Chapter Twenty

Days pass. I train with Blue Circuit, I hang out with friends, but mostly I sneak to the Oracle to stare outside, to visualize the glass shattering into a million minuscule pieces that turn to sand under the heel of my boot. To picture the oasis I will run to, to dream about reuniting with Jack.

Another thing I do is watch the guards who patrol the Lower Mean corridors. I observe their habits, their mannerisms, their movements, my gaze locked always on the guns lodged in their holsters.

If I am going to escape the compound, if I am going to capture freedom, I need to take what is theirs. I need to make it my own.

It won’t be easy; nothing ever is in Compound Eleven. Guards tend to be male, and they tend to be large. Not the end of the world—I have fought plenty with the same traits in the Bowl over the years. I know their weak spots as well as I know my own. Still, these ones wear protective gear. They have a baton made of heavy steel at their disposal. They have the very gun I need just inches from their fingertips. No. It won’t be easy.

And then, on an otherwise quiet morning, one walks by and my pupils constrict. Melissa. The guard with the bright pink hair. The one who unlocks the feeding dock at lunch, or at least used to. Right now she unlocks for breakfast service, down that underused corridor where the lighting is particularly dim. It makes sweat slip down my back. She is an easy target, almost too easy. More petite than me and without a fighting pedigree.

A perfect mark. So why do I feel so uneasy?

I know the reason, but I don’t care for it. Guards don’t deserve kindness, none of them. I should be wiser, and I should be crueler. I shouldn’t worry about hurting her.

I shouldn’t.

Seconds pass, then minutes. I kick the wall and swear. I don’t want to hurt Melissa—I just don’t. And since inflicting the least amount of damage is not my strong suit, I have some research to do. Wren knows where to find a book on combat; all I have to do is find Wren.

At the top of the stairs I slip into the atrium, the epicenter of the fifth floor, but only after making sure no guards are close by. I tuck my hands that mark me an intruder into my pockets, where they can’t be spotted. Most of the Premes don’t notice me at all, but a few do. I can feel it in the way they glance at me—they can tell by my manner of dress and maybe by the way I hold myself that I don’t belong. Probably they won’t bother tracking down a guard, though; it would be too much effort when all I’m doing is standing here.

It is my ego that suffers the most. But then I think of kissing one of their own in the Oracle and have to stifle my smile.

I pass the time in front of the library, I work on a plan for disarming Melissa, I watch faces come and go. And then my spine straightens. Eyes widen.

Wren, with a small child even younger than Avery draped over one shoulder.

He gives me a curious look and kicks my boot. “What are you doing here, Eve?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking questions?” I gaze at the child, who is fast asleep. Faintly, I notice her smooth cheeks, long eyelashes, and, as I do far too often, I think of Jack.

Wren smirks. “My neighbors were in a jam. And Nell here, believe it or not, happens to like me.”

“She happens to like you? That is difficult to believe.”

His mouth twists into a smile as he watches me. “Mmm….”

“I mean, I just didn’t take you for being…you know.”

“Good with kids?”

“Bingo.”

Deadpan, he says, “I’m full of surprises.”

I cross my arms and lean against the wall, amused by this new side to him. “Very interesting, Wren. Maybe a career in computers isn’t for you. Have you considered a job in childcare?”

“Funny.”

“Maybe I should make a point of waiting around here more often. You know, to see what else I can learn about you.”

“By all means—which brings us back to you. Do you have an agenda for today’s visit, or did you just miss me?” He grins.

I bite away my smile. “Agenda. I’m after a book.”

He is distracted by Nell stirring. She lifts her head and settles it onto his other shoulder. Once her little body relaxes back into sleep, he speaks again, quieter this time. “A book. Let me guess: You want my help finding the library?”

Laughter gurgles in my throat. “I’m after something specific, something on combat. You had a book like that recently. Do you remember what it’s called?”

He shakes his head. “I can find it for you, though. Getting ready for a difficult fight?”

“Something like that.”

“If memory serves me, you don’t need any training on how to throw a punch.”

“Not looking for any.”

“So what exactly are you looking for?”

I pull myself off the wall and bump his free shoulder with my own. “Just looking.”

“What you lack in conversational skills you make up for with intrigue.” He bumps me back, and for a moment we just stare at each other, all smiles. Then he uses his free hand to push open the library door, and I follow behind him. Immediately, the sounds of the atrium vanish. It is one of my favorite things about coming here. Like I am entering a whole new world.

Wren leads me past a dozen rows of shelving to the very back wall, where books with broken spines are jammed into every available nook. He scans them silently, and I use the opportunity to watch him.

It is strange, seeing this small child asleep in his strong arms, limbs tipping around him in perfect contentedness. It is completely incongruous with everything I know about him. And yet I am not shocked. Warmth may not exude from him, not at all, but I have glimpsed it in his smile. I have sensed it in his humor. The fact that children like him, that he is helpful to his neighbors…no. That doesn’t shock me in the slightest.

A minute later, he hands a frayed and yellowing book to me. The Art of Non-Weaponized Combat Fighting, it reads. An illustration of two men throwing punches covers the front. Perfect. I am immediately refocused on the task at hand—disarming Melissa without hurting her. I flip to the table of contents and find the section on stunning an opponent. Nose, neck, throat, solar plexus, kidneys—those are my options. I tap my lip, faintly aware that Wren still stands there. Okay. The kidneys and solar plexus are protected by a heavy artillery vest, leaving me with just the nose, neck, or throat to target. I flip to those pages and begin to read.

Wren begins to laugh, quietly. It is a sound I feel in my stomach. It gives me butterflies, completely distracting me. “I take it my services here are complete, Eve? I really should get Nell back to her parents.”

I blush for no reason. “Yeah, of course. I mean, sorry, or—you know. Thanks for the help.”

He laughs harder. “My pleasure,” he says, supporting Nell with both hands now. We stare at each other a moment more, and then he is gone, and it takes a very long time before I remember why I am here at all.