“No?” she asked, her mouth curving with amusement. “That would have been too much to hope for, I guess.”
I reached out and pulled her toward me, her forehead resting against my collarbone. Her breath fluttered through the thin fabric of my T-shirt where the hoodie was unzipped, and I could feel it against my skin. It made my heart beat that much faster. She was here and real, after weeks of wondering if I’d ever see her again. I wanted to keep this moment under glass, preserve it forever just like this, but I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t stop the doubts from eating at me.
I bent my head over hers. “But the thing is, normal is just another word for average,” I whispered in her ear, running my hands down her arms, careful of the fragile bones beneath. “Another word for nothing.” That was it, my deepest fear: that my father was right about me.
She moved back, narrowly avoiding a collision with my jaw. “No, it’s not,” she said firmly. “Everyone’s version of normal is something different. And if you think it’s so bad, then consider what lengths people go to pretend to be normal.” She looked down, her pale lashes like snowflakes on her flushed cheeks. “For some, it might even be their highest aspiration.”
And by tearing it down, I was tearing her down, spitting on what mattered to her, what she valued.
“Okay,” I said. “I get it.” I wasn’t sure I could believe it for myself, but I understood why she did.
Her shoulders relaxed a little, and she eased in under my chin, resting her head against my chest.
I fought the urge to lift her up and pull her onto my lap, just to have her closer. “Ariane, even if you get to Ford, then what?” I asked. “You save all the people they’ve set out as targets, they’ll just set up and start over.” And kill Ariane for messing up their plans.
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I’m still trying to figure that part out.”
I waited for her to straighten up and remind me that we were in public and in no position to be taking a time-out, but evidently the connection that simple touch afforded was comforting to both of us.
But then she shifted, pulling away from me with a swiftness that spoke of urgency.
I tensed. “What’s wrong?”
“He should have been here by now,” she said, her brows drawn together in concern.
It took me a second to click out of the moment and understand what she meant. Adam. He should have arrived at the alleyway not long after we got here.
I twisted in my seat, making sure to keep a hand on the counter for balance. She was right. Adam wasn’t out there.
My chest tightened with anxiety as I ran through scenarios for his delay. Traffic accident, sudden relapse from the virus in his system, the Committee figuring out that we’d tricked them.
Or, worse.
“What if Ford found him?” The words spilled out before I could stop them. Adam had been more than confident in his ability to take on Ford and Ariane, before he’d been sidelined, despite everything that I’d told him. He wouldn’t have run from a fight, no matter how outmatched he was. An impulse I was beginning to recognize in myself. Was that volatility a side effect of the treatment, perhaps? I pushed that thought away.
Ariane frowned. “She wouldn’t see him as competition. She’s looking for you. That’s who she believes is representing St. John.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are you honestly telling me that if they somehow crossed paths, she wouldn’t take the opportunity to eliminate him, just in case?” And Adam’s arrogance almost guaranteed that he’d underestimate her and lose.
Ariane bit her lip, thinking, though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.
“It’s a huge city,” she said. “The odds are against it. But if Ford saw him, she would likely—”
A low hum filled the air, cutting out only to return a second later. It took me a moment to identify it. The phone in Ariane’s pocket, pressed between us. I could feel it against my leg, a vague tickle that I would not have likely even noticed in other circumstances.
She took a step back, fumbling in her pocket to pull the phone free.
A list of texts lit up the home screen.
“I didn’t think to check it until now,” Ariane murmured. “I didn’t feel it before.”
“Running for your life does tend to take up a lot of attention,” I said.
She looked up from the phone just long enough to roll her eyes at me.
Though I was looking at it upside down, I could tell that all the messages came from the same blocked number and contained the same demanding, condescending tone.
Keep moving. What are you doing?
Why are you stopped? You’re nowhere near your target.
Remember what’s at stake, 107.
Clearly, Dr. Jacobs had mastered the art of the nasty-gram. But it was the last one that really caught my attention.