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"These tests won't hurt you." Blaise takes a deep breath. "But, if you really don't want to get them done, then you don't have to."
Swallowing hard, I nod and open my eyes. "I don't think I want to. Not right now, anyway."
He nods understandingly. "With us, you always have a choice. No one will ever force you to do anything." He extends his hand toward me and laces his fingers through mine. "Ready for this?"
"I ... I think so."
He gives my hand a squeeze then carefully pulls off my sunglasses. "How hard is it to see without these?"
I rub my eyes and blink. "It's okay. It stings a little, but it's nowhere near as bad as outside."
"You think you'll be okay? Because it's better if you don't wear them down here. It might draw some attention."
"I can do it."
His lips lift into a ghost of a smile. "Good."
He tucks the sunglasses into the pocket of his hoodie then enters the room, pulling me along with him. The chatter hits my eardrums like a dull scratching of nails against metal. I want to cover my ears, but I worry that will draw attention to me.
Blaise skims the crowd then steers us right, pushing his way toward a timber counter lining the wall. I curl my shoulders inward as elbows and arms prod me in the side. Even slouched over, I suddenly become aware of how tall I am. I'm not nearly as tall as Blaise, but I am taller than at least half the people in this room.
How did I go so long without realizing I'm tall? What else am I going to discover about myself? Will I finally see what I look like? The idea is exciting yet worries me at the same time, because what if I don't like what I see?
By the time we reach the counter, I'm a nervous mess and worried everyone can tell.
"You're doing fine," Blaise says under his breath.
I clutch his hand as he rests an elbow on top of the counter. When a couple of men walk by, eyeballing me, I inch forward and press myself against Blaise. Calmness settles over me, like how Ryder made me feel safe in the channels, and I step even closer.
Blaise's body goes rigid, and his breath catches in his throat. He doesn't move, thankfully, and I let the comfort sink in, breathing into the back of his jacket. The fabric smells like dirt mixed with something else ... something warm and soothing, yet I can't place the scent.
"Hey, Zaire," Blaise greets an older man with a long, grey beard standing on the other side of the counter. "How's it going?"
Zaire glances up from pouring amber liquid into a cup, and a smile lights up his face. "Well, holy shit! Look who it is. Good God, the last time I saw you, you went running out into a dirt storm like a crazy-ass motherfucker." He sets down the pitcher and pats Blaise's shoulder. "I've gotta be honest. I didn't think I'd see you after the last time you left. I thought the damn dirt storm would rip ya to shreds."
"The storm wasn't that bad," Blaise says with a simple shrug. "Reece and Ryder were fine, too. It's not that big of a deal. We needed to get back to the station and couldn't wait any longer for the stupid storm to blow over, so we went."
"Yeah, well, I think you're all crazy. Always trying to save the world. What you don't get, is not everyone in the world wants to be saved." He gives Blaise's shoulder a friendly shake, and then his gaze lands on me. "And who's this lovely, little thing?"
I resist the urge to duck behind Blaise. While I don't know Zaire, I'm not getting a troubling vibe from him like I did with Maxx.
Blaise lifts his arm over my head and lowers his hand to the base of my back. "This is Allura." He steers me to his side. "She's new to the station. Today was her first mission."
He takes in the dirt on my skin and clothes and the sling on my arm. "She looks pretty beaten up."
"We ran into a Tracker." Blaise's fingers lightly graze my back. "She did well, though. Most people panic and try to run. She stayed by me and was pretty calm."
I was? I sure didn't feel calm.
"Damn good thing she did." Zaire collects a glass off a shelf behind him. "You know, I've been doing a little research on Trackers." He looks at me. "They're horrible creatures, as I'm sure ya know, and nearly indestructible. The only thing that scares them is an electromagnetic pulse, and that's only a temporary solution. They always return until they eliminate their target."
I nod, like I already know all of this. On the inside, though, my pulse is erratic. Blaise said the Tracker would probably return, but he never mentioned it'd keep searching until the target was eliminated.
"Maxx mentioned there'd been a lot around lately and that you'd been looking into why." Blaise sinks onto a stool in front of the counter then pulls out another for me.
I cautiously sit down, unable to recollect the last time I sat on a stool. Never maybe?
