4
Two hours later, as I sit in the Headmaster’s office with Beck, my heart still pounds loudly. Waiting isn’t helping my nerves.
When Security reached us, Beck scooped me up like rag doll—not like the girl who out wrestled him earlier in the morning—and carried me, against my protests, to the school.
“No, Birdie,” he said when I struggled. “Don’t look.”
But I did. I saw the broken bodies littering the snow. Dead. Every one of them.
Relief welled in my heart. Because it was them and not us. Not Beck. Not me. Just vile Sensitives.
In Beck’s arms, I muttered words of thanks. Security did their job so efficiently.
We marched across the snow, a guard on each side, and entered the silent school. Every student, except us, had taken shelter in a secure room until the all-clear signal sounded.
Now everyone’s back in class, and Beck and I are still waiting to be excused. I check my wristlet. If they don’t hurry up, we’re going to miss our assessment.
“We’re fine. Why can’t we go?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” Beck squeezes my hand, the one he hasn’t let go of since we stood on the hill together.
Silence surrounds us. We’ve used up all our words giving statements to the security detail. Next to me, Beck’s body goes rigid and he crushes my fingers.
“Ow!”
He swivels in his chair so that he’s facing the door. His eyes narrow and his hand no longer grasps mine. He tilts his head to the side as if listening to something. Curious, I follow his gaze.
The door swings open and a woman sweeps in, followed by a tall man with a hat pulled low, concealing his face.
She’s beautiful. Her raven hair falls in soft waves and contrasts with her long, cream coat. Her naturally red lips draw into a warm, welcoming smile, and it’s then that I recognize her. Annalise, my sister-in-law.
“Callum,” Beck whispers with a hint of disdain when my brother removes his hat. He and Callum have never gotten along. When we were little, Callum searched us out during our few home visits and harassed Beck.
My brother wears his blond hair longer than I remember, more in style for a Statesman than a schoolboy.
I stand to greet my family, but Beck bristles and hesitates. A million anxious pressure points build in my chest, pushing outward until they crawl over my skin like little spiders. Something’s wrong.
“Lark. Sister. How are you, my dear?” Tension rolls through my body as Callum clutches me to his chest, hard. His embrace is more like a strangling.
Annalise touches Callum’s arm. “That’s enough, darling. Poor Lark can barely breathe. You surely don’t want to hurt a future Stateswoman, do you?”
He releases me with a gentle peck on the cheek and steps back. The pressure in my chest subsides and my heart slows.
“Lark, darling, you look well considering what you went through.” Annalise’s
voice is soft and musical. She kisses me once on each cheek, in the manner of the State. When she extends the customary greeting to Beck—who now stands at my side—he recoils, refusing to let her touch him.
I glare at Beck, my hands on my hips. I know he and Callum haven’t always gotten along, but his behavior is ridiculous. I slide next to him and nudge him forward, but he plants his feet and refuses to move.
“Are you okay?” I ask. Maybe the shock of the attack has confused him. “Should I call the healer?”
He continues to stand tense with his head tilted as if trying to hear a far off sound. “I’m fine.”
Then what is he doing? This isn’t the time or place for old childhood rivalries. I’m going to have to make a good impression for the both of us. My words take on the formal State tone. “Did Mother send you?”
A slight forward shift from Callum causes Beck to grip my arm. He subtly repositions his body so he’s between Callum and me. Callum responds to Beck’s oddly protective posture by softening his stance.
Annalise flashes a pretty smile at me, as if she doesn’t notice Beck and Callum’s odd body language. “She sent Callum, of course, to make sure you were unharmed. But my State job is safety. Specifically ensuring the safety of top officials—like Malin—and our Society’s schools.” She unbuttons her coat and sets it on a nearby coat rack. “I’ve been tasked with discovering how this breach happened and ensuring it doesn’t reoccur.”
“Really?” I ask. With her perfectly manicured nails and silky black hair, Annalise looks more like a painting than a security guard.
“Really.”
“You didn’t do a very good job, did you?” Beck clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Lark could have been killed.”
Not ‘we,’ but ‘Lark’.
Annalise removes a small tablet from her satchel and taps on it. “Let’s see. According to my report, you exposed your position to the Sensitives. Is that correct?”
Beck glares at her and wraps his arm around my waist protectively. Tension ripples off his body. Even through my layers of clothing, I’m positive I feel waves of heat radiating from him.
“The security system failed. I was trying to distract them from Lark. She was hidden until she decided to climb the hill.” My heart races inexplicably, as if afraid. I fold myself into Beck’s side. This is my brother and sister-in-law—I know we haven’t always gotten along, but what’s there to be frightened of?
Annalise’s lips form a hard frown. But it’s the movement of her hands I find strange—they appear to quiver. “You have no training in Sensitive enforcement and your first thought wasn’t to stay hidden. It was stand on a hill and show yourself. I find that very interesting.”
Her deep blue eyes dart back and forth between Beck and I as if waiting for an attack. Beck wraps his other arm around me, so he’s more or less hugging me now. Annalise clenches her teeth briefly before disguising it with a bright smile.
Are you looking for me? Isn’t that what he said when he faced them? My mind whirls, sorting through what I saw, heard and know. Something isn’t right.
“My first, my only thought, is always to protect Lark.”
Protect me? What is he talking about? He needs protecting as much as I do. Like Callum, we’re all direct descendants of Founders—and under constant threat.
Without any attempt at subtlety, Beck moves his body so that I’m now standing behind him.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I jockey to get around him, but he holds me back. I’ve never doubted Beck before, but this is ridiculous.
In response, Annalise throws her head back like those girls in the movies and lets out a melodic laugh. It’s eerily out of place with the tone of our conversation. “Protect Lark? That’s what you call what you did? You lead them right to her.”
I don’t understand what’s happening. Is she accusing Beck of something? Of helping Sensitives attack me?
I peer around Beck, suddenly feeling small. Callum fidgets with his wrap, clearly agitated, but it’s Annalise who looks furious. Lethal even.
Anger boils inside me.
“Annalise, what exactly are you trying to say?” I clip my words and step around Beck.
Shock flits across her face. “I’m sorry, Lark. Have I offended you? I’d think you, of all people, would want to get to the bottom of this. Especially since it appears they were looking for you.”
“No, of course not.” It’s a lie, but I don’t want her, or whomever she reports to, to think I’m argumentative.
Looking for me? Beck had asked. I shake my head and ball my fists into my thighs. No. They wanted me. The daughter of Malin Greene—the Sensitive hunter—the one responsible for increased labor groups and a crack-down on their freedoms. And Beck offered himself instead.
Annalise slips the screen back into her satchel with a swift movement. “I have everything I need.”
Callum offers his arm to his wife. “Annalise, shall we?”
She removes her coat from its hook and places her hand lightly on his arm. Her hard eyes drill into me, but she smiles sweetly. “Goodbye, Lark. We’ll see you again soon, I’m sure of it.”
Callum tips his hat before placing it back on his head and then they’re gone, gliding out into the hallway, leaving behind a mess of confusion and suspicion. Do Annalise and Callum think Beck wanted the Sensitives to find me? That’s impossible.
I spin on Beck. “What was that?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead he stares out into the hallway, head tilted toward the spot where Callum and Annalise disappeared.
“Beck,” I huff. “Are you listening to me?”
Fear flashes through his olive eyes. He searches my face for a moment as if trying to register what I said.
“C’mon, Birdie. We have assessments to take.” He bends down, picks up my bag and hands it to me.
“The Headmaster hasn’t excused us. We can’t go yet.”
“I don’t think it matters anymore.”