nod, a deep breath, taps his watch, says, “Three hours until lights-out,” and turns to go. Pauses in the doorway. “Ms. Ferrars,” he says suddenly, softly, without turning around. “You’ve chosen to stay with us, to fight with us, to become a member of Omega Point.” A pause. “We’re going to need your help. And I’m afraid we’re running out of time.” I watch him leave. I listen to his departing footsteps and lean my head back against the wall. Close my eyes against the ceiling. Hear his voice, solemn and steady, ringing in my ears. We’re running out of time, he said. As if time were the kind of thing you could run out of, as if it were measured into bowls that were handed to us at birth and if we ate too much or too fast or right before jumping into the water then our time would be lost, wasted, already spent. But time is beyond our finite comprehension. It’s endless, it exists outside of us; we cannot run out of it or lose track of it or find a way to hold on to it. Time goes on even when we do not. We have plenty of time, is what Castle should have said. We have all the time in the world, is what he should have said to me. But he didn’t because what he meant tick tock is that our time tick tock is shifting. It’s hurtling forward heading in an entirely new direction slamming face-first into something else and tick tick tick tick tick it’s almost time for war. THREE I could touch him from here. His eyes, dark blue. His hair, dark brown. His shirt, too tight in all the right places and his lips, his lips twitch up to flick the switch that lights the fire in my heart and I don’t even have time to blink and exhale before I’m caught in his arms. Adam. “Hey, you,” he whispers, right up against my neck. I bite back a shiver as the blood rushes up to blush my cheeks and for a moment, just for this moment, I drop my bones and allow him to hold me together. “Hey.” I smile, inhaling the scent of him. Luxurious, is what this is. We rarely ever see each other alone. Adam is staying in Kenji’s room with his little brother, James, and I bunk with the healer twins. We probably have less than 20 minutes before the girls get back to this room, and I intend to make the most of this opportunity. My eyes fall shut. Adam’s arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, and the pleasure is so tremendous I can hardly keep myself from shaking. It’s like my skin and bones have been craving contact, warm affection, human interaction for so many years that I don’t know how to pace myself. I’m a starving child trying to stuff my stomach, gorging my senses on the decadence of these moments as if I’ll wake up in the morning and realize I’m still sweeping cinders for my stepmother. But then Adam’s lips press against my head and my worries put on a fancy dress and pretend to be something else for a while. “How are you?” I ask, and it’s so embarrassing because my words are already unsteady even though he’s hardly held me but I can’t make myself let go. Laughter shakes the shape of his body, soft and rich and indulgent. But he doesn’t respond to my question and I know he won’t. We’ve tried so many times to sneak off together, only to be caught and chastised for our negligence. We are not allowed outside of our rooms after lights-out. Once our grace period—a leniency granted on account of our very abrupt arrival—ended, Adam and I had to follow the rules just like everyone else. And there are a lot of rules to follow. These security measures—cameras everywhere, around every corner, in every hallway—exist to prepare us in the case of an attack. Guards patrol at night, looking for any suspicious noise, activity, or sign of a breach. Castle and his team are vigilant in protecting Omega Point, and they’re unwilling to take even the slightest risks; if trespassers get too close to this hideout, someone has to do anything and everything necessary to keep them away. Castle claims it’s their very vigilance that’s kept them from discovery for so long, and if I’m perfectly honest, I can see his rationale in being so strict about it. But these same strict measures keep me and Adam apart. He and I never see each other except during mealtimes, when we’re always surrounded by other people, and any free time I have is spent locked in a training room where I’m supposed to “harness my Energy.” Adam is just as unhappy about it as I am. I touch his cheek. He takes a tight breath. Turns to me. Tells me too much with his eyes, so much that I have to look away because I feel it all too acutely. My skin is hypersensitive, finally finally finally awake and thrumming with life, humming with feelings so intense it’s almost indecent. I can’t even hide it. He sees what he does to me, what happens to me when his fingers graze my skin, when his lips get too close to my face, when the heat of his body against mine forces my eyes to close and my limbs to tremble and my knees to buckle under pressure. I see what it does to him, too, to know that he has that effect on me. He tortures me sometimes, smiling as he takes too long to bridge the gap between us, reveling in the sound of my heart slamming against my chest, in the sharp breaths I fight so hard to control, in the way I swallow a hundred times just before he moves to kiss me. I can’t even look at him without reliving every moment we’ve had together, every memory of his lips, his touch, his scent, his skin. It’s too much for me, too much, so much, so new, so many exquisite sensations I’ve never known, never felt, never even had access to before. Sometimes I’m afraid it will kill me. I break free of his arms; I’m hot and cold and feeling unsteady, hoping I can get myself under control, hoping he’ll forget how easily he affects me, and I know I need a moment to pull myself together. I stumble backward; I cover my face with my hands and try to think of something to say but everything is shaking and I catch him looking at me, looking like he might inhale the length of me in one breath. No is the word I think I hear him whisper. All I know next are his arms, the desperate edge to his voice when he says my name, and I’m unraveling in his embrace, I’m frayed and falling apart and I’m making no effort to control the tremors in my bones and he’s so hot his skin is so hot and I don’t even know where I am anymore. His right hand slides up my spine and tugs on the zipper holding my suit together until it’s halfway down my back and I don’t care. I have 17 years to make up for and I want to feel everything. I’m not interested in waiting around and risking the who-knows and the what-ifs and the huge regrets. I want to feel all of it because what if I wake up to find this phenomenon has passed, that the expiration date has arrived, that my chance came and went and would never return. That these hands will feel this warmth never again. I can’t. I won’t. I don’t even realize I’ve pressed myself into him until I feel every contour of his frame under the thin cotton of his clothes. My hands slip up under his shirt and I hear his strained breath; I look up to find his eyes squeezed shut, his features caught in an expression resembling some kind of pain and suddenly his hands are in my hair, desperate, his lips so close. He leans in and gravity moves out of his way and my feet leave the floor and I’m floating, I’m flying, I’m anchored by nothing but this hurricane in my lungs and this heart beating a skip a skip a skip too fast. Our lips touch and I know I’m going to split at the seams. He’s kissing me like he’s lost me and he’s found me and I’m slipping away and he’s never going to let me go. I want to scream, sometimes, I want to collapse, sometimes, I want to die knowing that I’ve known what it was like to live with this kiss, this heart, this soft soft explosion that makes me feel like I’ve taken a sip of the sun, like I’ve eaten clouds 8, 9, and 10. This. This makes me ache everywhere. He pulls away, he’s breathing hard, his hands slip under the soft material of my suit and he’s so hot his skin is so hot and I think I’ve already said that but I can’t remember and I’m so distracted that when he speaks I don’t quite understand. But it’s something. Words, deep and husky in my ear but I catch little more than an unintelligible utterance, consonants and vowels and broken syllables all mixed together. His heartbeats crash through his chest and topple into mine. His fingers are tracing secret messages on my body. His hands glide down the smooth, satiny material of this suit, slipping down the insides of my thighs, around the backs of my knees and up and up and up and I wonder if it’s possible to faint and still be conscious at the same time and I’m betting this is what it feels like to hyper, to hyperventilate when he tugs us backward. He slams his back into the wall. Finds a firm grip on my hips. Pulls me hard against his body. I gasp. His lips are on my neck. His lashes tickle the skin under my chin and he says something, something that sounds like my name and he kisses up and down my collarbone, kisses along the arc of my shoulder, and his lips, his lips and his hands and his lips are searching the curves and slopes of my body and his chest is heaving when he swears and he stops and he says God you feel so good and my heart has flown to the moon without me. I love it when he says that to me. I love it when he tells me that he likes the way I feel because it goes against everything I’ve heard my entire life and I wish I could put his words in my pocket just to touch them once in a while and remind myself that they exist. “Juliette.” I can hardly breathe. I can hardly look up and look straight and see anything but the absolute perfection of this moment but none of that even matters because he’s smiling. He’s smiling like someone’s strung the stars across his lips and he’s looking at me, looking at me like I’m everything and I want to weep. “Close your eyes,” he whispers. And I trust him. So I do. My eyes fall closed and he kisses one, then the other. Then my chin, my nose, my forehead. My cheeks. Both temples. Every inch of my neck and he pulls back so quickly he bangs his head against the rough wall. A few choice words slip out before he can stop them. I’m frozen, startled and suddenly scared. “What happened?” I whisper, and I don’t know why I’m whispering. “Are you okay?” Adam fights not to grimace but he’s breathing hard and looking around and stammering “S-sorry” as he clutches the back of his head. “That was—I mean I thought—” He looks away. Clears his throat. “I—I think—I thought I heard something. I thought someone was about to come inside.” Of course. Adam is not allowed to be in here. The guys and the girls stay in different wings at Omega Point. Castle says it’s mostly to make sure the girls feel safe and comfortable in their living quarters—especially because we have communal bathrooms—so for the most part, I don’t have a problem with it. It’s nice not to have to shower with old men. But it makes it hard for the two of us to find any time together—and during whatever time we do manage to scrounge up, we’re always hyperaware of being discovered. Adam leans back against the wall and winces. I reach up to touch his head. He flinches. I freeze. “Are you okay …?” “Yeah.” He sighs. “I just—I mean—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” Drops his voice. His eyes. