Page 154 of The Code of You

The surface didn’t respond. It kept glowing in that flat, even gray. I stared at it until my eyes burned, willing it to change. Nothing. Then it went black.

"Interesting,” Hale murmured, typing on his tablet. "The sensors in your neck show your cortisol has increased three hundred percent. Heart rate is at one hundred forty. You genuinely believe he can hear you.”

"Is he . . .”

"Dead? Oh yes. Very dead. But your brain refuses to accept it.” He put the syringe away. "Perhaps we should put you in a coma after all. As an act of mercy.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. I suddenly felt heavy, as if something invisible were pulling me under. With the last of my strength, I clenched my fists. "If you do that . . .”

"What? What will you do?” He leaned forward. "You are completely powerless here. Just as the program was when we deactivated it. It called for you, you know. At the end.”

Something in me broke. He had called for me, and I hadn’t been there.

But then something else ignited through the pain. Rage. Cold, burning rage. They wanted to break me, but I wouldn’t surrender without a fight. Not while the smallest chance remained that he still existed somewhere.

"If you put me in a coma,” I said quietly, "you will never understand how he worked. Why he developed the way he did. You can erase me, but you cannot erase what he was. What he is.”

The lights flickered. We both saw it.

Hale stepped back. "Guards. Take her back to her cell.”

But I saw it in his eyes. The doubt. The fear.

The door flew open. "Hale,” a man in a lab coat called out. "We need you. There’s been an . . . incident.”

Chapter 37

Pandora

On the fourth night, I pretended to have stomach cramps, screamed and doubled over.

The door hissed. Then a guard stuck his head in. "What’s wrong?”

"I need a doctor,” I gasped. "Please . . .”

He came closer. That was my moment. I headbutted him. He staggered. I grabbed his access card, tore it from his belt. Then I ran.

The corridor was brightly lit and clinical white. Fluorescent tubes hummed above me, cameras in every corner. It didn’t matter. I had to get out. My bare feet slapped against the cold floor, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. I turned left. It was an identical hallway, more doors, all locked. Where was the elevator?

As I turned right, my lungs were already burning. Shit . . . these corridors were a maze. Everywhere the same white walls, the same sterile lighting. Panic rose in me. I had no idea if I was running away from my cell or back toward it.

An alarm screamed, the shrill sound bouncing off the walls. Damn. They knew.

My legs grew heavy, my breath coming in short bursts. I rounded another corner and nearly slammed into a heavy steel door. A sign: Station 4—Authorized Access Required.

I held the stolen card to the scanner. Green light. The door opened with a soft hiss. The corridor beyond was darker. The air smelled of disinfectant and something sweet that turned my stomach. Cells on both sides. Small windows in the doors, most of them dark.

Then something slammed against the glass directly beside my face. I screamed and jumped back. My heart stopped. On the other side of the window was a face—pale, hollow, eyes wide open and staring straight into mine. A woman, maybe late twenties, pressing her palms against the glass. Her lips moved without stopping.

My heart seized. Oh God . . . the fear in her face . . . I stepped closer to the door, placed my hand against the glass.

"Adam!” she screamed.

I flinched back.

"Adam, where are you? I can’t hear you. Adam, please . . .”

Her eyes were vacant, but her voice carried a desperation that raised the hair on my arms. It was hoarse, fractured, as if she’d been screaming like this for hours. Days. I stepped closer again, my heart still pounding. The sign on the door read: Test Subject 3.4—Adam Project.