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Her nog snaps up and her eyes lock with mine. “They used her blood or something?”
I give her a crooked smile. “Molly has a way about her. She radiates love and warmth and happiness like the rekking sun.” I hand her a helmet and mask. “For every shadow that lurked in Draven’s mind, Molly shone light. She healed the scars inside his mind by giving him her heart.”
Lyric’s eyes dart back and forth as though she’s peeling back layers to look inside me. I’d given her honesty with the truth-teller, but it’s like she needs to form her own opinions of me and my intentions. Breccan would call that using instinct over the obvious. Lyric is a good leader. I’ve trained enough under him to know one when I see one.
I help her put on her helmet and mask, making sure it’s safe and in working order. Once mine is on and we can hear each other’s breathing through the comms, I hand her a pack. It’s heavy and cumbersome, but she manages to put it on her back.
“You have a zonnoblaster for me?” I ask.
“Nice try,” she huffs, handing me a magknife. “Don’t make me regret this.”
I prefer the magknife over the zonnoblaster anyway. The zonnoblaster is Theron’s expertise.
“I won’t hurt you,” I tell her, my voice a raspy growl. “I promise.”
Rather than answering me, she starts for the decontamination bay, but I tug her away. “Not that one. It’s been compromised. We’ll use a different one.”
“But this one opens up, according to the maps, to an outside staircase leading down the side of the mountain,” she argues, her words crackling through the speaker in my helmet. It’s as though her husky words are inside my nog. I like them there. I like being connected to her through the comms.
I grip her wrist and guide her down a series of hallways. When she allowed us to roam, Theron and I made quick work of learning the area and finding information about the prison. We eventually come to a small decontamination bay like the one we have leading to The Tower back at the Facility.
“There’s nothing out there,” she says, pointing to the framed picture of what lies beyond the door. “We can’t get down from there.”
I tap my clawed fingertip to the very top, pointing at the antenna. “We’re not going down, female. We’re going up.”
7
Lyric
Going up.
Out of the prison.
I can’t remember the last time any of us went beyond the walls. Our last actual freedom was back on Earth II, which feels like eons ago. Hadrian is worried about the dangers, but all I can think about is the wide-open spaces. Being somewhere that isn’t the prison is a luxury I’m going to savor, no matter the risks.
“Here,” Hadrian says, lugging heavy gear toward me. “Put this on.”
“Where in the world did you find that?”
He drops the heavy gear by my feet. “There’s a storage room full of the stuff. The guards must have used it to trek over the mountains. We’ll need it to get to the top and repair the antenna safely. The cliffs are steep and the beasts that roam these lands won’t hesitate to try and drag you off for dinner.” Hadrian retrieves a length of rope and begins attaching it to his suit, then to mine.
“What are you doing?”
“Draven and Molly used this system when they had to travel through Gunteer Channel. It will ensure I don’t lose you if something happens.”
I roll my eyes at him. Who knew monsters could be so dramatic? “Nothing is going to happen.”
“I’d rather be safe,” he answers.
A warm fuzzy feeling fills my stomach and my breath catches in my throat. Protect me. That’s what he wants to do. He wants to protect me. I’ve been alone, protecting others for so long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like.
Hadrian finishes attaching the cords to his suit, then mine, and looks up at me. His eyes should freak me out, the way they’re black in all the wrong places and fathomless, like I could look into them forever and never reach the bottom. But instead, all I want to do is keep staring. It’s hypnotizing, looking into those dark eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks, breaking me out of my stupor. He straightens and takes a step closer to me. The bulk of his suit magnifies just how big he is as he hovers over me. “Do you feel sick?”
Oh, I feel sick all right.
Stupid sick.
“I’m fine,” I answer. “Let’s get going. I want to be to the ridge before dark.”
He eyes me over again, as though confirming the validity of my words, and says, “Keep behind me. Let me know over the comms if you’re having any difficulty.”
“I can keep up,” I bristle.
Famous last words.
We trek for an hour without speaking, but I learn a lot about Hadrian in those quiet moments. For one thing, he’s absolutely friggin’ tireless. The mountain rises around the prison like a natural barrier at an almost perfect gradual incline. I’m glad for the lack of conversation, because as my lungs ache and my breath wheezes, I don’t think I’d be able to talk even if I tried. All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and hoping I don’t make a fool out of myself.
