Liam stood up, coming over to comfort me. I pushed his arms away, glaring up at him. “Zoey, we don’t even know if he’s alive.”
I looked at Tommy, who looked tired. There were bags under his eyes and I wondered if he had gotten any sleep the night before. “I don’t know, to be honest,” he admitted. “They say he is. Dr. Cylon says he is and that we’re to mention him any time you don’t feel like cooperating. But no one has actually seen him in weeks, Zoey.”
My head began to shake back and forth, repeatedly. “He’s here. I know he is. If you’re getting me out, you’re getting him out too.”
Leaning up against the door just out of sight of the camera, Tommy sighed, exasperated. “We’re risking so much just to get you out of here. We can’t risk it anymore to rescue someone we don’t even know is here.”
“What about Liam?” I shot back.
They exchanged another look, and Liam spoke up. “This plan is for you, Zoey. That’s it.”
They were both looking at me, with firm looks on their faces. I saw the pity in their eyes, and I turned away, unable to look at them. They were asking me to leave the one person that I had left in the world, who would probably be killed if I left. I suddenly felt unsure in the idea of escaping.
“Zoey,” Liam warned. I looked up at him shocked; surprised that with so little time spent together, he had already begun to recognize my facial expressions. “Don’t even think about it. We’re getting you out of here. Maybe, if we find out more information, we can get Ash out too. But for now, we’re focusing on you.”
I swallowed hard, pushing down the tears that were threatening to crawl up and take over. “Fine,” I agreed. I crossed the room and sat in the chair across from Liam. “What are we going to do?”
MY BREAKFAST CAME ON THE same tray that it normally did in the morning. Tommy walked into the room, setting it down on the desk. His moves were jerky and unsure, and I wanted to throw something at him. Everything about what he was doing just screamed that something was wrong. His eyes met mine, and I tried to tell him to calm down, in one look. His head dipped slightly, in a barely perspective nod.
I waited until he left the room before lifting myself off the bed and crossing to the desk. I slid into the chair and ate my breakfast slowly. Each bite felt like cardboard in my mouth, but I forced myself through it, trying to ignore the bubbling of anxiety in my stomach. I ran my fingers along the edge of the silver tray and stopped when I felt something sharp poke the tip of my finger. Just a tiny bit of hard, black plastic was poking out, and I knew immediately that the first part of the plan had been successful.
I sat in my chair, my heart beating faster in my chest, feeling the sting of the camera on my back. Before I could really think about what I was doing. I flung the tray across the room. The remaining food went flying, scattered across the perfect gray carpet. I pressed my hand to my mouth, hoping that it looked like I was crying. My other hand flew to the stomach, and I pretended to retch. I reached absently for the tray and flew to the bathroom, trying to look like I was about to be sick.
The door shut behind me, and I winced at the sound. I had no idea if anyone actually bought my performance, but there was too little time to be bothered by it. My fingernails slid along the groove of the tray and I pried it apart. Sitting there, in the middle of the broken tray, was a thin, black keycard. My fingers reached for it, trembling, knowing that if I were caught with this, it would not be good. I slipped it into my bra, hoping that it would not show through the fabric. I took a deep breath before exiting the bathroom.
Tommy had returned, and I glared at him, the tray clutched tightly to my chest. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. He had finally schooled his features into a look of indifference and was holding out the handcuffs toward me.
I threw the tray at him, and he ducked at the right moment. “No!” He looked up at me, and I nearly laughed at the expression on his face. He had been expecting the tantrum, but he clearly thought I was going a little over the top.
“Zoey, calm down,” he said, his arms held out to me. “We’re going to see Liam now. You’re not doing your evaluations today. Don’t you want to see Liam?” His voice was soft, like he was talking to a small child or even an animal. It would be the way they expected him to talk to me.
I reached for the food that had scattered on my bed and flung it at him. The food went flying past him, out the open door. My eyes stayed glued on it, and for a moment, the two of us were frozen. He shifted a bit to block the door, and I mouthed “I’m sorry” before running at him.