The Girl Who Dared to Think (The Girl Who Dared #1)

Roark looked up from where he was pacing, his eyes wary and alarmed. The shadows under his eyes had darkened, and the creases on his brow seemed to have grown deeper, spreading from cracks into canyons. When he saw Grey, however, his eyes widened and relief shone brightly through.

“Grey,” he breathed.

“Hey, old man,” Grey said, stepping forward and away from my support.

Roark wrapped him in a fierce hug, tears springing to his eyes. “You damnable fool,” the old man groused into Grey’s shoulder. “If you ever give away your pills and don’t tell me again, I swear I’ll...!”

Grey pulled away, grinning. “You can’t scare me today, old man. I’m alive.”

Roark scowled. “Yeah, well, you’re extremely lucky you are—and you owe a debt to Liana.”

Grey looked over at me, his eyes steady and calm as they met mine. “I do,” he affirmed. The look caused me to feel uncertain, the heavy, confident weight behind his words making me feel exposed somehow. And for some reason, I didn’t hate it. It caused my heart to skip a whole sequence of heartbeats before breaking into a step-dance rhythm.

“You’re injured,” Roark grumbled, taking a step away and studying Grey. “And you’re weak. I’m guessing they didn’t feed you, did they?”

“They said it was a waste of resources,” I replied, and I felt an accompanying burst of anger at the whole thing. “Listen, we need to talk about all this.”

“In a minute,” Roark replied as he inspected Grey’s wound. “Did you stop by the Medica first?”

“We had to,” I explained. “Gerome sent us.”

“What did they do, and did they give him any medication?”

“Roark, relax,” Grey said, his eyes opening and closing sluggishly. “Just a leech patch.”

“And Zoponal,” I added. Roark nodded, giving me a grateful look, and I knew he was asking in case he had to give Grey any additional medication, so he wouldn’t give him something that didn’t react well with what was already in his system. “I’m not sure what it is, just heard the Medics say it when they gave it to him. Is he okay?”

“He’s going to be fine,” Roark replied. “Zoponal is a sedative, a part of it lies dormant in the system until the heart starts beating too quickly, and then it goes to work.”

“Zoponal is nice,” Grey said, his eyes now mostly shut. Roark looked at him for a second, and then moved over to the table to pick up an injection gun and a vial. He popped the vial in and pressed it against Grey’s neck, injecting the medication.

Grey murmured sleepily and then jerked upright, his eyes widening. “Oh, my

God,” he said, slumping back. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“Pain is good, boy,” Roark chided. “Reminds you you’re alive. And I’ll give you something for it later, but I wanted you awake enough to talk. They got you good, though.”

They? Got him good? I frowned and looked at the wound on Grey’s chest, now cleansed of the infection, trying to understand what could’ve left such a jagged cut. I remembered wondering about it earlier, but assumed he had just scraped it on something when he was caught. Now I was beginning to wonder.

“It was a baton,” Roark said, noticing my curiosity. I arched an eyebrow, my hand automatically going to my own baton, when he added, “The tip of one.”

I felt a shiver run up my spine at the words. While the batons were intended to deliver a harsh electric shock, the device that generated the electric pulse on the tip was actually quite sharp. Getting scraped by one while it wasn’t charged was bad enough, and the scar it could leave was downright awful. But if it were charged? It was the focus point for the entire charge, which was strong enough to stop an organ, depending on where it was pointed. I stared at the red mark, wondering how many similar wounds my parents or Gerome had caused over the years.

“I’m sorry,” I said. It was silly to apologize—it wasn’t even my fault—but I still felt responsible. I should’ve known something was going on. I’d lived in the Citadel my entire life, and it felt wrong to have missed the Knights’ cruelty this entire time. And now it had hurt a friend of mine—almost killed him. And I had been a part of the system that was allowing it to happen.

Then Roark began rolling up the sleeve on his own right arm, revealing a long white mark. “That’s from when they came for my Selka,” he said. “I wasn’t inclined to let them take her.”

He picked up a jar full of pink cream that I recognized as a dermal bond, and began applying it to the skin with a long, thin spatula. “Normally, the dermal bond would heal the flesh and leave no scar, but the electrical charge cauterizes the edges.”

“Just like with burns,” I said, thinking about my time with the Medica, and a few of the burn victims who had been healed but still had wavy scars where the fire had scorched them.

“Exactly,” he said, smearing more pink goop into the wound. “You spent some time on Medica detail.”

“I did,” I replied. “Interdepartmental classes.”

Roark smiled and took a step back, revealing Grey, his face still pale and his jaw clenched. “That stuff always stings,” Grey grunted, slowly climbing to his feet. “I’m going to bed.”

“No, you’re not,” Roark said, crinkling his nose. “You’re filthy and hungry. Go take a shower and change, and we’ll have something to eat waiting for you.”

Grey shot an annoyed look at Roark. “And then bed?”

“And then talk and then bed.”

“Fine,” Grey grumbled. “I guess a shower and something clean would be wonderful.”

He left through a door at the back, and a moment later, I heard the hiss of a shower starting up. Roark moved about the room, pulling down various foodstuffs and arranging them on a plate. Some slices of brown bread, a few grapes, and a leaf of lettuce.

“Bah,” he said as he stared down at the motley assortment. “I was never any good as a homemaker.”

I moved deeper into the room to take a look, and shrugged. “I’m pretty sure he’s not going to care,” I commented, and Roark’s frown deepened.

“I should go get him something else,” he said. “This isn’t a meal that really screams I just cheated death, you know?”

I snorted. “I’m pretty sure whatever you eat just after that is going to taste amazing. So don’t worry about it.”

Roark placed the plate on the table with a clunk, and then looked at me. “I haven’t told you thank you yet, have I?”

I shifted, uncomfortable, but made the decision not to answer. I really hadn’t done this for thanks, and it made me uncomfortable. I shouldn’t be thanked for doing the right thing—we should all just... do it. Drawing attention to it meant that I had done something extraordinary, but I hadn’t.