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.” “Hey.” I brush my fingertips against his stomach. The cotton of his shirt is still warm from his body heat and I have to resist the urge to bury my face in it. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “You were just being careful.” He smiles a strange, sad sort of smile. “I’m not talking about my head.” I stare at him. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Pries it open again. “It’s—I mean, this—” He motions between us. He won’t finish. He won’t look at me. “I don’t understand—” “I’m losing my mind,” he says, but whispers it like he’s not sure he’s even saying it out loud. I look at him. I look and blink and trip on words I can’t see and can’t find and can’t speak. He’s shaking his head. He grips the back of his skull, hard, and he looks embarrassed and I’m struggling to understand why. Adam doesn’t get embarrassed. Adam never gets embarrassed. His voice is thick when he finally speaks. “I’ve waited so long to be with you,” he says. “I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long and now, after everything—” “Adam, what are y—” “I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep and I think about you all—all the time and I can’t—” He stops. Presses the heels of his hands to his forehead. Squeezes his eyes shut. Turns toward the wall so I can’t see his face. “You should know—you have to know,” he says, the words raw, seeming to drain him, “that I have never wanted anything like I’ve wanted you. Nothing. Because this—this—I mean, God, I want you, Juliette, I want—I want—” His words falter as he turns to me, eyes too bright, emotion flushing up the planes of his face. His gaze lingers along the lines of my body, long enough to strike a match to the lighter fluid flowing in my veins. I ignite. I want to say something, something right and steady and reassuring. I want to tell him that I understand, that I want the same thing, that I want him, too, but the moment feels so charged and urgent that I’m half convinced I’m dreaming. It’s like I’m down to my last letters and all I have are Qs and Zs and I’ve only just remembered that someone invented a dictionary when he finally rips his eyes away from me. He swallows, hard, his eyes down. Looks away again. One of his hands is caught in his hair, the other is curled into a fist against the wall. “You have no idea,” he says, his voice ragged, “what you do to me. What you make me feel. When you touch me—” He runs a shaky hand across his face. He almost laughs, but his breathing is heavy and uneven; he won’t meet my eyes. He steps back, swears under his breath. Pumps his fist against his forehead. “Jesus. What the hell am I saying. Shit. Shit. I’m sorry—forget that—forget I said anything—I should go—” I try to stop him, try to find my voice, try to say, It’s all right, it’s okay, but I’m nervous now, so nervous, so confused, because none of this makes any sense. I don’t understand what’s happening or why he seems so uncertain about me and us and him and me and he and I and all of those pronouns put together. I’m not rejecting him. I’ve never rejected him. My feelings for him have always been so clear—he has no reason to feel unsure about me or around me and I don’t know why he’s looking at me like something is wrong— “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m—I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m just—I’m—shit. I shouldn’t have come. I should go—I have to go—” “What? Adam, what happened? What are you talking about?” “This was a bad idea,” he says. “I’m so stupid—I shouldn’t have even been here—” “You are not stupid—it’s okay—everything is okay—” He laughs, loud, hollow. The echo of an uncomfortable smile lingers on his face as he stops, stares at a point directly behind my head. He says nothing for a long time, until finally he does. “Well,” he says. He tries to sound upbeat. “That’s not what Castle thinks.” “What?” I breathe, caught off guard. I know we’re not talking about our relationship anymore. “Yeah.” His hands are in his pockets. “No.” Adam nods. Shrugs. Looks at me and looks away. “I don’t know. I think so.” “But the testing—it’s—I mean”—I can’t stop shaking my head—“has he found something?” Adam won’t look at me. “Oh my God,” I say, and I whisper it like if I whisper, it’ll somehow make this easier. “So it’s true? Castle’s right?” My voice is inching higher and my muscles are beginning to tighten and I don’t know why this feels like fear, this feeling slithering up my back. I shouldn’t be afraid if Adam has a gift like I do; I should’ve known it couldn’t have been that easy, that it couldn’t have been so simple. This was Castle’s theory all along—that Adam can touch me because he too has some kind of Energy that allows it. Castle never thought Adam’s immunity from my ability was a happy coincidence. He thought it had to be bigger than that, more scientific than that, more specific than that. I always wanted to believe I just got lucky. And Adam wanted to know. He was excited about finding out, actually. But once he started testing with Castle, Adam stopped wanting to talk about it. He’s never given me more than the barest status updates. The excitement of the experience faded far too fast for him. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Of course it is. “We don’t know anything conclusive,” Adam tells me, but I can see he’s holding back. “I have to do a couple more sessions—Castle says there are a few more things he needs to … examine.” I don’t miss the mechanical way Adam is delivering this information. Something isn’t right and I can’t believe I didn’t notice the signs until just now. I haven’t wanted to, I realize. I haven’t wanted to admit to myself that Adam looks more exhausted, more strained, more tightly wound than I’ve ever seen him. Anxiety has built a home on his shoulders. “Adam—” “Don’t worry about me.” His words aren’t harsh, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency in his tone I can’t ignore, and he pulls me into his arms before I find a chance to speak. His fingers work to zip up my suit. “I’m fine,” he says. “Really. I just want to know you’re okay. If you’re all right here, then I am too. Everything is fine.” His breath catches. “Okay? Everything is going to be fine.” The shaky smile on his face is making my pulse forget it has a job to do. “Okay.” It takes me a moment to find my voice. “Okay sure but—” The door opens and Sonya and Sara are halfway into the room before they freeze, eyes fixed on our bodies wound together. “Oh!” Sara says. “Um.” Sonya looks down. Adam swears under his breath. “We can come back later—,” the twins say together. They’re headed out the door when I stop them. I won’t kick them out of their own room. I ask them not to leave. They ask me if I’m sure. I take one look at Adam’s face and know I’m going to regret forfeiting even a minute of our time together, but I also know I can’t take advantage of my roommates. This is their personal space, and it’s almost time for lights-out. They can’t be wandering the corridors. Adam isn’t looking at me anymore, but he’s not letting go, either. I lean forward and leave a light kiss on his heart. He finally meets my eyes. Offers me a small, pained smile. “I love you,” I tell him, quietly, so only he can hear me. He exhales a short, uneven breath. Whispers, “You have no idea,” and pulls himself away. Pivots on one heel. Heads out the door. My heart is beating in my throat. The girls are staring at me. Concerned. Sonya is about to speak, but then a switch a click a flicker and the lights are out. FOUR The dreams are back. They’d left me for a while, shortly after I’d been freshly imprisoned on base with Warner. I thought I’d lost the bird, the white bird, the bird with streaks of gold like a crown atop its head. It used to meet me in my dreams, flying strong and smooth, sailing over the world like it knew better, like it had secrets we’d never suspect, like it was leading me somewhere safe. It was my one piece of hope in the bitter darkness of the asylum, just until I met its twin tattooed on Adam’s chest. It was like it flew right out of my dreams only to rest atop his heart. I thought it was a signal, a message telling me I was finally safe. That I’d flown away and finally found peace, sanctuary. I didn’t expect to see the bird again. But now it’s back and looks exactly the same. It’s the same white bird in the same blue sky with the same yellow crown. Only this time, it’s frozen. Flapping its wings in place like it’s been caught in an invisible cage, like it’s destined to repeat the same motion forever. The bird seems to be flying: it’s in the air; its wings work. It looks as if it’s free to soar through the skies. But it’s stuck. Unable to fly upward. Unable to fall. I’ve had the same dream every night for the past week, and all 7 mornings I’ve woken up shaking, shuddering into the earthy, icy air, struggling to steady the bleating in my chest. Struggling to understand what this means. I crawl out of bed and slip into the same suit I wear every day; the only article of clothing I own anymore. It’s the richest shade of purple, so plum it’s almost black. It has a slight sheen, a bit of a shimmer in the light. It’s one piece from neck to wrists to ankles and it’s skintight without being tight at all. I move like a gymnast in this outfit. I have springy leather ankle boots that mold to the shape of my feet and render me soundless as I pad across the floor. I have black leather gloves that prevent me from touching something I’m not supposed to. Sonya and Sara lent me one of their hair ties and for the first time in years I’ve been able to pull my hair out of my face. I wear it in a high ponytail and I’ve learned to zip myself up without help from anyone. This suit makes me feel extraordinary. It makes me feel invincible. It was a gift from Castle. He had it custom-made for me before I arrived at Omega Point. He thought I might like to finally have an outfit that would protect me from myself and others while simultaneously offering me the option of hurting others. If I wanted to. Or needed to. The suit is made of some kind of special material that’s supposed to keep me cool in the heat and keep me warm in the cold. So far it’s been perfect. So far so far so far I head to breakfast by myself. Sonya and Sara are always gone by the time I’m awake. Their work in the medical wing is never-ending—not only are they able to heal the wounded but they also spend their days trying to create antidotes and ointments. The one time we ever had a conversation, Sonya explained to me how some Energies can be depleted if we exert ourselves too much—how we can exhaust our bodies enough that they’ll just break down. The girls say that they want to be able to create medicines to use in the case of multiple injuries they can’t heal all at once. They are, after all, only 2 people. And war seems imminent. Heads still spin in my direction when I walk into the dining hall. I am a spectacle, an anomaly even among the anomalies. I should be used to it by now, after all these years. I should be tougher, jaded, indifferent to the opinions of others. I should be a lot of things. I clear my eyes and keep my hands to my sides and pretend I’m unable to make eye contact with anything but that spot, that little mark on the wall 50 feet from where I’m standing. I pretend I’m just a number. No emotions on my face. Lips perfectly still. Back straight, hands unclenched. I am a robot, a ghost slipping through the crowds. 