The Hunt - Megan Shepherd Page 0,34
a call center to pay for the lessons, and on weekends when he was supposed to be working with a college prep tutor, he’d driven to a small airstrip outside Richmond. Dad will be furious if he finds out, Cora had said. You told me yourself, you have to know when to give up. Charlie had just shaken his head. You have to know when not to give up too.
She still rested her hand over Cassian’s. She remembered the first time she’d felt the electricity of his touch, how he was so much warmer than she’d expected. For a second, she forgot this was all an act.
She cleared her throat. “We should get to work.”
He blinked as though he’d forgotten why they were there too.
“Of course.” He took out a pair of amplified dice, working one die between his fingers. “Telekinesis is the first thing we are taught.” He set the die on the table and concentrated. It suddenly slid toward him, all on its own, as though someone had given it a shove.
He set it back on the table.
“Focus first on the shape, memorize it, so that if you closed your eyes you could still picture it. Then simply give it a tap with your thoughts, as you would with your finger.”
Cora stared at the die. Hard and compact, just like her anger had been. The anger was still there, buried down deep where she would never forget, but she was finding it harder to direct that anger at the man seated across from her.
She thought about tapping the die.
Nothing happened.
She wrinkled her brow and concentrated harder. Her vision started to blur, and the room felt like it keeled to the left, though she knew it wasn’t moving. She ignored her shifting perceptions and focused on the die.
Tap.
Again, nothing happened, and in frustration she reached out and flicked it with her finger.
Cassian shook his head slowly. “That is cheating.”
“Well, the result’s the same.”
He replaced the die in its starting position. “Intelligent species are interested in more than results. We are interested in processes. Doing things in a correct, efficient, logical manner. Cheating does not fit into that.”
Cora picked up the die, toying with it. That was what it came down to, wasn’t it? The end result. If she ran the Gauntlet by the Kindred’s rules and won, humanity would be freed. If she cheated, the end result might be the same, and yet it wouldn’t be the same at all—it would mean so much more because they’d have achieved it their own way.
By her count, there were only twenty-one days before the Gauntlet module would arrive on the station along with the non-Kindred delegates. Cassian would expect her to run the puzzles correctly, efficiently, and logically. His world would be thrown into chaos when she cheated. Everyone’s would. But then, finally, maybe the Kindred would understand that just because humans didn’t do things their way didn’t mean humans weren’t intelligent.
“Right.”
She focused again on the die.
Once she felt like she had the corners of the die firmly in her head, she tapped it mentally again.
It moved. Hardly more than a wobble, but it moved.
She let out a cry of surprise. “It worked!”
Cassian smiled. “A good start.” He set the die back in the center. “Try again.”
Concentrating was harder this time. He smiled so rarely that it was distracting. She had to try to put him out of her mind and just feel the shape of the die, and tap.
The die slid clear across the table, fell off, and bounced against the wall.
“Did you see that?” She jumped up without thinking. “It really worked—ow!”
Pain suddenly ripped through her brain. Cassian leaped up, pressing a hand to her back, the electricity from his touch warming her.
“Breathe,” he said. “Slowly. You need to send oxygen to your brain.”
But the headache didn’t abate, and she sank onto the bench.
“Perhaps that is sufficient for today,” he said with concern. “Your mind is not yet fully healed from before. Keep one of the dice. Practice at night. But do not strain yourself.”
She tucked a die inside her dress, then stood and headed back toward the lodge.
“Wait, Cora. One more thing.” Still clutching her head, she turned to find him right in front of her. She stared at his chest, the button-down shirt that was so human, so real. A thread was loose. “I won’t betray your trust again. I promise.”
Her heart beat once. Twice. Three times.
“I believe you,” she lied.
She opened the screen. The lounge was