Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,106

fog around her mind vanished, and all she was left with was disbelief. And joy. Pure, unclouded joy that she knew had nothing to do with any strange Défecteur herbs and everything to do with the sight of her Skin-less arm.

How many largs had she spent hacking that Sol-damn device, every time the Ministère sent out another mandatory update? How many years had she spent trying to escape their watch? And now it was over. It was all over. Never again would they remind her to check in for her job assignment, or go to the Med Center for her vitamin D injection, or return to her couchette for curfew. Never again would they be able to track her, contact her, control her.

“Sorry, not to consult you,” Brigitte said in an apologetic tone, “but it’s a community rule. No one who stays with us can be linked to the Ministère in any way. We don’t trust any of their devices. Especially not the Skins.”

Chatine pulled her gaze away from her arm to stare at the woman in confusion. Did she think she was angry at her? She could have kissed her right now!

“I—” Chatine tried to speak, but she couldn’t seem to form her thoughts into words. Everything that filtered through her mind felt insufficient. So, she opted for just a blurry yet heartfelt “Merci.”

Brigitte smiled. The expression warped her jagged scars, but it still lit up her face and warmed her eyes. “You’re welcome.” She straightened the sheets around Chatine’s legs. “Once you’re recovered, we can walk you through your options. Where to live, how to survive off the grid, all those things. Obviously, you can’t go back to your old life. Not that you’d want to, I presume.”

Chatine’s heart lifted at the thought of living outside the Regime. Where would she go? The Southern Peninsula, maybe? Or even a whole other planet. Perhaps Chatine could finally make it to Usonia. And her little brother could come too!

Suddenly, thoughts of Henri flooded back into her mind. She pushed herself back up to sitting with a burst of determination. “The pilote! Of the other ship! Where is she? Is she back yet? I need to talk to her. I need to ask her where she took—”

The look that passed between Etienne and his mother stopped her words in their tracks and set Chatine’s chest on fire.

Brigitte tried to ease Chatine back down onto the bed. “You should probably rest.”

But the moment Chatine’s head hit the pillow, she was up again. “No. I need to talk to that pilote. My little brother was on her ship. I need to know where she took him.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it right now, ma chérie,” Brigitte said gently. “Right now, all you can do is heal and gather your strength.”

Chatine glanced uneasily from Brigitte to Etienne. But Etienne seemed to be going to great efforts not to look back at her. A bitter hollowness began to bloom in Chatine’s stomach, chasing away any remnants of the blissful warmth that was there.

She glared at Etienne. “What’s going on?”

Etienne opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by his mother’s hand on his shoulder.

“Not. Now.” Her words were quiet yet sharp, almost threatening.

There was something in the air. Something Chatine did not like the smell of. It was dark and hovering, turning her fluffy, white clouds into rain.

She hastily pushed back the thick blanket but paused when she noticed that her prison uniform was gone. Instead, she’d been dressed in a strange pair of white pants flecked with gray and stitched with a myriad of pockets and zips.

Who had dressed her in this?

She pulled up the left cuff of the pants to see that her wound was now clean and impeccably bandaged. She tried to rise to her feet, but Brigitte pushed her back down. “Stop. You are not well enough to get up.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” Chatine demanded.

“It’s not important right now,” Brigitte said.

“Maman!” Etienne cried.

“It’s not important right now,” she repeated, directing her heavy words at her son. “She needs to rest. Skin removals are very taxing on the system and—”

“I’m not resting until someone tells me what the fric is happening,” Chatine said, her gaze still swiveling between Etienne and his mother.

Etienne glared at Brigitte for a long, tense moment before muttering, “She deserves to know.” Then he stormed out the door, and Chatine was left alone with the woman and her long, rigid scars, which now looked redder