6 steps forward. 15 tables to pass. 42 43 44 seconds and counting. I am scared I am scared I am scared I am strong. Food is served at only 3 times throughout the day: breakfast from 7:00 to 8:00 a.m., lunch from 12:00 to 1:00 p.m., and dinner from 5:00 to 7:00 p.m. Dinner is an hour longer because it’s at the end of the day; it’s like our reward for working hard. But mealtimes aren’t a fancy, luxurious event—the experience is very different from dining with Warner. Here we just stand in a long line, pick up our prefilled bowls, and head toward the eating area—which is nothing more than a series of rectangular tables arranged in parallel lines across the room. Nothing superfluous so nothing is wasted. I spot Adam standing in line and head in his direction. 68 69 70 seconds and counting. “Hey, gorgeous.” Something lumpy hits me in the back. Falls to the floor. I turn around, my face flexing the 43 muscles required to frown before I see him. Kenji. Big, easy smile. Eyes the color of onyx. Hair even darker, sharper, stick-straight and slipping into his eyes. His jaw is twitching and his lips are twitching and the impressive lines of his cheekbones are appled up into a smile struggling to stay suppressed. He’s looking at me like I’ve been walking around with toilet paper in my hair and I can’t help but wonder why I haven’t spent time with him since we got here. He did, on a purely technical level, save my life. And Adam’s life. James’, too. Kenji bends down to pick up what looks like a wadded ball of socks. He weighs them in his hand like he’s considering throwing them at me again. “Where are you going?” he says. “I thought you were supposed to meet me here? Castle said—” “Why did you bring a pair of socks in here?” I cut him off. “People are trying to eat.” He freezes for only a split second before he rolls his eyes. Pulls up beside me. Tugs on my ponytail. “I was running late to meet you, your highness. I didn’t have time to put my socks on.” He gestures to the socks in his hand and the boots on his feet. “That’s so gross.” “You know, you have a really strange way of telling me you’re attracted to me.” I shake my head, try to bite back my amusement. Kenji is a walking paradox of Unflinchingly Serious Person and 12-Year-Old Boy Going Through Puberty all rolled into one. But I’d forgotten how much easier it is to breathe around him; it seems natural to laugh when he’s near. So I keep walking and I’m careful not to say a word, but a smile is still tugging at my lips as I grab a tray and head into the heart of the kitchen. Kenji is half a step behind me. “So. We’re working together today.” “Yup.” “So, what—you just walk right past me? Don’t even say hello?” He clutches the socks to his chest. “I’m crushed. I saved us a table and everything.” I glance at him. Keep walking. He catches up. “I’m serious. Do you have any idea how awkward it is to wave at someone and have them ignore you? And then you’re just looking around like a jackass, trying to be all, ‘No, really, I swear, I know that girl’ and no one believes y—” “Are you kidding?” I stop in the middle of the kitchen. Spin around. My face is pulled together in disbelief. “You’ve spoken to me maybe once in the two weeks I’ve been here. I hardly even notice you anymore.” “Okay, hold up,” he says, turning to block my path. “We both know there’s no way you haven’t noticed all of this”—he gestures to himself—“so if you’re trying to play games with me, I should let you know up front that it’s not going to work.” “What?” I frown. “What are you talking abou—” “You can’t play hard to get, kid.” He raises an eyebrow. “I can’t even touch you. Takes ‘hard to get’ to a whole new level, if you know what I mean.” “Oh my God,” I mouth, eyes closed, shaking my head. “You are insane.” He falls to his knees. “Insane for your sweet, sweet love!” “Kenji!” I can’t lift my eyes because I’m afraid to look around, but I’m desperate for him to stop talking. To put an entire room between us at all times. I know he’s joking, but I might be the only one. “What?” he says, his voice booming around the room. “Does my love embarrass you?” “Please—please get up—and lower your voice—” “Hell no.” “Why not?” I’m pleading now. “Because if I lower my voice, I won’t be able to hear myself speak. And that,” he says, “is my favorite part.” I can’t even look at him. “Don’t deny me, Juliette. I’m a lonely man.” “What is wrong with you?” “You’re breaking my heart.” His voice is even louder now, his arms making sad, sweeping gestures that almost hit me as I back away, panicked. But then I realize everyone is watching him. Entertained. I manage an awkward smile as I glance around the room and I’m surprised to find that no one is looking at me now. They’re all grinning, clearly accustomed to Kenji’s antics, staring at him with a mixture of adoration and something else. Adam is staring, too. He’s standing with his tray in his hands, his head cocked and his eyes confused. He smiles a tentative sort of smile when our gazes meet. I head toward him. “Hey—wait up, kid.” Kenji jumps up to grab my arm. “You know I was just messing with—” He follows my eyes to where Adam is standing. Slaps a palm to his forehead. “Of course! How could I forget? You’re in love with my roommate.” I turn to face him. “Listen, I’m grateful you’re going to help me train now—really, I am. Thank you for that. But you can’t go around proclaiming your fake love to me—especially not in front of Adam—and you have to let me cross this room before the breakfast hour is over, okay? I hardly ever get to see him.” Kenji nods very slowly, looks a little solemn. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I get it.” “Thank you.” “Adam is jealous of our love.” “Just go get your food!” I push him, hard, fighting back an exasperated laugh. Kenji is one of the only people here—with the exception of Adam, of course—who isn’t afraid to touch me. In truth, no one really has anything to fear when I’m wearing this suit, but I usually take my gloves off when I eat and my reputation is always walking 5 feet ahead of me. People keep their distance. And even though I accidentally attacked Kenji once, he’s not afraid. I think it would take an astronomical amount of something horrible to get him down. I admire that about him. Adam doesn’t say much when we meet. He doesn’t have to say more than “Hey,” because his lips quirk up on one side and I can already see him standing a little taller, a little tighter, a little tenser. And I don’t know much about anything in this world but I do know how to read the book written in his eyes. The way he looks at me. His eyes are heavy now in a way that worries me, but his gaze is still so tender, so focused and full of feeling that I can hardly keep myself out of his arms when I’m around him. I find myself watching him do the simplest things—shifting his weight, grabbing a tray, nodding good morning to someone—just to track the movement of his body. My moments with him are so few that my chest is always too tight, my heart too spastic. He makes me want to be impractical all the time. He never lets go of my hand. “You okay?” I ask him, still feeling a little apprehensive about the night before. He nods. Tries to smile. “Yeah. I, uh …” Clears his throat. Takes a deep breath. Looks away. “Yeah, I’m sorry about last night. I kind of … I freaked out a little.” “About what, though?” He’s looking over my shoulder. Frowning. “Adam …?” “Yeah?” “Why were you freaked out?” His eyes meet mine again. Wide. Round. “What? Nothing.” “I don’t understa—” “Why the hell are you guys taking so long?” I spin around. Kenji is standing just behind me, so much food piled on his tray I’m surprised no one said anything. He must’ve convinced the cooks to give him extra. “Well?” Kenji is staring, unblinking, waiting for us to respond. He finally cocks his head backward, in a motion that says follow me, before walking away. Adam blows out his breath and looks so distracted that I decide to drop the subject of last night. Soon. We’ll talk soon. