Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,118

way, though. She preferred the numbness. A mind full of fog was easier than a mind razor-sharp with thoughts. With memories. With regrets.

And Chatine had so many of those.

“Azelle?” she whispered into the empty room. “Are you there?”

But as predicted, she got no response. Azelle hadn’t spoken to her since she’d left Bastille, confirming that Chatine was alone again.

She wanted to hope. Truly, she did. She wanted to believe that Henri wasn’t dead. That the Sols weren’t cruel enough to bring him back to her only to take him away again. But she knew hope was a dangerous game to play. To Chatine, hope was like that wounded mouse in a box. Whether you tried to hold onto it—to protect it from all the dangers of the world—or you let it go, it didn’t matter.

It died either way.

“Will you try to eat something for me today?” The door to the treatment center creaked open and Brigitte appeared, carrying a fresh tray of food. Through Chatine’s fog-filled vision, she could make out dried fruit and a boiled egg. She expected her stomach to rumble, to remind her that she’d barely eaten anything since her last meager ration on Bastille. But even her stomach seemed to have given up.

Brigitte sighed and placed the tray down next to the other one. “Okay. How about a trip then?”

Mildly interested, Chatine swiveled her gaze to the woman. “What kind of trip?”

Brigitte smiled. “Just a chance to see more than the walls of this chalet.”

Chatine lazily looked back at the wall. “I’m fine here,” she muttered, even though it was a lie. She wasn’t fine here. She wasn’t fine anywhere.

Absentmindedly, she rubbed her forefinger over her thumb, searching for Marcellus’s ring, only to remember that it had disappeared when she’d first arrived at the camp. Chatine had convinced herself that the Défecteurs had stolen it, even though Brigitte had sworn she hadn’t seen it when she’d operated on Chatine. Now the absence of that ring—the notion that she might have lost it after keeping it safe for all those days and nights on Bastille—carved a hole inside of her as big as a Sol.

“I want to show you something,” Brigitte said.

“What is it?”

“Ah, you see, that’s the catch. You won’t know until you agree to come with me.”

“I can’t walk,” Chatine reminded her. “You’re the médecin. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

Brigitte smiled, seemingly unfazed by Chatine’s sourness. “I’m not a médecin.”

“Sorry,” Chatine muttered. “Healer. Whatever.”

“I haven’t been a médecin for”—she sighed—“wow … years. But I never got to work with people, like I always wanted. The Ministère assigned me to the medical research field.”

Chatine cut her eyes back to Brigitte. Silently, in response, Brigitte pointed to the deep grooves carved into the side of her face. They weren’t angry today. They were just there.

Realization slammed into Chatine, momentarily stealing the breath from her lungs. “Wait, you were a—”

“Cyborg? Yes.”

For a blissful second, Chatine’s mind emptied of everything else except those strange, miraculous scars. She didn’t know a cyborg could have their circuitry removed. And then what? They were just normal people again? The only cyborgs she’d ever known were cruel and cold and heartless. As though the circuitry had been implanted as a blocker to their emotions. Because, as Chatine well knew, emotions only impeded your ability to do your job well.

A thousand questions flooded her mind, and they all seemed to be forcing their way out of her mouth at once. “What … How … Do …” She took a deep breath and plucked the simplest one from the stack. “Why?”

Brigitte chuckled. “Have you ever met a cyborg?”

The faintest ghost of a smile passed over Chatine’s face, only to vanish a second later.

“I was recruited into the Cyborg Initiation Program when I turned eighteen. I quickly climbed the ranks and eventually became a very prominent and well-respected research médecin.”

“And then you just left?” she asked, gesturing around the chalet. “For this?”

Brigitte’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll tell you what. I will answer all of your questions… if you agree to leave this chalet with me.”

Chatine considered. Her curiosity was strong, and she soon realized her desire to get out of this room was equally strong. She glanced down at her bandaged leg and was about to remind Brigitte once again that she was in no condition to walk when Brigitte made her way to a cabinet on the far side of the room, opened the door, and removed a pair of metal crutches. “These will