“It’s not like that.” It’s exactly like that. I hold Hart’s eyes and feel Griff’s hands all over me, pulling me apart.
Putting me back together.
I wish I could forget that. Being with Milo helped.
“What do you want with Griff?”
“I want to know if he’s like you—if he could use our help. Because I can help you, Wick. You just have to trust me. You have to be honest. Tell me about Griff. He’s like you, isn’t he?” Hart lifts his arm and I jerk—can’t help it, hate myself for doing it, but I shrink—and Hart’s laugh is a sudden sputter.
“Did you just flinch?” He puts his hand on the armrest as the town car accelerates into the far lane. We make a hard left turn onto a deserted side street. I’ve been so busy talking to Hart that I haven’t paid any attention to where we are and now I’m truly lost. We’re surrounded by nothing but concrete-and-glass office buildings. Everything looks the same.
“That father of yours,” Hart says softly, so softly he could be talking to some frightened animal or threatening a gunman. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he? I’m sorry I startled you. I’ll have to remember that.”
If he’d said that in Bren’s peach-and-cream living room, it would have been a threat. Another dare. I would’ve retaliated. I would’ve lied. No point anymore though, right?
Even so, Hart’s digging for a response. I just don’t know what to give him. Play along? Agree? It’s the truth. My father wasn’t the only monster I’ve ever faced, but he’s the only one who came for me in the light. I know this. Hart probably knows this. Why are things that are the truest so hard to say?
Our driver stops the town car at an underground garage entrance, and after a beat the gate lifts and we coast through a mostly empty parking deck, casting slanted shadows under the yellow lights.
“You look worried, Wick.” The car stops, parks, but neither of us moves to get out. Hart tilts his head as he considers me. “Don’t worry. You’ll tell me all about Griffin eventually. One day soon, you’ll trust me. Everyone does.”
Maybe, but not at Griff’s expense. Those are not my secrets to tell, and besides, this only proves that Griff was right: Once you make yourself useful to the wrong people, you’re never free. I will gladly spend the rest of my life making sure that never happens to him.
There’s a clanging to our right as a freight elevator descends into the parking deck. I watch through my window as it hits the pavement. The rusted doors grind open, revealing a five-foot-by-five-foot square of chrome and polished wood, security camera in the corner, and security keypad by the gate lock. I take a steadying breath, realizing I’m already trying to plan my escape route even though I know, if I go up, I’m not coming back down.
Hart opens his door. “Welcome to Looking Glass.”
5
The freight elevator climbs and climbs and I count every floor. We’re thirty stories up now and still rising, and even though I’m starting to sweat, I kind of wish I could see it. I’ve never been so high.
And we just keep going.
Hart’s on his iPhone again, only putting it away when the elevator finally stops. There’s a pause before the doors open, revealing a stark white foyer—shiny white floor and shiny white walls. It’s like standing in a deserted Apple Store, and I can admit that my inner geek is . . . interested.
Hart motions to me. “After you.”
It takes me a breath, but I push myself forward, walking off the elevator on spongy joints.
“Is that the new girl?”
I jerk, realizing there’s someone to my right, and retreat a step before reminding myself to hold my ground.
Hart steps off the elevator still tapping on his phone. “Oh, hey. Glad you’re here.”
“Where else would I be?” the girl asks without taking her dark eyes off me.
“Yeah . . . true.” Hart stares at both of us, brows drawn together. “Alejandra, this is Wick. Wick, this is Alejandra—”
“Alex,” she says.
“Alex,” Hart agrees. “You two are going to be roommates.”
Oh joy. Alex is a little taller, a little older, and staring me down like she’s trying to decide exactly how she’s going to kick my ass.
“I have a meeting that’s just been scheduled.” Hart squints at the iPhone’s screen. “Do you think you could get Wick to the infirmary and then—”
Now Alex is backing up. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Car accident. No big deal though, right, Wick?” Hart has that easy, plastic smile on again, and if I learn anything from being here, I want to learn that.
“No, no big deal,” I say.
“Wick banged her head,” Hart continues. “And got some cuts and bruises. Can you take her by the infirmary and then show her around, fill her in on how we do stuff? She needs to be with the boss in twenty minutes or so.”
Alex buries both hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “Fine.”