UNSURPRISING: THE REC center’s jogging track is deserted when I arrive. It’s nearly half past two-morning. Not only is the track deserted, I have yet to see another soul on this entire deck. Good. I may only be able to run in circles—notaway, like I’d prefer—but at least I’m able torun. And run alone.
I pound a fast rhythm, until the neon art installations on the wall are nothing but a blur of bright streaks. I run and run and run, like I’m flying on wings made of fear and adrenaline, shedding dead weight as I go:
First, the paranoia—for this moment, at least, I can breathe.
Then, the numbness that’s turned me to stone.
Next, the sting of betrayal.
I leave these behind, knowing they’ll chase me down and climb back on the very second I stop, but for now, it feels good to forget.
It’s harder to shed the anger. Anger fuels my every step, my every thought, my every breath. I just can’t get past whysomeone would do this—orhow. Nothowas indeath by belladonna cocktail, buthowas inI cannot comprehend the mind of this killer. I imagine the mind of a murderer to be a twisted, tangled thing, the good parts suffocating while the terrible ones thrive the only way they know how: take, take, take. No remorse, no regret. Survival, and misery-loves-company, andif I’m dying inside, you get to, too.
That, I get. What I cannot wrap my thoughts around is how that twisted and tangled mess could possibly exist inside a person I’ve known my entire life. Haven, Heath. Leo, Zesi. Natalin. We’ve grown up together, here, inside the same walls, forever. We’ve experiencedeverythingtogether. We lost our parents together.
More than anything, that is the thorn that digs. I want nothing more than to be able to erase everyone’s pain: to stitch up the places where the things we love have been torn away. To heal. I want to make itbetter—I know what it feels like to wake up in the dead of night, sweating cold from nightmares. I would give anything to take all the nightmares away.
I do not understand the instinct tocreatethem.
Why, why, why, why: my feet beat the word into the track. And this latest message—does whoever sent it really expect me to blatantly lie after we’ve resolved to tell the truth? Lying would do nothing but hand over even more power. It’s not like it would prevent the deaths altogether—it would only prevent certainspecificdeaths.
I’ve already lost too many people I love, but I am the leader of this station. I cannot,willnot, prioritize my own comfort above everyone else’s.
That’s the heart of a killer, not a leader.
I run until everything burns, legs and lungs, and then I run more. I don’t stop until I feel peace with my decision. It’s a tough spot I’m in, and whoever’s pushed me here knows it—something terrible is going to happen no matter what I do. The deaths will keep coming, I’m sure of it.
There’s very little left I can control, very little I can do to ease my conscience. As I work through my options, I realize there’s really only one I can live with: turn the target on myself. If I continue on with our original plan—tell the station the truth—perhaps the killer will come for me, and not another of our core six. It’s a risk, for sure. They may not take the bait at all... or if they do, I may not recognize what’s happening until it’s too late.
I’ll just have to see them coming. End it before it begins.
I’ve been fumbling in a dark and chaotic world since the moment my mother left it. Nothing is like it was before, nothing issure—not anymore.
But if there’s one thing I know, it’s this: I’ve been ruled by fear for far too long now.
I refuse to bow down any longer.
57
SHADE UPON SHADOW
“WHERE WERE YOU this morning?” Haven greets me just outside the doors to the mezzanine balcony. “Not like you to no-show.”
I haven’t even peeked inside and the noise is already earsplitting. It’s a relief: I’ve been dreading the possibility of silence. “Needed some space,” I reply. I adjust my hoodie, try to make it look fresh after being worn for so many hours in a row.
“You could’vetoldme before I dragged myself out of bed in the dead of night,” she says. “You could’ve left the passcode or Vonn’s contact info behind, at the very least. You should’ve—”
“I know,” I cut her off. “I should have.”
I woke, on a patch of barren rec center floor, to the sound of Haven’s voice echoing from the speakers. She gave the morning announcement as planned, put out the call for our station-wide meeting.
It was onlyafterthe announcement that I noticed all the missed messages on my buzz screen. Tons from Haven—Whereare you???andHow do I call Vonn?? Instructions, plz?andAre we still going forward with our announcement, in light of that certain disturbing message we received last night???Mixed in with those were a slew of missed calls and other texts from Leo, Heath, and Natalin when they woke up to the mysterious threat from “Mila”—all equally freaked out, all with their questions questions questions—and a set of messages from Zesi, wondering where I’d disappeared to, if I would be coming back,Sorry Lindley I can’t stay awake any longer, headed to bed now, and on and on.
I ignored everything.
I did stop by Control, hoping Vonn had finally made it out of dark space—but when I logged in to the private inbox and resumed my futile attempts at contact, I was met with more of the same: utter silence. We’ve got little more than a day before they storm our station, maybe less if our estimated calculations are off—there’s still time to stop the attack, but not much. I’ll have to go back in a few hours, try again.
“So... um... ,” she says, snapping me back to this present moment. “What are you going to do?” She dips her head toward the balcony doors.
