Page 26 of Lost and Bound

My lungs burn, and my legs are like rubber. I can’t remember the last time I ran so hard, but every step I take, I’m so damn grateful for keeping up my fitness I could cry.

It feels like forever, but a part of my brain reminds me the teacher said five minutes. Maybe I’m not as fit as I thought I was. I force myself to stop thinking; it’s only slowing me down. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other and making my lungs work.

Orion suddenly lists to the side, and I grab his shirt, my arms aching as I use a burst of energy and adrenaline to pull him back on course. He recovers, but there’s a flash of movement, and I realize we’re surrounded by a sea of students. My heart thuds and my muscles lock up. I expect to be shunted out of the way, but instead, the people next to us fling themselves forward before collapsing on the ground, struggling to breathe.

It takes a few moments to register that we have crossed an invisible line and finished the course. I lean forward and brace my hands on my knees, but Orion clicks his fingers in front of my face, and I jerk to a stand and dart behind him again.

We turn and watch the other students finishing behind us.

Everyone is legging it, and a lot of the stragglers are bruised and bleeding, but they all share the same look of determination, racing with similar intensity. They make it—by barely a second. A loud, shrill whistle cuts through the sound of the entire class gasping for air. It renders them silent and standing at attention.

“Laps until the end of class.”

He spins on his heel, and those around me move. The class sorts itself back into colors, and a line is formed for each. At a sign or a sound that I miss, everyone runs.

Then it really feels like forever until the end-of-class siren sounds. No one collapses or talks, everyone turns and picks up speed, racing for the change rooms.

“Just grab your stuff. I’ll meet you out front,” Orion whispers, and I don’t miss the urgency in his voice.

It’s like before, the flat-out run leaves me with lead-filled legs and lungs that burn. I burst through the doors after scooping up the box with all my stuff and nearly knocking people out of the way.

Orion is there, waiting, his face red like a tomato and covered in sweat. I’m sure we match.

“What the hell was that?”

“Coach Anders is sweet once you get to know him,” Orion remarks, and his smile gets bigger the more I stare at him. “At least today is done.”

“Not yet. I have so much homework, it’s not funny.”

“Let’s have an early dinner, then.”

“No shower first? I must stink.” I check by pulling the neck of my shirt open, which he blatantly ignores. His next mission is to get us to the dining hall as quickly as possible.

At least the class has similar intentions—to get away as quickly as possible. There’s a general lack of menace in the air compared with earlier, but then again, the golden coats are still absent.

I go to ask him what happened to the celestials—as their literal disappearance is still pretty mind-boggling—but Orion’s hand flies up. “No questions unless it’s about food.”

Considering he hasn’t done me wrong yet, it’s easy to stay quiet and walk next to him on tired legs. Around us, people are going about their business, and there’s a cool breeze in the air and the smell of snow. I shiver thinking about how cold my room is going to be in the middle of winter. I hope that between then and now, I can fix my window properly. Maybe I just need the right tools, and I could use one of the windows from the other rooms next to mine. I add asking Orion where to find some tools to the growing list of questions.

I dig out my device and switch it on, feeling some of the tension I’ve been holding let go. I’ve got plenty of time for the work I want to get done. Given how tired I am, I’m not sure I’ll accomplish as much as I want to, but I feel better knowing I’ll get a few good hours in.

It blows my mind that only days ago, I was watching TV while eating leftovers from the community center with a growing resentment toward the government. Now I’m part of the reason there are fences around human cities and enforcers prowling the streets.

So far, I can’t say for sure what terrifies me more—that the government was right about how dangerous the others were or the fact that I’m one of them too. Because the truth is, so far, from what I’ve seen, I can’t say I’m impressed or in awe.

We wind our way through the dining hall, aiming for where we sat earlier, right in the back. Which is cool. I’ve never been wild about being the center of attention.

Orion waves me to the line, putting me in front of him again. Instead of questioning how easy it is being with him, and how in such a short amount of time I trust him, I simply go with it. Time will tell if my instincts are right, and maybe I’m leaning into what I saw when we first met, but it really does feel like we’ve always known each other.

I take a tray and shuffle along the line, accepting a plate from the server. Unlike breakfast, there are no options, but as it was this morning, our food comes from what the other Houses don’t want. I’m generally a fan of leftovers, but it’s the message that every person here keeps reinforcing that I don’t love—Noms are at the bottom of the pecking order. Luckily, my parents taught me not to be hindered by judgment.

I sit, placing my box beside me, my tummy rumbling at the sight of the odd fusion of cuisine. There’s seriously no rhyme or reason to the food on the plate, but it’s warm and it smells okay.

“Is it a potluck dinner every night?” I ask, smiling at Orion as he prods at his plate with a fork.

I crack up when he looks at me like I’m speaking alien. For the first time, he looks at me strangely. “I take it that’s a human phrase?” he asks slowly.

I think he’s finally remembering I’m more human than he ever will be. Or was, apparently.