Defy Me - Tahereh Mafi Page 0,16

ceilings are high, the architecture modern but elegant. It’s all glass and marble and stainless steel.

I’ve never been anywhere so beautiful.

And I haven’t even had a moment to take it all in before I’m greeted by a thin, older man with even thinner brown hair.

The soldiers flanking me step back as he steps forward.

“Ms. Ferrars?” he says.

“Yes?”

“You are to come with me.”

I hesitate. “Who are you?”

He studies me a moment and then seems to make a decision. “You may call me Delalieu.”

“Okay,” I say, the word disappearing into a whisper.

I follow Delalieu into a glass elevator and watch him use a key card to authorize the lift. Once we’re in motion, I find the courage to speak.

“Where am I?” I ask. “What’s happening?”

His answer comes automatically. “You are in Sector 45 headquarters. You’re here to have a meeting with the chief commander and regent of Sector 45.” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, but there’s nothing in his tone that feels threatening. So I ask another question.

“Why?”

The elevator doors ping as they open. Delalieu finally turns to look at me. “You’ll find out in just a moment.”

I follow Delalieu down a hall and wait, quietly, outside a door while he knocks. He peeks his head inside when the door opens, announces his presence, and then motions for me to follow him in.

When I do, I’m surprised.

There’s a beautiful man in military uniform—I’m assuming he’s the commander—standing in front of a large, wooden desk, his arms crossed against his chest. He’s staring me straight in the eye, and I’m suddenly so overwhelmed I feel myself blush.

I’ve never seen anyone so handsome before.

I look down, embarrassed, and study the laces of my tennis shoes. I’m grateful for my long hair. It serves as a dark, heavy curtain, shielding my face from view.

“Look at me.”

The command is sharp and clear. I look up, nervously, to meet his eyes. He has thick, dark brown hair. Eyes like a storm. He looks at me for so long I feel goose bumps rise along my skin. He won’t look away, and I feel more terrified by the moment. This man’s eyes are full of anger. Darkness. There’s something genuinely frightening about him, and my heart begins to hammer.

“You’re growing up quickly,” he says.

I stare at him, confused, but he’s still studying my face.

“Fourteen years old,” he says quietly. “Such a complicated age for a young girl.” Finally, he sighs. Looks away. “It always breaks my heart to break beautiful things.”

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” I say, feeling suddenly ill.

He looks up again. “You’re aware of what you did today?”

I freeze. Words pile up in my throat, die in my mouth.

“Yes or no?” he demands.

“Y-yes,” I say quickly. “Yes.”

“And do you know why you did it? Do you know how you did it?”

I shake my head, my eyes filling fast with tears. “It was an accident,” I whisper. “I didn’t know— I didn’t know that this—”

“Does anyone else know about your sickness?”

“No.” I stare at him, my eyes wide even as tears blur my vision. “I mean, n-not, not really—just my parents—but no one really understands what’s wrong with me. I don’t even understand—”

“You mean you didn’t plan this? It wasn’t your intention to murder the little boy?”

“No!” I cry out, and then clap both hands over my mouth. “No,” I say, quietly now. “I was trying to help him. He’d fallen to the floor and I— I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

“Liar.”

I’m still shaking my head, wiping away tears with shaking hands. “It was an accident. I swear, I didn’t mean to—I d-didn’t—”

“Sir.” It’s Delalieu. His voice.

I didn’t realize he was still in the room.

I sniff, hard, wiping quickly at my face, but my hands are still shaking. I try, again, to swallow back the tears. To pull myself together.

“Sir,” Delalieu says more firmly, “perhaps we should conduct this interview elsewhere.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary.”

“I don’t mean to seem impertinent, sir, but I really feel that you might be better served conducting this interview privately.”

I dare to turn, to look up at him. And that’s when I notice the third person in the room.

A boy.

My breath catches in my throat with an almost audible gasp. A single tear escapes down my cheek and I brush it away, even as I stare at him. I can’t help it—I can’t look away. He has the kind of face I’ve never seen in real life. He’s more handsome than the commander. More beautiful. Still,