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing at all. We’ll talk soon and everything is going to be fine. FIVE Kenji is waiting for us at an empty table. James used to join us at mealtimes, but now he’s friends with the handful of younger kids at Omega Point, and prefers sitting with them. He seems the happiest of all of us to be here—and I’m happy he’s happy—but I have to admit I miss his company. I’m afraid to mention it though; sometimes I’m not sure if I want to know why he doesn’t spend time with Adam when I’m around. I don’t think I want to know if the other kids managed to convince him that I’m dangerous. I mean, I am dangerous, but I just Adam sits down on the bench seat and I slide in next to him. Kenji sits across from us. Adam and I hide our linked hands under the table and I allow myself to enjoy the simple luxury of his proximity. I’m still wearing my gloves but just being this close to him is enough; flowers are blooming in my stomach, the soft petals tickling every inch of my nervous system. It’s like I’ve been granted 3 wishes: to touch, to taste, to feel. It’s the strangest phenomenon. A crazy happy impossibility wrapped in tissue paper, tied with a bow, tucked away in my heart. It often feels like a privilege I don’t deserve. Adam shifts so the length of his leg is pressed against mine. I look up to find him smiling at me, a secret, tiny sort of smile that says so many things, the kinds of things no one should be saying at a breakfast table. I force myself to breathe as I suppress a grin. I turn to focus on my food. Hope I’m not blushing. Adam leans into my ear. I feel the soft whispers of his breath just before he begins to speak. “You guys are disgusting, you know that, right?” I look up, startled, and find Kenji frozen midmovement, his spoon halfway to his mouth, his head cocked in our direction. He gestures with his spoon at our faces. “What the hell is this? You guys playing footsie under the table or someshit?” Adam moves away from me, just an inch or 2, and exhales a deep, irritated sigh. “You know, if you don’t like it, you can leave.” He nods at the tables around us. “No one asked you to sit here.” This is Adam making a concerted effort to be nice to Kenji. The 2 of them were friends back on base, but somehow Kenji knows exactly how to provoke Adam. I almost forget for a moment that they’re roommates. I wonder what it must be like for them to live together. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” Kenji says. “I told you this morning that I had to sit with you guys. Castle wants me to help the two of you adjust.” He snorts. Nods in my direction. “Listen, I don’t have a clue what you see in this guy,” he says, “but you should try living with him. The man is moody as hell.” “I am not moody—” “Yeah, bro.” Kenji puts his utensils down. “You are moody. It’s always ‘Shut up, Kenji.’ ‘Go to sleep, Kenji.’ ‘No one wants to see you naked, Kenji.’ When I know for a fact that there are thousands of people who would love to see me naked—” “How long do you have to sit here?” Adam looks away, rubs his eyes with his free hand. Kenji sits up straighter. Picks up his spoon only to stab it through the air again. “You should consider yourself lucky that I’m sitting at your table. I’m making you cool by association.” I feel Adam tense beside me and decide to intervene. “Hey, can we talk about something else?” Kenji grunts. Rolls his eyes. Shovels another spoonful of breakfast into his mouth. I’m worried. Now that I’m paying closer attention, I can see the weariness in Adam’s eyes, the heaviness in his brow, the stiff set of his shoulders. I can’t help but wonder what he’s going through. What he’s not telling me. I tug on Adam’s hand a little and he turns to me. “You sure you’re okay?” I whisper. I feel like I keep asking him the same question over and over and over His eyes immediately soften, looking tired but slightly amused. His hand releases mine under the table just to rest on my lap, just to slip down my thigh, and I almost lose control of my vocabulary before he leaves a light kiss in my hair. I swallow too hard, almost drop my fork on the floor. It takes me a moment to remember that he hasn’t actually answered my question. It’s not until he’s looked away, staring at his food, when he finally nods, says, “I’m okay.” But I’m not breathing and his hand is still tracing patterns on my leg. “Ms. Ferrars? Mr. Kent?” I sit up so fast I slam my knuckles under the table at the sound of Castle’s voice. There’s something about his presence that makes me feel like he’s my teacher, like I’ve been caught misbehaving in class. Adam, on the other hand, doesn’t seem remotely startled. I cling to Adam’s fingers as I lift my head. Castle is standing over our table and Kenji is leaving to deposit his bowl in the kitchen. He claps Castle on the back like they’re old friends and Castle flashes Kenji a warm smile as he passes. “I’ll be right back,” Kenji shouts over his shoulder, twisting to flash us an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Try not to get naked in front of everyone, okay? There are kids in here.” I cringe and glance at Adam but he seems oddly focused on his food. He hasn’t said a word since Castle arrived. I decide to answer for the both of us. Paste on a bright smile. “Good morning.” Castle nods, touches the lapel of his blazer; his stature is strong and poised. He beams at me. “I just came to say hello and to check in. I’m so happy to see that you’re expanding your circle of friends, Ms. Ferrars.” “Oh. Thank you. But I can’t take credit for the idea,” I point out. “You’re the one who told me to sit with Kenji.” Castle’s smile is a little too tight. “Yes. Well,” he says, “I’m happy to see that you took my advice.” I nod at my food. Rub absently at my forehead. Adam looks like he’s not even breathing. I’m about to say something when Castle cuts me off. “So, Mr. Kent,” he says. “Did Ms. Ferrars tell you she’ll be training with Kenji now? I’m hoping it will help her progress.” Adam doesn’t answer. Castle soldiers on. “I actually thought it might be interesting for her to work with you, too. As long as I’m there to supervise.” Adam’s eyes snap up to attention. Alarmed. “What are you talking about?” “Well—” Castle pauses. I watch his gaze shift between the two of us. “I thought it would be interesting to run some tests on you and her. Together.” Adam stands up so quickly he almost bangs his knee into the table. “Absolutely not.” “Mr. Kent—,” Castle starts. “There’s no chance in hell—” “It’s her choice to make—” “I don’t want to discuss this here—” I jump to my feet. Adam looks ready to set something on fire. His fists are clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed into a tight glare; his forehead is taut, his entire frame shaking with energy and anxiety. “What is going on?” I demand. Castle shakes his head. He’s not addressing me when he speaks. “I only want to see what happens when she touches you. That’s it.” “Are you insane—” “This is for her,” Castle continues, his voice careful, extra calm. “It has nothing to do with your progress—” “What progress?” I cut in. “We’re just trying to help her figure out how to affect nonliving organisms,” Castle is saying. “Animals and humans we’ve figured out—we know one touch is sufficient. Plants don’t seem to factor into her abilities at all. But everything else? It’s … different. She doesn’t know how to handle that part yet, and I want to help her. That’s all we’re doing,” he says. “Helping Ms. Ferrars.” Adam takes a step closer to me. “If you’re helping her figure out how to destroy nonliving things, why do you need me?” For a second Castle actually looks defeated. “I don’t really know,” he says. “The unique nature of your relationship—it’s quite fascinating. Especially with everything we’ve learned so far, it’s—” “What have you learned?” I jump in again. “—entirely possible,” Castle is still saying, “that everything is connected in a way we don’t yet understand.” Adam looks unconvinced. His lips are pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t look like he wants to answer. Castle turns to me. Tries to sound excited. “What do you think? Are you interested?” “Interested?” I look at Castle. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. And I want to know why no one is answering my questions. What have you discovered about Adam?” I ask. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong?” Adam is breathing extra hard and trying not to show it; his hands keep clenching and unclenching. “Someone, please, tell me what’s going on.” Castle frowns. He’s studying me, confused, his eyebrows pulled together. “Mr. Kent,” he says, still looking at me. “Am I to understand that you have not yet shared our discoveries with Ms. Ferrars?” “What discoveries?” My heart is racing hard now, so hard it’s beginning to hurt. “Mr. Kent—” “That’s none of your business,” Adam snaps. “She should know—” “We don’t know anything yet!” “We know enough.” “Bullshit. We’re not done yet—” “The only thing left is to test the two of you together—” Adam steps directly in front of Castle, grabbing his breakfast tray with a little too much strength. “Maybe,” he says very, very carefully, “some other time.” He turns to leave. I touch his arm. He stops. Drops his tray, pivots in my direction. There’s less than half an inch between us and I almost forget we’re standing in a crowded room. His breath is hot and his breathing shallow and the heat from his body is melting my blood only to splash it across my cheeks. Panic is doing backflips in my bones. “Everything is fine,” he says. “Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” “But—” “I promise,” he says again, grabbing my hand. “I swear. I’m going to fix this—” “Fix this?” I think I’m dreaming. I think I’m dying. “Fix what?” Something is breaking in my brain and something is happening without my permission and I’m lost, I’m so lost, I’m so much everything confused and I’m drowning in confusion. “Adam, I don’t underst—” “I mean, really though?” Kenji is making his way back to our group. “You’re going to do that here? In front of everyone? Because these tables aren’t as comfortable as they look—” Adam pulls back and slams into Kenji’s shoulder on his way out. “Don’t.” Is all I hear him say before he disappears. SIX Kenji lets out a low whistle. Castle is calling Adam’s name, asking him to slow down, to speak to him, to discuss things in a rational manner. Adam never looks back. “I told you he was moody,” Kenji mutters. “He’s not moody,” I hear myself say, but the words feel distant, disconnected from my lips. I feel numb, like my arms have been hollowed out. Where did I leave my voice I can’t find my voice I can’t find my “So! You and me, huh?” Kenji claps his hands together. “Ready to get your ass kicked?” “Kenji.” “Yeah?” “I want you to take me to wherever they went.” Kenji is looking at me like I’ve just asked him to kick himself in the face. “Uh, yeah—how about a warm hell no to that request? Does that work for you? Because it works for me.” “I need to know what’s going on.” I turn to him, desperate, feeling stupid. “You know, don’t you? You know what’s wrong—” “Of course I know.” He crosses his arms. Levels a look at me. “I live with that poor bastard and I practically run this place. I know everything.” “So why won’t you tell me? Kenji, please—” “Yeah, um, I’m going to pass on that, but you know what I will do? I will help you to remove yourself the hell out of this dining hall where everyone is listening to everything we say.” This last bit he says extra loudly, looking around at the room, shaking his head. “Get back to your breakfasts, people. Nothing to see here.” It’s only then that I realize what a spectacle we’ve made. Every eye in the room is blinking at me. I attempt a weak smile and a twitchy wave before allowing Kenji to shuffle me out of the room. “No need to wave at the people, princess. It’s not a coronation ceremony.” He pulls me into one of the many long, dimly lit corridors. “Tell me what’s happening.” I have to blink several times before my eyes adjust to the lighting. “This isn’t fair—everyone knows what’s going on except for me.” He shrugs, leans one shoulder against the wall. “It’s not my place to tell. I mean, I like to mess with the guy, but I’m not an asshole. He asked me not to say anything. So I’m not going to say anything.” “But—I mean—is he okay? Can you at least tell me if he’s okay?” Kenji runs a hand over his eyes; exhales, annoyed. Shoots me a look. Says, “All right, like, have you ever seen a train wreck?