"I have. And I have a couple of theories," Zaire says. "One being that I think the Watchers are looking for something and using the Trackers to try to track it down."
"Like what?" Blaise asks. "Humans? Nameless? Why up the Trackers just for that?"
"I don't think it's a who but a what," Zaire says. "My best guess is an alternate food source, but I'm still looking into the exacts."
"You'll have to let me know what you find out." Blaise rests his arms on the countertop. "If the watchers are shifting habits and looking for another food source, we need to find out. That's always been one of our biggest problems. We're always one step behind everything they do."
"I'll let you know when I find out more. I agree with you, though. We definitely need to stay ahead of them for once." Zaire places glasses in front of Blaise and me then collects a mug from the counter. "Now who wants a drink?"
Blaise hastily places his hand over the top of the glass. "Actually, do you have any bottles of water back there?"
Zaire sets down the mug, grunting in frustration. "Damn you, boy. How many times do we gotta go through this before you realize not everyone is Lucille?"
"I know that," Blaise says, keeping his hand over the glass. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to let my guard down like that ever again. I learned my lesson."
"So, you think I'd drug ya and drag you off to my room, huh?" Zaire asks, seeming amused. "Don't take this the wrong way, but ya ain't my type."
"That's not what I'm saying." Blaise scoffs. "I just don't feel comfortable taking a drink that could have anything in it."
Zaire chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners. "So, you can run into a dirt storm, but you can't drink water from a mug. Man, you really let Lucille fuck with your head."
"Who's Lucille?" I find myself asking.
When both their gazes slide to me, I worry maybe I've asked something wrong.
Zaire casts a haughty grin at Blaise before looking back at me. "He hasn't told you the story?"
I shake my head, my curiosity piquing.
Blaise's head bobbles back as he groans. "I haven't told her yet, and I'd rather not."
Zaire rests back against the wall behind him, crossing his arms. "You dating her?"
"What? No." Blaise looks horrified by the idea.
I admit, his rejection stings, even though I have no desire to date anyone. But am I that revolting?
I glance down at the dirt, scars, and wounds covering my body and try to picture a face that matches. I cringe at the mental image, realizing I could very well be hideous. Then again, after everything, does it really matter? At least I'm alive.
"Jesus, boy, ya don't need to sound so upset about it." Zaire flicks a pressing glance in my direction, but Blaise seems perplexed. Zaire shakes his head, straightens his stance, and bends down in front of a red and white cooler behind the counter. "You have the worst people skills."
Confusion gradually vanishes from Blaise's expression. "Fuck, I didn't mean it like that." He yanks his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots. "I just ..." He turns to me, his knee bumping into mine. "Allura, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"You didn't," I lie. "I didn't even think about it really."
"Still, I'm really sorry. It's just that ...
" He sucks his lip piercing into his mouth, seeming annoyed with himself.
Zaire plops two bottles of water down in front of us. "The best way to say you're sorry is to humiliate yourself, by telling her what happened with Lucille."
If looks could kill, Zaire would be dead where he stands. Clearly, Blaise doesn't want me to know about whatever happened with Lucille, and I want to respect his privacy. It's such a valuable thing.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." I cup my hand around the dewy bottle to open the lid but realize I can't without using both hands.
Blaise sighs, pries the bottle from my hand, and unscrews the cap. "It's fine. It's just a stupid story." He returns the bottle to me and lets me chug down a few gulps before continuing. "Lucille's just someone who hangs out here a lot."
"She's actually right over there." Zaire points to someone behind us, his eyes glimmering mischievously.
I'm not sure why he seems so entertained by making Blaise uncomfortable. Is it normal to act this way? I feel like such a weirdo that I have absolutely no clue what's funny and what's not.
Still, I tilt my head to discreetly peer over my shoulder. A few people are in the general vicinity of where Zaire is pointing, but I'm almost sure Lucille is the woman glaring in our direction. She looks about Blaise's age, maybe a year or two older, with flowing, black hair; pretty facial features; and intense eyes. She's wearing shorts that cover up less of her legs than my shirt does, and a fitted tank top that forms to her curvy body. I suddenly become extremely aware of how frail and bony my own body is.
I turn back around, draping an arm across my stomach. "She's very pretty."
