30

The world is dark when I open my eyes.

I’m curled up on my side against something hard and damp. My body trembles, and an aching dryness fills my throat, so much it hurts to breathe. One second, I’m ice, shivering in almost no clothes. The next I’m on fire, sweat trickling down my forehead. I’m a star burning up before it dies.

The darkness is hollow, without the tiniest speck of light. My eyes could still be closed, for all I know. The world could stretch on forever, or end, and I wouldn’t know it. Logan could die, and I wouldn’t know it.

I curl into a tighter ball. I wish he were here. I long for his face, his arms, his hands. His lips. The last time our lips touched, it didn’t last long enough.

I wish he were here, or Beechy or Oliver or Ariadne—the way they were before they abandoned me—or someone. Anyone.

Charlie has stolen everyone.

Tears threaten my eyes, and the hollowness sinks into my stomach. I clench my fists and try to ignore it. I wipe my eyes and try to stand, so I can find out where the world ends.

My hand finds a hard wall to my right. Wet and slimy, it leaves residue on my fingers. When I reach to my left and in front of me, all I feel is air.

Palm on the wall, I heave my body up, but my legs are shaky. They wobble, and weariness drenches my limbs.

My knees knock into the ground. I lie on my side, wishing I weren’t so weak.

My eyes must close without my knowing it.

*   *   *

I dream I’m a bird with silver feathers, perched on the high branch of a tree, casting beady eyes at the moon. A fierce gale knocks me off my branch. The wind throws me about, wrenching my wings this way and that. I plummet to the ground in a mess of fraying feathers.

In a deep, dark trench, I land in human form, my body trembling. Bony arms reach for me, their muddy fingers tugging on my dress. “Help,” they cry. “Please help us.”

Before I can do anything, they sprout slick navy suits. They morph into Developers who point guns at my temple.

“There is nowhere to hide,” they whisper.

I wake shaking on the hard, damp floor of my Karum cell, drenched in sweat and darkness. Go away, I tell my dreams.

My fingers fumble to touch the wall again. It’s a little easier to stand today, tonight, whatever time it is. In the dark, time is a trap for insanity.

My legs still wobble. Every step, I grit my teeth and push through the ache, the fire, the glass shards ripping through my body. My cell seems to be small. I find no cracks in the cement. No door. It’s like they threw me into a hole in the ground and built a ceiling over it.

I drop to my knees and press my palms into my forehead, breathing hard. I’m afraid they’ll never let me go. That the moon or KIMO will kill us all and I’ll never see Logan again.

I’m about to let a river of tears down my cheeks when a loud, echoing clang startles me, coming from inside the wall. I hold my breath.

In the silence, I hear another sound: a slow, shaky sob, somewhere beyond the cement. My heart flutters. There’s someone there.

“Hello?” I say, crawling and pressing my ear to the slimy wall.

I don’t hear anything at first. Then it’s there again: the quiet sobbing that isn’t coming from me. Relief floods my body.

It doesn’t matter that whoever it is doesn’t say a word. It’s enough to hear them and know I’m not alone in Karum.

I’m not alone.

*   *   *

A creak overhead jolts me awake. The roof makes a great scraping noise, and a ray of white light seeps through a crack in the ceiling.

I scramble to my feet as the light blinds me and envelops my cell. I throw my hands over my eyes and press my body against the wall.

Go away, I think. Not yet. I’m too weak to fight, if they’ve come to take me back to the metal table and the injection syringes, or to kill me. But I have to fight.

I spread my fingers apart and glimpse a metal ladder lowering into the hole. A guard climbs down, followed by an adult in a skirt, a blouse, and red high heels. I try to ignore the soreness in my legs that makes it hard to stand.

The woman steps onto the ground. Her eyes look almost yellow in the light. They trail over my figure, and she purses her lips. “Hello, Clementine.” She hates me. I can hear it in her voice.

Good, I think. I hate you more.

“I’m here to discuss some things the staff finds intriguing about you.” She crosses her arms and taps her foot. “Let’s cooperate, shall we? I’d like you to explain why our calming injections don’t work on you.”

I bet she already knows the answer. She’s trying to see if I’ll be honest. “I don’t know,” I say. “Doctors said they’d figure it out.”

“And they will. At first it was thought that you’re merely strong-minded, but…” Her eyes trail over my petite figure. “I don’t believe that’s the correct reason.”

She thinks because my body is weak, my mind is weak. She knows nothing. I want to strangle her, but instead I latch on to what might help me more than that—weakness.

“It—it’s not the reason.” I curl into myself against the wall. “I can’t … I’m not…” I force a whimper.

Confused concern forms a crease in her brow. “Yes?”

I shake my head and clutch my knees to my chest. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble. I just want to go home.…”

She studies my face and taps her chin with a fingernail. “You know, Clementine, the only reason you’re still here is because you keep refusing to set your faith in Commander Charlie. If you were to change your mind and not give us any more trouble … a return to the Core would not be difficult to arrange.”

I stare at my knees. In the light I see how dirty they are, how bony. I could do it. I could keep up an act, looking like this. My body is frail, and they’d believe me if I cried. I could convince them I’ve had a change of heart and agree to never again question Charlie. I could do it, and they would send me to the Core.

But KIMO would still go off. The preparations must be almost ready—Charlie said it would take only a week or two, at the most. Logan and everyone else in the outer sectors would be destroyed. If I went back to the Core, I’d be safe, but they’d be dead.

Maybe that’s better for me than this, but it’s not good enough.

I lift my head to the woman.

She observes me with her yellow eyes. “Well?” she says.

I lunge at her, and she gasps. Pain cuts through my legs, my arms, my hands, but my fingers grab her throat and squeeze. I press red welts into her skin.

I grit my teeth—gasping—

The woman falls to her knees, choking for breath and clutching her throat. Go on, squeeze, I urge her. Finish what I started.

The guard binds my wrists with rope.

Yellow Eyes collects herself and stares me down, her teeth clenched. “I didn’t think she’d cooperate. Throw her in with the others.” She grabs a ladder rung and heaves herself back up with trembling hands. The guard shoves me after her.

I scare her, I really do. I scare all of them, and that’s why they seek to control me. I’m not weak.

I am powerful.