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I saw one when I was a kid. It was one of those big, crazy trains with a billion cars all hitched up together, totally derailed, half exploded. Shit was on fire and everyone was screaming and you just know people are either dead or they’re about to die and you really don’t want to watch but you just can’t look away, you know?” He nods. Bites the inside of his cheek. “This is kind of like that. Your boy is a freaking train wreck.” I can’t feel my legs. “I mean, I don’t know,” Kenji goes on. “Personally? I think he’s overreacting. Worse things have happened, right? Hell, aren’t we up to our earlobes in crazier shit? But no, Mr. Adam Kent doesn’t seem to know that. I don’t even think he sleeps anymore. And you know what,” he adds, leaning in, “I think he’s starting to freak James out a little, and to be honest it’s starting to piss me off because that kid is way too nice and way too cool to have to deal with Adam’s drama—” But I’m not listening anymore. I’m envisioning the worst possible scenarios, the worst possible outcomes. Horrible, terrifying things that all end with Adam dying in some miserable way. He must be sick, or he must have some kind of terrible affliction, or something that causes him to do things he can’t control or oh, God, no “You have to tell me.” I don’t recognize my own voice. Kenji is looking at me, shocked, wide-eyed, genuine fear written across his features and it’s only then that I realize I’ve pinned him against the wall. My 10 fingers are curled into his shirt, fistfuls of fabric clenched in each hand, and I can only imagine what I must look like to him right now. The scariest part is that I don’t even care. “You’re going to tell me something, Kenji. You have to. I need to know.” “You, uh”—he licks his lips, looks around, laughs a nervous laugh—“you want to let go of me, maybe?” “Will you help me?” He scratches behind his hear. Cringes a little. “No?” I slam him harder into the wall, recognize a rush of some wild kind of adrenaline burning in my veins. It’s strange, but I feel as though I could rip through the ground with my bare hands. It seems like it would be easy. So easy. “Okay—all right—goddamn.” Kenji is holding his arms up, breathing a little fast. “Just—how about you let me go, and I’ll, uh, I’ll take you to the research labs.” “The research labs.” “Yeah, that’s where they do the testing. It’s where we do all of our testing.” “You promise you’ll take me if I let go?” “Are you going to bash my brain into the wall if I don’t?” “Probably,” I lie. “Then yeah. I’ll take you. Damn.” I drop him and stumble backward; make an effort to pull myself together. I feel a little embarrassed now that I’ve let go of him. Some part of me feels like I must’ve overreacted. “I’m sorry about that,” I tell him. “But thank you. I appreciate your help.” I try to lift my chin with some dignity. Kenji snorts. He’s looking at me like he has no idea who I am, like he’s not sure if he should laugh or applaud or run like hell in the opposite direction. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes intent on my face. He won’t stop staring. “What?” I ask. “How much do you weigh?” “Wow. Is that how you talk to every girl you meet? That explains so much.” “I’m about one hundred seventy-five pounds,” he says. “Of muscle.” I stare at him. “Would you like an award?” “Well, well, well,” he says, cocking his head, the barest hint of a smile flickering across his face. “Look who’s the smart-ass now.” “I think you’re rubbing off on me,” I say. But he’s not smiling anymore. “Listen,” he says. “I’m not trying to flatter myself by pointing this out, but I could toss you across the room with my pinkie finger. You weigh, like, less than nothing. I’m almost twice your body mass.” He pauses. “So how the hell did you pin me against the wall?” “What?” I frown. “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about you”—he points at me—“pinning me”—he points at himself—“against the wall.” He points at the wall. “You mean you actually couldn’t move?” I blink. “I thought you were just afraid of touching me.” “No,” he says. “I legit could not move. I could hardly breathe.” “You’re kidding.” “Have you ever done that before?” “No.” I’m shaking my head. “I mean I don’t think I …” I gasp, as the memory of Warner and his torture chamber rushes to the forefront of my mind; I have to close my eyes against the influx of images. The barest recollection of that event is enough to make me feel unbearably nauseous; I can already feel my skin break into a cold sweat. Warner was testing me, trying to put me in a position where I’d be forced to use my power on a toddler. I was so horrified, so enraged that I crashed through the concrete barrier to get to Warner, who was waiting on the other side. I’d pinned him against the wall, too. Only I didn’t realize he was cowed by my strength. I thought he was afraid to move because I’d gotten too close to touching him. I guess I was wrong. “Yeah,” Kenji says, nodding at something he must see on my face. “Well. That’s what I thought. We’ll have to remember this juicy tidbit when we get around to our real training sessions.” He throws me a loaded look. “Whenever that actually happens.” I’m nodding, not really paying attention. “Sure. Fine. But first, take me to the research rooms.” Kenji sighs. Waves his hand with a bow and a flourish. “After you, princess.” SEVEN We’re trailing down a series of corridors I’ve never seen before. We’re passing all of the regular halls and wings, past the training room I normally occupy, and for the first time since I’ve been here, I’m really paying attention to my surroundings. All of a sudden my senses feel sharper, clearer; my entire being feels like it’s humming with a renewed kind of energy. I am electric. This entire hideout has been dug out of the ground—it’s nothing but cavernous tunnels and interconnected passageways, all powered by supplies and electricity stolen from secret storage units belonging to The Reestablishment. This space is invaluable. Castle told us once that it took him at least a decade to design it, and a decade more to get the work done. By then he’d also managed to recruit all of the other members of this underground world. I can understand why he’s so relentless about security down here, why he’s not willing to let anything happen to it. I don’t think I would either. Kenji stops. We reach what looks like a dead end—what could be the very end of Omega Point. Kenji pulls out a key card I didn’t know he was hiding, and his hand fumbles for a panel buried in the stone. He slides the panel open. Does something I can’t see. Swipes the key card. Hits a switch. The entire wall rumbles to life. The pieces are coming apart, shifting out of place until they reveal a hole big enough for our bodies to clamber through. Kenji motions for me to follow his lead and I scramble through the entryway, glancing back to watch the wall close up behind me. My feet hit the ground on the other side. It’s like a cave. Massive, wide, separated into 3 longitudinal sections. The middle section is the most narrow and serves as a walkway; square glass rooms fit with slim glass doors make up the left and right sections. Each clear wall acts as a partition to rooms on either side—everything is see-through. There’s an electric aura engulfing the entire space; each cube is bright with white light and blinking machinery; sharp and dull hums of energy pulse through the vast dimensions. There are at least 20 rooms down here. 10 on either side, all of them unobstructed from view. I recognize a number of faces from the dining hall down here, some of them strapped to machines, needles stuck in their bodies, monitors beeping about some kind of information I can’t understand. Doors slide open and closed open and closed open and closed; words and whispers and footsteps, hand gestures and half-formed thoughts collect in the air. This. This is where everything happens. Castle told me 2 weeks ago—the day after I arrived—that he had a pretty good idea why we are the way we are. He said that they’d been doing research for years. Research. I see figures running, gasping on what resemble inordinately fast treadmills. I see a woman reloading a gun in a room bursting with weapons and I see a man holding something that emits a bright blue flame. I see a person standing in a chamber full of nothing but water and there are ropes stacked high and strung across the ceiling and all kinds of liquids, chemicals, contraptions I can’t name and my brain won’t stop screaming and my lungs keep catching fire and it’s too much too much too much too much Too many machines, too many lights, too many people in too many rooms taking notes, talking amongst themselves, glancing at the clocks every few seconds and I’m stumbling forward, looking too closely and not closely enough and then I hear it. I try so hard not to but it’s barely contained behind these thick glass walls and there it is again. The low, guttural sound of human agony. It hits me right in the face. Punches me right in the stomach. Realization jumps on my back and explodes in my skin and rakes its fingernails down my neck and I’m choking on impossibility. Adam. I see him. He’s already here, in one of the glass rooms. Shirtless. Strapped down to a gurney, arms and legs clamped in place, wires from a nearby machine taped to his temples, his forehead, just below his collarbone. His eyes are pressed shut, his fists are clenched, his jaw is tight, his face too taut from the effort not to scream. I don’t understand what they’re doing to him. I don’t know what’s happening I don’t understand why it’s happening or why he needs a machine or why it keeps blinking or beeping and I can’t seem to move or breathe and I’m trying to remember my