My first thought is: get to Camilla. But as I step into the ring, I realize she’s no longer there. Scanning the room, I see her race through the open door in back. To search for the intruder?
I take off after her, growing madder by the second. Waiting for backup can mean the difference between life and death.
I lift a revolver from a table of weapons and burst into—a hallway. The lights are out, the windows covered. Darkness greets me, but I never slow my step.
“Camilla,” I shout.
“Cemetery girl...stop her...”
I can barely make out the words.
“Camilla,” I shout again, increasing my speed. I pass through another door and grind to a stop. Damn it. I’m in a large ballroom that has eight other doors.
When I find her...
There’s going to be trouble.
The girl who darted me at the cemetery is also a recruit. AKA the girl who went to the bathroom.
When she returned to the gym, she hung back in the doorway. Just in case. Our gazes locked, and when I gasped, she knew I knew her identity. I would have recognized BG’s blue-black hair and freckled face anywhere.
That’s when she pulled the alarm.
I almost ran her to ground a few minutes ago, but Frosty’s first shout distracted me and she gave me the slip. And since she’s been living here as a recruit, she knows what I don’t—the layout of the house. Now all I can do is chase her shadow.
She makes it upstairs and hurries around a corner. Pursuing her, I end up in another hallway, this one a smorgasbord of doorways. Twelve in total, each one closed. My heart pounding as I stop, and my ears twitch as I listen.
“Camilla!” Frosty’s voice echoes in the distance.
He sounds worried, but I know better. He wants to ensure I’m not planting bombs or selling secrets. Still, part of me longs to call out, to let him know I’m okay. But I don’t. I don’t want BG to pinpoint my location, and I don’t know what BG will do now that she’s been found out. Attack? Even dogs fight back when they’re backed into a corner. I won’t put Frosty at risk. I won’t be the reason he’s hurt.
As I move forward slowly, I keep my gun raised and my finger on the trigger. Hinges whine when I open the first door. I don’t enter the room, just reach inside to flip on the light. An unfurnished bedroom, dust on the floor. No sign of footprints.
I continue onward, opening door after door, finding no sign of entry. Where the hell—?
A clatter of noise erupts at my left. I turn. A mistake. At my right, I catch a brief glimpse of a sweat-dampened face and dark hair—Bathroom Girl—before I feel a sharp sting in my neck. Suddenly I’m falling backward, falling down...landing with a hard thump and gasping for breath I can’t quite catch. Warm liquid spills over me, soaking my shirt.
I drop the gun and reach up with hands now cold and shaking. They’re instantly drenched by something warm and wet. My throat has been...cut?
Hurried footsteps cause the wood beneath me to vibrate. The slam of a door registers, as does realization. BG left me here, alone, to bleed out.
My lungs burn for air, any bit of air. I’m going to die, even though I’ve never really lived. It’s the very fate I almost delivered to Ali, and I deserve it, I know I do, but I’m not ready. Not here, not now. Not like this. Not before I’ve saved Frosty.
Panic hits me, but it only makes my bleeding worse. Frosty could be... Fog drifts through my mind... Could be hurt...hurt, yes...oh! The pain. The burn. Hurt... I need to warn the others of the threat, but...but... And if I have any hope of survival, I need help, too. Help, yes... The fog is growing thicker by the second... Think, think...
I need...Frosty.
Yes! Frosty! He still hates me, but he wants me well so that Kat will continue to visit him. He’s the only person who won’t look at me and think “good riddance.”
No, no, not true. Justin. He’ll help me.
But I want Frosty.
As my strength dwindles and the burn rages on, I pat the ground for my gun. As soon as my fingers curl around the handle, I aim the barrel away from my body and squeeze the trigger. Boom! I try to fire again, but the muscles in my hand go lax.
A moment passes as I wait, an eternity.
Darkness begins to descend. I fight to remain conscious. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to end for me. Right? If I’m dead, how will I save Frosty? What will happen to him?
“Camilla!” Suddenly, frantic hands are pressing something, a cloth maybe, against my wound. “Who the hell did this to you?” He shouts for Cole... Bronx.
Bathroom Girl, I try to tell him, but no real sound emerges. I wish I could open my eyes, but I don’t have the strength. Cemetery. Darts. Again, no words escape. Blood bubbles up my ravaged throat and gurgles from the corners of my mouth.
Frosty curses with a violence that might have made me grin in any other situation. A moment later, the cloth is gone.
“This is going to hurt,” he says. “I’m sorry.”