“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“But you’re right,” Rhys said. “Dad could be involved. How can I know for sure he wouldn’t do something like that to his own family? He’s not above it, what with the way he fed me to that place.”
“The Greenland facility . . .”
Rhys sucked in a haggard breath, his body shaking as he did. “Brendan was right. It used to be prestigious. But then things started getting out of control. Fisk-Hoffman died and the facility was left in the hands of his sadistic son. Training got more brutal. People didn’t even start to notice until they could see the effects on its graduates. Andrew Brighton, for one.”
The Surgeon. The Sect agent who’d turned his well-honed interrogation skills into a method of serial killing. That’s what Brendan meant by Fisk-Hoffman’s “rough patch.” Understatement of the century.
“Vasily’s mom, too,” I said, remembering Vasily’s face screwed up in pain as Brendan forced him to look at the picture of his dead mother.
Rhys nodded. “They weren’t from the same cohort, so they wouldn’t have known each other. But they graduated from the same cruel system. Brighton’s murders finally brought what was happening at the facility to the Sect’s attention, and the Council took it over. It was supposed to be a new leaf. That’s what they told everyone, anyway. My cohort was supposed to be different, but . . .” He exhaled, shaking his head. “It wasn’t. They taught us not to think. To be cruel. To do what was necessary.”
I wondered what memories Rhys saw when he closed his eyes. But he didn’t have to tell me for me to understand. Vasily, Jessie, himself. Their deeds spoke volumes. I knew all too well the legacies of that place.
“After the fire, the few of us who survived signed nondisclosure agreements to never speak about what had happened, and by then I was too broken to disobey anymore. Brendan doesn’t even know. Dad never let on one way or another, but maybe he did. Maybe Mom knew all along too what that place did to me.”
“I don’t know,” I said quickly, because Rhys looked shattered at the thought of his mother hurting him. “Your mom said there are members in the Council helping Saul. She only found out about that recently. They were probably the ones who knew. What if they kept it open on purpose? And grabbing some of those kids was part of the plan? What if they started the fire?”
I knew I was getting ahead of myself, but I was still surprised to see Rhys react so strongly. His body went rigid at the mere suggestion.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice hollow. “Look, I don’t know. If that’s true, I don’t know if they would have chosen Jessie and the rest for their project. I don’t know if Dad was in on it. The only thing I know is that Dad wanted me broken and he got his wish. He said it was the way it should be. Loyalty. It’s in our family’s blood. Mom believed that too. We lived for the Sect. The facility burned it into me and my dad made sure I didn’t forget.”
A trigger can’t pull itself. That’s what Naomi had told me. Neither parent had ended the suffering their philosophies and actions had caused their son.
“But now,” Rhys said, standing up, “I’m here for you. To help you.”
That was when I remembered I was talking to Natalya’s murderer. A chill seeped into my voice. “The four of us are fine. We don’t need your help.”
“You do,” Rhys said. “Rosa didn’t tell anyone but me.”
“Tell you what?”
Rhys held up his hand. “My mother’s wedding ring. She had a hunch, so she took it off and examined it. It was bugged.”
Bugged. The heat rushed from my head as I considered the consequences. “You mean . . . someone was listening to our conversation?” When Rhys nodded, I inhaled sharply and turned. “So they already know we’re here. I have to hurry.”
It’d been way past ten minutes, and I’d gone far deeper into the trees than I’d meant to. The other girls were probably searching for me. And if Rhys could find me, we didn’t have any more time to spare.
“I’m coming with you.”
He reached for me, but I jerked my hand away before he could touch it. “No. I told you we don’t need you.”
“I can help. Let me prove myself to you.”
“Forget it.” I was determined to ignore the way his wounded expression shook me. I kept my hands curled into fists and pressed against my side, to keep them still. “I appreciate you telling me about what happened. But it doesn’t change the fact that you killed Natalya. No matter how I . . .” I caught myself, the words catching in my throat despite my efforts to submerge my ache beneath a slab of ice. “Regardless of anything, you deserve to be in jail.”
“No. I deserve to die.” He said it simply as if talking about the weather. “But I still want to help you. When I know you’re safe and it’s all over, I’ll turn myself in. I already decided that a long time ago.”
I fought to keep my trembling lips steady. “If they tell you to kill me, will you do it?”
“I already told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“What makes me so special? Why do you care?”
For the first time, his lips cracked into a sad smile, hesitant and unsure. “I’m in love with you,” he told me. “Maybe because you make me feel like the man I should have been.”
My body felt numb. I didn’t know how to respond.
He stood before me, broken, and it was then I realized that he’d been in pieces long before I’d even met him. He’d just been so very good at hiding it. And I couldn’t forgive him. But I couldn’t ignore the soft longing in my heart. I couldn’t ignore his pleading eyes or the tears they must have shed during each terrible night in the Devil’s Hole.
He deserved to be in jail. I didn’t want him near me and I couldn’t stand him being apart from me. It was an infuriating contradiction. My chest throbbed from the pain of it. So I compromised instead.
“Here’s the number of our burner phone.” I gave him the digits. He only needed to hear it once before nodding to confirm he’d memorized it. “You can be our lookout. Let us know if trouble’s coming.”
“You mean the Sect,” he said.
He moved toward me, and I stepped back quickly, turning away. “I’m trusting you,” I said, my back to him. “Don’t betray me like you did Natalya.”
And without waiting for a response, I left him speechless among the trees.
27
AT NIGHT, THE STREET LAMPS illuminated the narrow cobbled streets and tall buildings in a romantic golden hue. The National Museum stood proud like a castle of the ancient world of Eastern Europe, its dome lit up white, its brick splashed red and gold from the tall lamps in the front court. We parked far enough away to not draw attention and began our trek around the back of the building. After hopping the fence, we scuttled past the moss-covered brick to the metal scaffolding stretching up the building.
“Lake, you have the cigar box in there, right?” I pointed at the knapsack she carried on her back.