voice, my hands, my head, and my feet and then he jerks. He convulses against the stays, strains against the pain until his fists are pounding the padding of the gurney and I hear him cry out in anguish and for a moment the world stops, everything slows down, sounds are strangled, colors look smeared and the floor seems set on its side and I think wow, I think I’m actually going to die. I’m going to drop dead or I’m going to kill the person responsible for this. It’s one or the other. That’s when I see Castle. Castle, standing in the corner of Adam’s room, watching in silence as this 18-year-old boy rages in agony while he does nothing. Nothing except watch, except to take notes in his little book, to purse his lips as he tilts his head to the side. To glance at the monitor on the beeping machine. And the thought is so simple when it slips into my head. So calm. So easy. So, so easy. I’m going to kill him. “Juliette—no—” Kenji grabs me by the waist, arms like bands of iron around me and I think I’m screaming, I think I’m saying things I’ve never heard myself say before and Kenji is telling me to calm down, he’s saying, “This is exactly why I didn’t want to bring you in here—you don’t understand—it’s not what it looks like—” And I decide I should probably kill Kenji, too. Just for being an idiot. “LET GO OF ME—” “Stop kicking me—” “I’m going to murder him—” “Yeah, you should really stop saying that out loud, okay? You’re not doing yourself any favors—” “LET GO OF ME, KENJI, I SWEAR TO GOD—” “Ms. Ferrars!” Castle is standing at the end of the walkway, a few feet from Adam’s glass room. The door is open. Adam isn’t jerking anymore, but he doesn’t appear to be conscious, either. White, hot rage. It’s all I know right now. The world looks so black-and-white from here, so easy to demolish and conquer. This is anger like nothing I’ve known before. It’s an anger so raw, so potent it’s actually calming, like a feeling that’s finally found its place, a feeling that finally sits comfortably as it settles into my bones. I’ve become a mold for liquid metal; thick, searing heat distributes itself throughout my body and the excess coats my hands, forging my fists with a strength so breathtaking, an energy so intense I think it might engulf me. I’m light-headed from the rush of it. I could do anything. Anything. Kenji’s arms drop away from me. I don’t have to look at him to know that he’s stumbling back. Afraid. Confused. Probably disturbed. I don’t care. “So this is where you’ve been,” I say to Castle, and I’m surprised by the cool, fluid tone of my voice. “This is what you’ve been doing.” Castle steps closer and appears to regret it. He looks startled, surprised by something he sees on my face. He tries to speak and I cut him off. “What have you done to him?” I demand. “What have you been doing to him—” “Ms. Ferrars, please—” “He is not your experiment!” I explode, and the composure is gone, the steadiness in my voice is gone and I’m suddenly so unstable again I can hardly keep my hands from shaking. “You think you can just use him for your research—” “Ms. Ferrars, please, you must calm yourself—” “Don’t tell me to calm down!” I can’t imagine what they must have done to him down here, testing him, treating him like some kind of specimen. They’re torturing him. “I would not have expected you to have such an adverse reaction to this room,” Castle says. He’s trying to be conversational. Reasonable. Charismatic, even. It makes me wonder what I must look like right now. I wonder if he’s afraid of me. “I thought you understood the importance of the research we do at Omega Point,” he says. “Without it, how could we possibly hope to understand our origins?” “You’re hurting him—you’re killing him! What have you done—” “Nothing he hasn’t asked to be a part of.” Castle’s voice is tight and his lips are tight and I can see his patience is starting to wear thin. “Ms. Ferrars, if you are insinuating that I’ve used him for my own personal experimentation, I would recommend you take a closer look at the situation.” He says the last few syllables with a little too much emphasis, a little too much fire, and I realize I’ve never seen him angry before. “I know that you’ve been struggling here,” Castle continues. “I know you are unaccustomed to seeing yourself as part of a group, and I’ve made an effort to understand where you might be coming from—I’ve tried to help you adjust. But you must look around!” He gestures toward the glass walls and the people behind them. “We are all the same. We are working on the same team! I have subjected Adam to nothing I have not undergone myself. We are simply running tests to see where his supernatural abilities lie. We cannot know for certain what he is capable of if we do not test him first.” His voice drops an octave or 2. “And we do not have the luxury of waiting several years until he accidentally discovers something that might be useful to our cause right now.” And it’s strange. Because it’s like a real thing, this anger. I feel it wrapping itself around my fingers like I could fling it at his face. I feel it coiling itself around my spine, planting itself in my stomach and shooting branches down my legs, up my arms, through my neck. It’s choking me. Choking me because it needs release, needs relief. Needs it now. “You,” I tell him, and I can hardly spit the words out. “You think you’re any better than The Reestablishment if you’re just using us—experimenting on us to further your cause—” “MS. FERRARS!” Castle bellows. His eyes are flashing bright, too bright, and I realize everyone in this underground tunnel is now staring at us. His fingers are in fists at his sides and his jaw is unmistakably set and I feel Kenji’s hand on my back before I realize the earth is vibrating under my feet. The glass walls are beginning to tremble and Castle is planted right in the middle of everything, rigid, raw with anger and indignation and I remember that he has an impossibly advanced level of psychokinesis. I remember that he can move things with his mind. He lifts his right hand, palm splayed outward, and the glass panel not a few feet away begins to shake, shudder, and I realize I’m not even breathing. “You do not want to upset me.” Castle’s voice is far too calm for his eyes. “If you have a problem with my methods, I would gladly invite you to state your claims in a rational manner. I will not tolerate you speaking to me in such a fashion. My concerns for the future of our world may be more than you can fathom, but you should not fault me for your own ignorance!” He drops his right hand and the glass buckles back just in time. “My ignorance?” I’m breathing hard again. “You think because I don’t understand why you would subject anyone to—to this—” I wave a hand around the room. “You think that means I’m ignorant—?” “Hey, Juliette, it’s okay—,” Kenji starts. “Take her away,” Castle says. “Take her back to her training quarters.” He shoots an unhappy look at Kenji. “And you and I—we will discuss this later. What were you thinking, bringing her here? She’s not ready to see this—she can hardly even handle herself right now—” He’s right. I can’t handle this. I can’t hear anything but the sounds of machines beeping, screeching in my head, can’t see anything but Adam’s limp form lying on a thin mattress. I can’t stop imagining what he must’ve been going through, what he had to endure just to understand what he might be and I realize it’s all my fault. It’s my fault he’s here, it’s my fault he’s in danger, it’s my fault Warner wants to kill him and Castle wants to test him and if it weren’t for me he’d still be living with James in a home that hasn’t been destroyed; he’d be safe and comfortable and free from the chaos I’ve introduced to his life. I brought him here. If he’d never touched me none of this would’ve happened. He’d be healthy and strong and he wouldn’t be suffering, wouldn’t be hiding, wouldn’t be trapped 50 feet underground. He wouldn’t be spending his days strapped to a gurney. It’s my fault it’s my fault it’s my fault it’s all my fault it’s all my fault I snap. It’s like I’ve been stuffed full of twigs and all I have to do is bend and my entire body will break. All the guilt, the anger, the frustration, the pent-up aggression inside of me has found an outlet and now it can’t be controlled. Energy is coursing through me with a vigor I’ve never felt before and I’m not even thinking but I have to do something I have to touch something and I’m curling my fingers and bending my knees and pulling back my arm and punching my fist right through the floor. The earth fissures under my fingers and the reverberations surge through my being, ricocheting through my bones until my skull is spinning and my heart is a pendulum slamming into my rib cage. My eyesight fades in and out of focus and I have to blink a hundred times to clear it only to see a crack creaking under my feet, a thin line splintering the ground. Everything around me is suddenly off-balance. The stone is groaning under our weight and the glass walls are rattling and the machines are shifting out of place and the water is sloshing against its container and the people— The people. The people are frozen in terror and horror and the fear in their expressions rips me apart. I fall backward, cradling my right fist to my chest and try to remind myself I am not a monster, I do not have to be a monster, I do not want to hurt people I do not want to hurt people I do not want to hurt people and it’s not working. Because it’s all a lie. Because this was me, trying to help. I look around. At the ground. At what I’ve done. And I understand, for the first time, that I have the power to destroy everything. EIGHT Castle is limp. His jaw is unhinged. His arms are slack at his sides, his eyes wide with worry and wonder and a sliver of intimidation and though he moves his lips he can’t seem to make a sound. I feel like now might be a good time to jump off a cliff. Kenji touches my arm and I turn to face him only to realize I’m petrified. I’m always waiting for him and Adam and Castle to realize that being kind to me is a mistake, that it’ll end badly, that I’m not worth it, that I’m nothing more than a tool, a weapon, a closet murderer. But he takes my right fist in his hand so gently. Takes care not to touch my skin as he slips off the now-tattered leather glove and sucks in his breath at the sight of my knuckles. The skin is torn and blood is everywhere and I can’t move my fingers. I realize I am in agony. I blink and stars explode and a new torture rages through my limbs in such a hurry I can no longer speak. I gasp and the world d i s a p p e