Forged

I SPEND THE NEXT FEW hours combing through what Clipper and Harvey refer to as the code’s comments. They show me how to spot these—they are preceded by certain symbols—but the true giveaway is the fact that what follows is a legible, coherent sentence or two, rather than numbers and symbols and fragments of words. I work on one screen, Clipper and Harvey on another.

 

I’m not really sure what I’m looking for, but copying down suspicious comments into a notebook seems far more productive than being upstairs in a debriefing meeting.

 

While I work, Harvey and Clipper see to the code itself—the variables and functions and parameters, as they call them. I’m moving much faster through the endless lines than the two of them, but only because there are far fewer comments than code.

 

Much later, Harvey calls it a night. “If you’re willing, we’d love some more help tomorrow,” he says to me, and takes off his glasses to rub his eyes.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Clip! You’ll hurt your neck sleeping like that.” The boy jerks upright. The shape of the keyboard is imprinted in his cheek. Harvey points at the couch against the far wall. “Go get a proper night’s sleep, won’t you?”

 

I duck upstairs, eager to do the same. Aiden’s still asleep on the couch with Rusty, and besides their exhales, the floor is dead silent. I cut through the living room and into the small hall that leads to the bedrooms.

 

“Where’d you disappear to all night?” Bree is sitting just outside her room, her back against the wall and her legs stretched out in a V. I put a finger to my lips.

 

“Sammy’s downstairs with the team still,” she says. “And even if he wasn’t, he sleeps like a deaf man. You could shout if you wanted.”

 

Which would wake Aiden, who I was worried about disturbing from the beginning, but I don’t bother pointing that out. She’s in a mood. As though Bree’s heard my thoughts, her face morphs into a scowl.

 

“You can’t just disappear, Gray. You have to tell us where you’re going.”

 

“I was helping Harvey and Clipper, which you obviously knew since you told me where to find them.”

 

She shakes her head. “I don’t trust Harvey. It’s not right.”

 

“Look, Bree, I can’t just sit around in meetings. If I’m not working toward avenging Blaine, then I’m wasting my time.”

 

“The Expats and Rebels do have a plan. If you hadn’t run downstairs, you’d have heard it firsthand from September. She relayed everything she knows from her discussions with Adam.”

 

“Is this plan the one he and Vik have refused to share details about? Something involving coordinated strikes in various domed cities?”

 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. Bleak says hi, by the way.”

 

“Bleak?”

 

“He joined via radio with Heidi to update us on the state of things in Pine Ridge. He asked how you were.”

 

“If you talk to him tomorrow, tell him I’m—”

 

“Tell him yourself. I’m not a messenger.”

 

She stands up. Clumsily. It’s been a day since we fled the Compound, the perfect amount of time for muscles to stiffen and aches to set in. Bree rubs her neck and I catch sight of the bruises roping it. I can make out the exact points where that Order member’s fingers tried to cut off her air.

 

“It’s fine,” she says, aware of my gaze.

 

“No, it’s not. Seeing you like this will never be fine.” I touch her chin and try to angle it so I can inspect the second bruise along her jaw. She knocks my arm aside.

 

“I’ve taken hits before you were around to worry about them.”

 

“Will you quit being tough for one second and hear what I’m saying?”

 

She glares at me.

 

“I’m serious, Bree. If you’re allowed to worry when I disappear for a few hours, why am I not allowed to hate seeing you like this? Do you think I don’t care? You think I want to spot bruises on you? Especially when I’m the only reason you have them? All I want is for you . . . for us . . .”

 

I falter.

 

How is it I’ve lived most of my life without her? She walked into my world—no, dragged me into hers—that day in the forest beyond Crevice Valley, and it was like a new start. Ever since that moment, I’ve been slowly waking up.

 

I’ve lost my father and my twin. The only family I have left is a niece so far away she feels irretrievable. But I look at Bree now and know I can face anything. She makes me want to stand taller. Just being in her presence makes me want to be more. And even as she leans away from me, everything in her body language closed off and guarded, I want her nearer. I want her and it’s still too soon.

 

“Are you going to stare at me all night, or was there something else?” She’s still scowling, arms crossed.

 

I open my mouth, close it, open it again.

 

“Bree, I’m in love with you.”

 

She takes a step away, like the words somehow slapped her. “What?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

Her eyes narrow. “Even though I gave you the chance to say this a dozen times over, and you always ignored it? Even though we fight all the time?”

 

“You said that fire was good.”

 

She rolls her eyes and looks away.

 

“The fights are never enough to make me not want you, Bree. Is it easy? No. Do I sometimes want to wipe the smug look off your face and tell you to shove it? Yes. Do you drive me absolutely crazy? All the time. But I know I’m no easier to deal with, and I’d rather be angry with you than with someone else. I’d rather argue occasionally than be content every day. You are the only person who challenges me one moment and steadies me the next, and you’re not afraid to stand up to me. Ever. You know what I need—often before I do—and you’re always willing to be it.”

 

She’s finally looking at me again. Staring, actually.

 

“I’ve been horrible. I pushed you away. I said things I didn’t mean. I probably don’t deserve you, but you need to know how sorry I am. And how I feel. How I want to be what you need, too. I can’t promise to always be good at it, but I swear I will try my hardest. Now and every single day for as long as you let me.”

 

She shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “Why do you have to do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

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