Subject Twelve was nine.
Wu doesn’t deny it.
That’s the worst part.
“We were attempting neurological expansion under stress adaptation.”
I physically recoil.
Clay looks ready to kill him barehanded.
Russ’s face has gone cold in a way I’ve never seen before.
Not anger.
Judgment.
The kind that ends careers.
Wars.
Organizations.
Avery looks at me again.
And suddenly all the fury drains out of her expression.
Now she just looks devastated.
“You really don’t remember us.”
I shake my head helplessly.
“I’m trying, I remember little pieces.”
Tears spill down her face instantly.
“You used to sing to me.”
The words crack something open inside me.
And suddenly—
I remember the song.
Not all of it.
Just the melody.
Soft.
Quiet.
Children huddled together during storms while power flickered overhead.
Me singing because Avery cried when thunder shook the walls, and they killed her sister.
A strangled sound leaves my throat.