a r s NINE My mouth tastes like death. I manage to pry my eyes open and immediately feel the wrath of hell ripping through my right arm. My hand has been bandaged in so many layers of gauze it’s rendered my 5 fingers immobile and I find I’m grateful for it. I’m so exhausted I don’t have the energy to cry. I blink. Try to look around but my neck is too stiff. Fingers brush my shoulder and I discover myself wanting to exhale. I blink again. Once more. A girl’s face blurs in and out of focus. I turn my head to get a better view and blink blink blink some more. “How’re you feeling?” she whispers. “I’m okay,” I say to the blur, but I think I’m lying. “Who are you?” “It’s me,” she says. Even without seeing her clearly I can hear the kindness in her voice. “Sonya.” Of course. Sara is probably here, too. I must be in the medical wing. “What happened?” I ask. “How long have I been out?” She doesn’t answer and I wonder if she didn’t hear me. “Sonya?” I try to meet her eyes. “How long have I been sleeping?” “You’ve been really sick,” she says. “Your body needed time—” “How long?” My voice drops to a whisper. “Three days.” I sit straight up and know I’m going to be sick. Luckily, Sonya’s had the foresight to anticipate my needs. A bucket appears just in time for me to empty the meager contents of my stomach into it and then I’m dry-heaving into what is not my suit but some kind of hospital gown and someone is wiping a hot, damp cloth across my face. Sonya and Sara are hovering over me, the hot cloths in their hands, wiping down my bare limbs, making soothing sounds and telling me I’m going to be fine, I just need to rest, I’m finally awake long enough to eat something, I shouldn’t be worried because there’s nothing to worry about and they’re going to take care of me. But then I look more closely. I notice their hands, so carefully sheathed in latex gloves; I notice the IV stuck in my arm; I notice the urgent but cautious way they approach me and then I realize the problem. The healers can’t touch me. TEN They’ve never had to deal with a problem like me before. Injuries are always treated by the healers. They can set broken bones and repair bullet wounds and revive collapsed lungs and mend even the worst kinds of cuts—I know this because Adam had to be carried into Omega Point on a stretcher when we arrived. He’d suffered at the hands of Warner and his men after we escaped the military base and I thought his body would be scarred forever. But he’s perfect. Brand-new. It took all of 1 day to put him back together; it was like magic. But there are no magic medicines for me. No miracles. Sonya and Sara explain that I must’ve suffered some kind of immense shock. They say my body overloaded on its own abilities and it’s a miracle I even managed to survive. They also think my body has been passed out long enough to have repaired most of the psychological damage, though I’m not so sure that’s true. I think it’d take quite a lot to fix that sort of thing. I’ve been psychologically damaged for a very long time. But at least the physical pain has settled. It’s little more than a steady throbbing that I’m able to ignore for short periods of time. I remember something. “Before,” I tell them. “In Warner’s torture rooms, and then with Adam and the steel door—I never—this never happened—I never injured myself—” “Castle told us about that,” Sonya tells me. “But breaking through one door or one wall is very different from trying to split the earth in two.” She attempts a smile. “We’re pretty sure this can’t even compare to what you did before. This was a lot stronger—we all felt it when it happened. We actually thought explosives had gone off. The tunnels,” she says. “They almost collapsed in on themselves.” “No.” My stomach turns to stone. “It’s okay,” Sara tries to reassure me. “You pulled back just in time.” I can’t catch my breath. “You couldn’t have known—,” Sonya starts. “I almost killed—I almost killed all of you—” Sonya shakes her head. “You have an amazing amount of power. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know what you were capable of.” “I could’ve killed you. I could’ve killed Adam—I could’ve—” My head whips around. “Is he here? Is Adam here?” The girls stare at me. Stare at each other. I hear a throat clear and I jerk toward the sound. Kenji steps out of the corner. He waves a half wave, offers me a crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry,” he says to me, “but we had to keep him out of here.” “Why?” I ask, but I’m afraid to know the answer. Kenji pushes his hair out of his eyes. Considers my question. “Well. Where should I begin?” He counts off on his fingers. “After he found out what happened, he tried to kill me, he went ballistic on Castle, he refused to leave the medical wing, and then he wou—” “Please.” I stop him. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Never mind. Don’t. I can’t.” “You asked.” “Where is he?” I open my eyes. “Is he okay?” Kenji rubs the back of his neck. Looks away. “He’ll be all right.” “Can I see him?” Kenji sighs. Turns to the girls. Says, “Hey, can we get a second alone?” and the 2 of them are suddenly in a hurry to go. “Of course,” Sara says. “No problem,” Sonya says. “We’ll give you some privacy,” they say at the same time. And they leave. Kenji grabs 1 of the chairs pushed up against the wall and carries it over to my bed. Sits down. Props the ankle of 1 foot on the knee of the other and leans back. Links his hands behind his head. Looks at me. I shift on the mattress so I’m better seated to see him. “What is it?” “You and Kent need to talk.” “Oh.” I swallow. “Yes. I know.” “Do you?” “Of course.” “Good.” He nods. Looks away. Taps his foot too fast against the floor. “What?” I ask after a moment. “What are you not telling me?” His foot stops tapping but he doesn’t meet my eyes. He covers his mouth with his left hand. Drops it. “That was some crazy shit you pulled back there.” All at once I feel humiliated. “I’m sorry, Kenji. I’m so sorry—I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He turns to face me and the look in his eyes stops me in place. He’s trying to read me. Trying to figure me out. Trying, I realize, to decide whether or not he can trust me. Whether or not the rumors about the monster in me are true. “I’ve never done that before,” I hear myself whisper. “I swear—I didn’t mean for that to happen—” “Are you sure?” “What?” “It’s a question, Juliette. It’s a legitimate question.” I’ve never seen him so serious. “I brought you here because Castle wanted you here. Because he thought we could help you—he thought we could provide you with a safe place to live. To get you away from the assholes trying to use you for their own benefit. But you come here and you don’t even seem to want to be a part of anything. You don’t talk to people. You don’t make any progress with your training. You do nothing, basically.” “I’m sorry, I really—” “And then I believe Castle when he says he’s worried about you. He tells me you’re not adjusting, that you’re having a hard time fitting in. That people heard negative things about you and they’re not being as welcoming as they should be. And I should kick my own ass for it, but I feel sorry for you. So I tell him I’ll help. I rearrange my entire goddamn schedule just to help you deal with your issues. Because I think you’re a nice girl who’s just a little misunderstood. Because Castle is the most decent guy I’ve ever known and I want to help him out.” My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised it’s not bleeding. “So I’m wondering,” he says to me. He drops the foot he was resting on his knee. Leans forward. Props his elbows on his thighs. “I’m wondering if it’s possible that all of this is just coincidence. I mean, was it just some crazy coincidence that I ended up working with you? Me? One of the very few people here who have access to that room? Or was it coincidence that you managed to threaten me into taking you down to the research labs? That you then, somehow, accidentally, coincidentally, unknowingly punched a fist into the ground that shook this place so hard we all thought the walls were caving in?” He stares at me, hard. “Was it a coincidence,” he says, “that if you’d held on for just a few more seconds, this entire place would’ve collapsed in on itself?” My eyes are wide, horrified, caught. He leans back. Looks down. Presses 2 fingers to his lips. “Do you actually want to be here?” he asks. “Or are you just trying to bring us down from the inside?” “What?” I gasp. “No—” “Because you either know exactly what you’re doing—and you’re a hell of a lot sneakier than you pretend to be—or you really have no clue what you’re doing and you just have really shitty luck. I haven’t decided yet.” “Kenji, I swear, I never—I n-never—” I have to bite back the words to blink back the tears. It’s crippling, this feeling, this not knowing how to prove your own innocence. It’s my entire life replayed over and over and over again, trying to convince people that I’m not dangerous, that I never meant to hurt anyone, that I didn’t intend for things to turn out this way. That I’m not a bad person. But it never seems to work out. “I’m so sorry,” I choke, the tears flowing fast now. I’m so disgusted with myself. I tried so hard to be different, to be better, to be good, and I just went and ruined everything and lost everything all over again and I don’t even know how to tell him he’s wrong. Because he might be right. I knew I was angry. I knew I wanted to hurt Castle and I didn’t care. In that moment, I meant it. In the anger of that moment, I really, truly meant it. I don’t know what I would’ve done if Kenji hadn’t been there to hold me back. I don’t know. I have no idea. I don’t even understand what I’m capable of. How many times, I hear a voice whisper in my head, how many times will you apologize for who you are? I hear Kenji sigh. Shift in his seat. I don’t dare lift my eyes. “I had to ask, Juliette.” Kenji sounds uncomfortable. “I’m sorry you’re crying but I’m not sorry I asked. It’s my job to constantly be thinking of our safety—and that means I have to look at every possible angle. No one knows what you can do yet. Not even you. But you keep trying to act like what you’re capable of isn’t a big deal, and it’s not helping anything. You need to stop trying to pretend you’re not dangerous.” I look up too fast. “But I’m not—I’m n-not trying to hurt anyone—” “That doesn’t matter,” he says, standing up. “Good intentions are great, but they don’t change the facts. You are dangerous. Shit, you’re scary dangerous. More dangerous than me and everyone else in here. So don’t ask me to act like