Chapter Ten

The darkness claws at the back of my throat. It suffocates me, like there is a sock wedged behind my teeth. Like a tether is twisting around my neck. My hand twitches at my side. It wants to reach over, turn on the bedside lamp, but I resist the urge. I have resisted the urge for a long time, ever since my father decided I was too old to be afraid of the dark. So I am not going to indulge myself now.

Time for sleep, I try to remind myself. But it is hard to slow my thoughts after a day like today. My time in the Oracle is too fresh, like a wound that still drips blood. Whenever I close my eyes, I see the trees swaying, the birds soaring.

I feel more caged in now than ever before.

A tear falls against my pillowcase before I realize I’ve spilled it. It’s the unknown that scares me right now. What awaits in another compound. Whether I can even make it to another compound in the first place. Because though others have managed to go before me, though they have located the tunnels, forced their way through, well…their exits have become the stuff of legend. They are the outliers. Most people who try to break out of our compound and into another receive a back full of bullets before they make it very far.

What if I do make it, only to have them send me back to Eleven? What if the compound I stumble into is even worse?

Another tear follows in the same path as the first. There is no need to wipe it away, not really. I am alone. When I lived with my parents, I would have to hide the tears; I would have to stifle the sobs. My father wouldn’t tolerate it. Only when Jack was sent aboveground did he give allowance, and even then, not for long. Crying is for those who can’t manage their emotions, he said. Those who are strong manage them always.

I know that.

So even though there is no need to wipe away the tear, I do. I am strong. I flex my arm and run a hand over bulging muscle, an easy reminder of my strength. Strong body, strong mind. His words.

Am I, though? I am tough and muscular and a good fighter because I have to be. Because I am a Lower Mean and because my father has trained me to be. I have known no other way. But what if I didn’t have to be? Do I enjoy punching people?

Part of me does. I am powerful, self-sufficient; I rely on no one. And I like that. But I don’t lust for blood the way someone like Daniel does. I don’t take joy in seeing someone else suffer under my hand.

A sob rings out from my chest and through the darkness, sudden and sharp. I can’t manage my emotions; I am weak. My father bred me to be strong and fierce, but it is a charade. I am not cruel enough. My heart beats, and it craves peace and the kindness of others; it does. And all around me is violence.

The tether circling my neck tightens, but this time it isn’t the darkness doing it. It is life.

On one of her good days, my mother would tell me to cheer up; she would say that the lights will come on in the morning. But it makes me feel no better. In fact, it makes a pang of guilt underline my sorrow. It is selfish to leave. It is cruel to my parents, especially after what they have endured with Jack. Cruel and inhumane and merciless.

But she is wrong about the lights. The lights left her the day Jack was sent aboveground, and they haven’t been turned back on since. Not in years. Instead, darkness has swallowed her whole, pulled her into a pit that she can’t crawl out of.

I can’t stay here and wait to be pulled in, too.

I sigh. Just for tonight, I will give my heart what it wants. And then I will be Eve again tomorrow, disinterested and cruel and self-sufficient. I shift my weight and turn on the lamp. Light floods my ten-by-ten cell, one left mostly undecorated. There is a small patch of embroidery over my bed, but otherwise the walls are intentionally bare. Since I refuse to serve Commander Katz, there’s no sense in getting too comfortable here; I will be gone soon.

I slide my socked feet into boots and pull on a sweatshirt. When I open the door, I am cautious. It isn’t against the rules to be out of bed at night, but it isn’t encouraged, either. Guards view night-wanderers with particular disdain. Besides, the hallways are not well-lit during these hours, and danger never lurks far.

Maggie is with her boyfriend Kyle tonight—she is with him every Friday night—and so I turn toward Hunter’s door. I wipe the last of my tears away and knock, three sharp raps followed by three soft ones. A code from when we were young.

The green neon light opposite turns me into a shadow, and I watch my head swivel back and forth as my ears listen for the sound of footsteps. Other than my breathing, though, Compound Eleven is calm. It is quiet, for now.

A few moments later, Hunter pulls open his door. “Sorry I took so long,” he mutters as he zips his hoodie over a bare chest. His hair is crumpled on one side, adding to the boyish good looks that girls adore him for, and his voice is groggy. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Sorry to wake you, but…can I stay here tonight?”

“A sleepover?” he asks as he pulls me inside. “It’s been years since we did that.”

I force a small laugh. “I’m sure it has been. I don’t know why we stopped,” I add, then I follow him under the covers. They are warm from his body.

“Maybe our parents thought we were too old for it.”

“Maybe.”

“They probably didn’t bank on us winding up in cells right next door to each other.”

I lift my head from his pillow and motion around me. “Speaking of which, you’ve done a nice job with the place.”

He gives me a look. “You mean hanging the periodic table on the wall? Thanks.”

“Well, yeah, that,” I say, smiling. “I don’t know—it feels like you, that’s all. Maybe it’s all the books.” Hunter enjoys the library as much as I do, except since his interests extend beyond life the way it used to be, up there, he is far more well-read than I am.

“Or maybe it’s the balled-up hoodies on the floor,” he suggests.

“Yeah. Could be that.”

He rolls onto his side so that we stare at each other, his nose only a few inches from my own. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Eve, you always say that. What’s going on?”

I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe I could use some company.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “I mean, yeah. Of course. You’re always welcome.” He offers me that famous shy smile. “Maggie and I were looking for you today. Where’d you get off to?”

“I spent most of the morning visiting my folks,” I lie. “And I took a nap in the afternoon.”

“I’ve hardly seen you since you fought the Preme. Are you healing okay? Any lingering injuries I can help with? Don’t forget that kink in your hamstring I fixed.” And he draws his hands out from under the sheets and regards them, clearly still impressed with himself.

I laugh, easier this time. My muscles uncoil as I stare into eyes that are intimately familiar. “Hunter, come on. It’s me. I said I’m fine. Now, shut your eyes and go to sleep.”

“Your wish,” he begins solemnly, and I join him for the rest—“is my command.”

Grinning, I ask, “Do you remember what book that was from?”

“Nope. Just that we spent an entire year repeating it roughly four hundred times a day—”

“And pretending to grant each other wishes with our imaginary wands,” I finish. I poke him. “Don’t tell any of my fighter friends that story.”

“I’ll take it to the grave,” he agrees, poking me back.

After another moment, he leans over me and switches off the light, and my eyelids burn black. It’s okay, though. Because even after we finish whispering our good nights to each other, I can hear him breathing beside me, in and out, and that is enough.

I roll onto my back and let myself drift away.