to launch into real dark stories to keep her quiet. Stories about the Laicos Project and Claysoot and Frank’s Heists.”
So she knows. Emma knows everything. I picture her now, somewhere in Union Central, walking around with that burden of knowledge. Knowledge she can’t share with anyone. Her only proof is the word of a crazy man; if she spoke up, she’d be deemed as insane as him. Emma is free of her cell but still locked in a prison. I may not be ready to forgive her, but I love her too much to leave her stuck in that state.
“We have to get her. After we meet up with Bree.”
Bo taps his fingers frantically against the wall. “We can try.”
And in that moment, trying is enough.
I am on my feet quickly, ripping an undamaged section from my discarded shirt and wrapping it around my burned arm. I sling the bag holding the vaccine on my back, Bo hands me his rifle, and we take off down the deserted alley.
Union Central is once again in an uproar, the alarm jarring people into action. Workers who had vacated the shelters since the previous Code Red now scurry to get back in them. Order members race to organize troops and head downtown. It is not hard for Bo and me to blend in among them. People are too panicked to really look at anyone’s face.
We meet up with Bree near the dining halls. When I see her, a million thoughts fly through my head: relief, hatred, betrayal. It’s confusing, and not knowing which one to act upon, I simply glare at her. She, on the other hand, runs to me and throws her arms around my neck with such force that I stumble backward.
“You’re okay,” she gasps, as if she doesn’t believe it’s possible. Her mouth hangs open, as though there is something important she wants to say, but she settles on an emotionless command in the end. “Let’s go. The garage is this way.”
But I can’t. Not yet. “I have to make a detour first.”
“We don’t have the time,” she argues.
“There is time for this.”
Not waiting for her answer, I take off down the hallway. I hear Bo and Bree fall in line behind me. Given the panicked state of Union Central, someone has overridden the access panels so that workers can run freely between corridors and rooms. Taking the stairs, I sprint until I get to Emma’s quarters. Her door is already open. She runs from the room, and I collide with her.
“Gray!” Emma exclaims. “I was just heading to the hospital. What are you doing here?” She holds a medic bag in her arms. My eyes connect with hers and I lose myself in their color. I forget what I had wanted to say.
“Who is this?” Bree erupts behind me. “And why does she know who you are?”
“It’s okay,” I say, without turning around. “I know her. She’s from Claysoot. I left her here when I ran to the Rebels.”
Bree steps between us. “Was this your motive when you volunteered for the mission?” she asks. “Are you risking all our hides right now for some girl none of us have ever heard of?”
“I can’t leave Emma again. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to get her out of Taem, and I wasn’t going to ignore my chance when it finally arrived.”
“Please, I want to come,” Emma says. “Take me with you. I can’t stay here any longer.”
Bree snorts and steps closer to me, so close I can feel the warmth of her breath as she exhales. She presses a finger into my chest. “She can come if she’s that important to you, but we are not spending another moment bickering in this hallway.”
I look over Bree’s head at Emma. “She’s coming.”
Bree scowls, but then motions for us to follow her. “This way.”
Bo tails Bree, and as I move to do the same, Emma grabs my arm. “Thank you,” she says. “For my second chance.”
For a split second I contemplate kissing her, grabbing her face and pulling it to mine. But then I think that the last hands holding her face were likely Craw’s, that his lips were the last to press against hers. Something hardens in the pit of my stomach.
“Second chances are not the same as forgiveness, Emma.” I shake her hand from mine. “Don’t slow us down.”
We race on, following Bree down a stairwell. On the bottom floor, we find ourselves in what must be Frank’s surveillance quarters.