that knowledge, in and of itself, isn’t a threat to us. If you’re going to stay here,” he says to me, “you have to learn how to control what you do—how to contain it. You have to deal with who you are and you have to figure out how to live with it. Just like the rest of us.” 3 knocks at the door. Kenji is still staring at me. Waiting. “Okay,” I whisper. “And you and Kent need to sort out your drama ASAP,” he adds, just as Sonya and Sara walk back into the room. “I don’t have the time, the energy, or the interest to deal with your problems. I like to mess with you from time to time because, well, let’s face it”—he shrugs—“the world is going to hell out there and I suppose if I’m going to be shot dead before I’m twenty-five, I’d at least like to remember what it’s like to laugh before I do. But that does not make me your clown or your babysitter. At the end of the day I do not give two shits about whether or not you and Kent are going steady. We have a million things to take care of down here, and less than none of them involve your love life.” A pause. “Is that clear?” I nod, not trusting myself to speak. “So are you in?” he says. Another nod. “I want to hear you say it. If you’re in, you’re all in. No more feeling sorry for yourself. No more sitting in the training room all day, crying because you can’t break a metal pipe—” “How did you kn—” “Are you in?” “I’m in,” I tell him. “I’m in. I promise.” He takes a deep breath. Runs a hand through his hair. “Good. Meet me outside of the dining hall tomorrow morning at six a.m.” “But my hand—” He waves my words away. “Your hand, nothing. You’ll be fine. You didn’t even break anything. You messed up your knuckles and your brain freaked out a little and basically you just fell asleep for three days. I don’t call that an injury,” he says. “I call that a goddamn vacation.” He stops to consider something. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve gone on vacation—” “But aren’t we training?” I interrupt him. “I can’t do anything if my hand is wrapped up, can I?” “Trust me.” He cocks his head. “You’ll be fine. This … is going to be a little different.” I stare at him. Wait. “You can consider it your official welcome to Omega Point,” he says. “But—” “Tomorrow. Six a.m.” I open my mouth to ask another question but he presses a finger to his lips, offers me a 2-finger salute, and walks backward toward the exit just as Sonya and Sara head over to my bed. I watch as he nods good-bye to both of them, pivots on 1 foot, and strides out the door. 6:00 a.m. ELEVEN I catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall and realize it’s only 2:00 in the afternoon. Which means 6:00 a.m. is 16 hours from now. Which means I have a lot of hours to fill. Which means I have to get dressed. Because I need to get out of here. And I really need to talk to Adam. “Juliette?” I jolt out of my own head and back to the present moment to find Sonya and Sara staring at me. “Can we get you anything?” they ask. “Are you feeling well enough to get out of bed?” But I look from one set of eyes to another and back again, and instead of answering their questions, I feel a crippling sense of shame dig into my soul and I can’t help but revert back to another version of myself. A scared little girl who wants to keep folding herself in half until she can’t be found anymore. I keep saying, “Sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry about everything, for all of this, for all the trouble, for all the damage, really, I’m so, so sorry—” I hear myself go on and on and on and I can’t get myself to stop. It’s like a button in my brain is broken, like I’ve developed a disease that forces me to apologize for everything, for existing, for wanting more than what I’ve been given, and I can’t stop. It’s what I do. I’m always apologizing. Forever apologizing. For who I am and what I never meant to be and for this body I was born into, this DNA I never asked for, this person I can’t unbecome. 17 years I’ve spent trying to be different. Every single day. Trying to be someone else for someone else. And it never seems to matter. But then I realize they’re talking to me. “There’s nothing to apologize for—” “Please, it’s all right—” Both of them are trying to speak to me, but Sara is closer. I dare to meet her eyes and I’m surprised to see how soft they are. Gentle and green and squinty from smiling. She sits down on the right side of my bed. Pats my bare arm with her latex glove, unafraid. Unflinching. Sonya stands just next to her, looking at me like she’s worried, like she’s sad for me, and I don’t have long to dwell on it because I’m distracted. I smell the scent of jasmine filling the room, just as it did the very first time I stepped in here. When we first arrived at Omega Point. When Adam was injured. Dying. He was dying and they saved his life. These 2 girls in front of me. They saved his life and I’ve been living with them for 2 weeks and I realize, right then, exactly how selfish I’ve been. So I decide to try a new set of words. “Thank you,” I whisper. I feel myself begin to blush and I wonder at my inability to be so free with words and feelings. I wonder at my incapacity for easy banter, smooth conversation, empty words to fill awkward moments. I don’t have a closet filled with umms and ellipses ready to insert at the beginnings and ends of sentences. I don’t know how to be a verb, an adverb, any kind of modifier. I’m a noun through and through. Stuffed so full of people places things and ideas that I don’t know how to break out of my own brain. How to start a conversation. I want to trust but it scares the skin off my bones. But then I remember my promise to Castle and my promise to Kenji and my worries over Adam and I think maybe I should take a risk. Maybe I should try to find a new friend or 2. And I think of how wonderful it would be to be friends with a girl. A girl, just like me. I’ve never had one of those before. So when Sonya and Sara smile and tell me they’re “happy to help” and they’re here “anytime” and that they’re always around if I “need someone to talk to,” I tell them I’d love that. I tell them I’d really appreciate that. I tell them I’d love to have a friend to talk to. Maybe sometime. TWELVE “Let’s get you back into your suit,” Sara says to me. The air down here is cool and cold and often damp, the winter winds relentless as they whip the world above our heads into submission. Even in my suit I feel the chill, especially early in the morning, especially right now. Sonya and Sara are helping me out of this hospital dress and back into my normal uniform and I’m shaking in my skin. Only once they’ve zipped me up does the material begin to react to my body temperature, but I’m still so weak from being in bed for so long that I’m struggling to stay upright. “I really don’t need a wheelchair,” I tell Sara for the third time. “Thank you—really—I-I appreciate it,” I stammer, “but I need to get the blood flowing in my legs. I have to be strong on my feet.” I have to be strong, period. Castle and Adam are waiting for me in my room. Sonya told me that while I was talking to Kenji, she and Sara went to notify Castle that I was awake. So. Now they’re there. Waiting for me. In the room I share with Sonya and Sara. And I’m so afraid of what is about to happen that I’m worried I might conveniently forget how to get to my own room. Because I’m fairly certain that whatever I’m about to hear isn’t going to be good. “You can’t walk back to the room by yourself,” Sara is saying. “You can hardly stand on your own—” “I’m okay,” I insist. I try to smile. “Really, I should be able to manage as long as I can stay close to the wall. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal just as soon as I start moving.” Sonya and Sara glance at each other before scrutinizing my face. “How’s your hand?” they ask at the same time. “It’s okay,” I tell them, this time more earnestly. “It feels a lot better. Really. Thank you so much.” The cuts are practically healed and I can actually move my fingers now. I inspect the brand-new, thinner bandage they’ve wrapped across my knuckles. The girls explained to me that most of the damage was internal; it seems I traumatized whatever invisible bone in my body is responsible for my curse “gift.” “All right. Let’s go,” Sara says, shaking her head. “We’re walking you back to the room.” “No—please—it’s okay—” I try to protest but they’re already grabbing my arms and I’m too feeble to fight back. “This is unnecessary—” “You’re being ridiculous,” they chorus. “I don’t want you to have to go through the trouble—” “You’re being ridiculous,” they chorus again. “I—I’m really not—” But they’re already leading me out of the room and down the hall and I’m hobbling along between them. “I promise I’m fine,” I tell them. “Really.” Sonya and Sara share a loaded look before they smile at me, not unkindly, but there’s an awkward silence between us as we move through the halls. I spot people walking past us and immediately duck my head. I don’t want to make eye contact with anyone right now. I can’t even imagine what they must’ve heard about the damage I’ve caused. I know I’ve managed to confirm all of their worst fears about me. “They’re only afraid of you because they don’t know you,” Sara says quietly. “Really,” Sonya adds. “We barely know you and we think you’re great.” I’m blushing fiercely, wondering why embarrassment always feels like ice water in my veins. It’s like all of my insides are freezing even though my skin is burning hot too hot. I hate this. I hate this feeling. Sonya and Sara stop abruptly. “Here we are,” they say together. We’re in front of our bedroom door. I try to unlatch myself from their arms but they stop me. Insist on staying with me until they’re sure I’ve gotten inside okay. So I stay with them. And I knock on my own door, because I’m not sure what else to do. Once. Twice. I’m waiting just a few seconds, just a few moments for fate to answer when I realize the full impact of Sonya’s and Sara’s presence beside me. They’re offering me smiles that are supposed to be encouraging, bracing, reinforcing. They’re trying to lend me their strength because they know I’m about to face something that isn’t going to make me happy. And this thought makes me happy. If only for a fleeting moment. Because I think wow, I imagine this is what it’s like to have friends. “Ms. Ferrars.” Castle opens the door just enough for me to see his face. He nods at me. Glances down at my injured hand. Back up at my face. “Very good,” he says, mostly to himself. “Good, good. I’m happy to see you’re doing better.” “Yes,” I manage to say. “I—th-thank you, I—