me. I won’t let him see me.
I tilt the sack’s mouth so every bit drains out, then crane my neck to find Derek.
When I don’t see him, I watch as the last of the serum rushes away, following the line of tubing. A few drops get stuck on the sides, but I don’t worry—tonight’s rations will pick up whatever was left behind. When it’s all gone and the sack is nothing but rubber, I throw it over my shoulders.
“Down the drain,” I type into my comm—our cheesy code for things going off without a hitch—and I send the message off to Callum.
Ducking myself under the basin and freezing, I strain my ears to listen for more footsteps. I need to know where not to step. Except, I hear nothing.
The serum gurgles down the pipe. Stops right before the next valve.
There it’ll wait till the attendant gets here. Twelve minutes from now.
I’ve gotta get out. But it occurs to me—if Derek came up from the opposite side of the room, my only exit is probably there too. I can’t let him see me.
I have to leave. Now.
Crouching under the arm, I shuffle to the tank’s wall. My back hugs it close, but doesn’t touch. One brush up against the metal cylinder and it’ll squeak. Keeping my footsteps light underneath me, I follow the base. When I pause, listen, I think I hear the scuffle of footsteps, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. I keep rounding the base, until I have the exit sign in sight.
I don’t wait—I make a run for it. My soles scrape the concrete floor as I close the distance. With my nerves amped and roaring, pushing me to the door, only one question takes over my mind: Would he hurt me?
46
9:51 P.M., SUNDAY
My feet fly down one flight and then another, rounding each corner with a jump. He’s behind me, barreling down the stairwell. I don’t stop on the fifth floor, or the fourth, or the third. But when I hit the second floor, Aven’s floor, that’s when I pause—I have to see her.
Checking my cuffcomm, I’ve still got nine minutes till rations go out. Probably a few more before someone stops by to change her IV. Which means she won’t be awake. . . .
That pause is all the time it takes for Derek to catch up. He slams against my back. The momentum hurtles me into the metal door, and an ache, sharp and hot, spreads down my arm. “Damn you—” I bite my lip to keep from whimpering.
Derek pulls away. Props himself against the wall as I slide to the floor, slack-muscled.
“It’s you,” he whispers. “I thought it was you. But you look so . . . different.” He eyes my not-hair, kneeling in front of me. Makes like he’s about to touch my shoulder. “Kitaneh . . . the crash?”
“Don’t,” I snap, recoiling, like he’s made of pure fire. “I know what you did to my Rimbo. And I know about Kitaneh. And I know about you. You don’t get to touch me.”
The way his face contorts, you’d think I was the one made of fire. That he’d just been burned. Derek closes his eyes, turns away. “What happened to your Rimbo—it was an accident. . . .”
“What? That I survived?”
He shakes his head and collapses down onto the stairs, keeping his back to me. I don’t like it. I may not want him touching me, but I do deserve to see his face right now.
“You were supposed to see the malfunction before the race. You weren’t supposed to race at all,” he murmurs.
“Look at me.” Angry echoes of my words travel up and down the stairwell. “Tell me to my face why I almost died because of you.”
Derek shifts uncomfortably. With his back up against the wall, he says, “My brother and his wife live on the Isle. They learned what that doctor Callum was up to. They informed us. I never wanted you hurt. . . . And I certainly never wanted you dead.”
I exhale, realizing I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. What he’s said . . . maybe I should feel comforted by it. He didn’t want me dead, after all.
It’s just the other hundreds of sick people he’d see murdered.
Not quite enough, I’m afraid.
“Your brother and his wife,” I start. I’m remembering the photo album—there were six of them. “Are they . . . are they like you?”
“You mean are they still alive after too