She stared at him like he was speaking another language. All of it, everything, had been an attempt to see if they were evolving. The headaches. The irritability. The fighting among themselves. The scrape of anger clawed her once more. “It was under the Warden’s orders, wasn’t it? And those researchers were more than happy to screw with our heads. But we could have killed each other, like the last groups. We still could! When Rolf finds out Nok’s sleeping with Leon, it could all go to hell!”
She sank forward, resting her tired head in her hands, trying to quiet the millions of thoughts warring for her attention. Her neck throbbed as though the Warden’s icy grip was still there. No wonder he’d been willing to kill her—she wasn’t being a good little specimen. She wished she had never awakened in that desert, and seen that ocean, with its strange shimmer and its dead body. Why had they even given them an ocean, anyway? Was it just more manipulation? There was no puzzle there. Eight puzzles in the habitats, eight in the shops—that’s what Cassian had said. And all the environments they’d found had a puzzle: the treetop ropes course in the forest, the maze in the desert, the scavenger hunt in the swamp, the musical puzzle in the grasslands, the harvest game in the farm, the temple maze in the jungle, and the sledding race in the arctic habitat.
A strange tickle spread down her back, painful but not like a headache, and she pinched herself hard. That was only seven. That meant there had to be an eighth, and the ocean was the only habitat left. Maybe it was a puzzle they couldn’t solve—because it was hidden by perceptive technology.
Because it was the fail-safe exit.
She pinched herself harder. She might not be psychic, but she was smart enough to pierce through their lies. She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood, and leaned forward. If she was right, they could all escape. “Give me another chance. Take me back to the cage, just for one more day. You might not have been the one manipulating us, but you went along with it. You owe me.”
Even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t quite true. How many times had he bent the rules for her?
He turned his head. “That is against protocol.”
“So was taking me to the menagerie. So is having me in your bedroom, I’m guessing. Admit it—you know what they’re doing is wrong. You know I’m more than a gender and a number. I’m a person. Like you.”
Her heart hammered. It was excruciating, being so close to this beautiful bronzed creature who wasn’t human but who was so similar. A crazy thought entered her head: Maybe Lucky was right to be jealous.
His hand flexed on the table, close enough that their fingers brushed, and the spark ran through her, straight to her heart.
“Why do you wish to go back,” he asked, “when we both you know will never obey?”
She bit the inside of her cheek harder, masking her thoughts with pain. “Don’t ask me that. Please. I can’t tell you.”
That’s why the ocean had pulsed so strangely that day—because her eyes knew they were being tricked. Her body knew there was something wrong with the ocean, more than just her fear of deep water.
“I would be risking much for you, Cora. If the Warden found out, we would both be severely punished.”
She didn’t let herself think. “That’s what I want.”
He paused. “Then I will help you. And I will not ask why.”
Silence shrouded the room, but Cora didn’t mind. It was a reprieve from the cage. From her thoughts. From her loneliness. Cassian refilled the glass, and they took turns sipping. For the rest of the night they sat in his spartan quarters and talked, and then they didn’t talk, and they listened to the silence around them.
Cora’s head jerked. She had fallen asleep sitting up. She tried to stand but stumbled, shaky. Cassian stood too, to keep her from falling.
“You should rest,” he said. “When you wake, I will return you to your enclosure.”
He was asking her if she could walk, but she couldn’t find the words to answer. She just wanted to sleep. Her thoughts kept drifting back to her bed at home, the quilt that Sadie liked to curl up on. Even with all the pain, and hurt, and loneliness, she wanted that life back.
The ground fell away from her; he was carrying her to the other room as though she weighed nothing. Her head lolled, her hair dangling. Then came a temperature change and a softness as her body relaxed into the familiar comfort of a bed, though it was harder than she’d like. Her muscles unwound in a way they hadn’t in weeks.
“I will wait in the other room,” he said.
She shook her head. She reached out a hand to touch him, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or pull his warmth closer.
“I still have to try,” she whispered.
He didn’t ask her to elaborate, because if he could see in her head, he had to know what she meant: she couldn’t live in a cage. And she couldn’t let the others continue to slide away from humanity.
“Not now,” he said. “Now, just rest.”