normal things that could happen in the world.
It’s unbelievable that they feed people that kind of bullshit, and it’s unbelievable that people eat it up.
But when I’m being super honest with myself, I’ll admit that what scares me the most is that, if I didn’t know any better, I might’ve eaten that shit up, too.
I sigh, hard. Drag a hand down my face.
This morning feels like a weird dream.
Surreal, like one of those melting clock paintings The Reestablishment destroyed. And I’m so wrung out, so tired, I don’t even have the energy to be angry. I’ve only got enough energy to be sad.
We’re all just really, really sad.
The few of us who could squeeze into this room: me, Castle, Nouria, Sam, Superman (my new nickname for Stephan), Haider, Nazeera, Brendan, Winston, Warner. All of us, sad, sorry sacks. Sonya and Sara left for a bit, but they’ll be coming back soon, and when they do, they’ll be sad, too.
Ian and Lily wanted to be here, but Warner kicked them out. He just straight up told them to get out, for reasons he didn’t offer to disclose. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t even look at Ian. Just told him to turn around and leave. Brendan was so stunned his eyes nearly fell out of his head. But all of us were too afraid of Warner to say anything.
A small, guilty part of me wondered if maybe Warner knew that Ian talked shit about him that one time, that Warner knew (who knows how) that Ian didn’t want to make the effort to go after him and J when we lost them at the symposium.
I don’t know. It’s just a theory. But it’s obvious Warner is done playing the game. He’s done with courtesy, done with patience, done with giving a single shit about anyone but J. Which means the tension in here is insane right now. Even Castle seems a little nervous around Warner, like he’s not sure about him anymore.
The problem is, we all got too comfortable.
For a couple of months we forgot that Warner was scary. He smiled like four and a half times and we decided to forget that he was basically a psychopath with a long history of ruthless murder. We thought he’d been reformed. Gone soft. We forgot that he was only tolerating any of us because of Juliette.
And now, without her—
He no longer seems to belong.
Without her, we’re fracturing. The energy in this room has palpably changed. We don’t really feel like a team anymore, and it’s scary how quickly it happened. If only Warner weren’t so determined to be a dickhead. If only he weren’t so eager to put on his old skin, to alienate everyone in this room. If only he’d muster the smallest bit of goodwill, we could turn this whole thing around.
Seems unlikely.
I’m not as terrified as the others, but I’m not stupid, either. I know his threats of violence aren’t a bluff. The only people unperturbed are the supreme kids. They look right at home with this version of him. Haider, maybe most of all. That dude always seemed on edge, like he had no idea who Warner had turned into and he didn’t know how to process the change. But now? No problem. Super comfortable with psycho Warner. Old pals.
Nouria finally breaks the silence.
Gently, she clears her throat. A couple of people lift their heads. Warner glares at the floor.
“Kenji,” she says softly, “can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?”
My body stiffens.
I look around, uncertain, like she’s got me confused with someone else. Castle and Nazeera turn sharply in my direction, surprise widening their eyes. Sam, on the other hand, is staring at her wife, struggling to hide her frustration.
“Um”—I scratch my head—“maybe we should talk in here,” I say. “As a group?”
“Outside, Kishimoto.” Nouria is on her feet, the softness gone from her voice, her face. “Now, please.”
Reluctantly, I get to my feet.
I lock eyes with Nazeera, wondering if she has an opinion on the situation, but her expression is unreadable.
Nouria calls my name again.
I shake my head but follow her out the door. She leads me around a corner, into a narrow hallway.
It smells overwhelmingly like bleach.
J is posted up inside the MT—an obvious nickname for their medical tent—which feels like a misnomer, actually, because the tent element is entirely superficial. The inside of the building is a lot more like a proper hospital, with individual suites and operating rooms. It blew my mind a little the first time I first walked through here, because this space is super different from what we had at Omega Point and Sector 45. But then, before Sonya and Sara showed up, the Sanctuary had no healers. Their medical work was a lot more traditional: practiced by a handful of self-taught doctors and surgeons. There’s something about their old-fashioned, life-threatening medical practices that makes this place feel a lot more like a relic of our old world. A building full of fear.
Out here, in the main corridor, I can hear more clearly the standard sounds of a hospital—machines beeping, carts rolling, occasional moans, shouts, pages over an intercom. I flatten myself against the wall as a team of people barrels past, pushing a gurney down the hallway. Its occupant is an elderly man hooked up to an IV, an oxygen mask on his face. When he sees Nouria, he lifts his hand in a weak wave. Attempts a smile.
Nouria gives him a bright smile in return, holding it steady until the man is wheeled into another room. The moment he’s out of sight, she corners me. Her eyes flash, her dark brown skin glowing in the dim light like a warning. My spine straightens.
Nouria is surprisingly terrifying.
“What the hell happened out there?” she says. “What did you do?”
“Okay, first of all”—I hold up both hands—“I didn’t do anything. And I already told you guys exactly what happened—”
“You never told me that Emmaline tried to access your mind.”
That stops me up. “What? Yes I did. I literally told you that. I used those exact words.”
“But you didn’t provide the necessary details,” she says. “How did it start? What did it feel like? Why did she let go?”
“I don’t know,” I say, frowning. “I don’t understand what happened—all I’ve got are guesses.”
“Then guess,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Unless— She’s not still in your head, is she?”
“What? No.”
Nouria sighs, more irritation than relief. She touches her fingers to her temples in a show of resignation. “This doesn’t make sense,” she says, almost to herself. “Why would she try so hard to infiltrate Ella’s mind? Why yours? I thought she was fighting against The Reestablishment. This feels more like she’s working for them.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. When Emmaline was in my head it felt more to me like a desperate, last-ditch effort—like she was worried J wouldn’t have the heart to kill her, and she was hoping I’d get it done faster. She called me brave, but weak. Like, I don’t know, maybe this sounds crazy, but it felt almost like Emmaline thought— for a second—that if I’d made it that far in her presence, I might’ve been strong enough to contain her. But then she jumped in my head and realized she was wrong. I wasn’t strong enough to hold her mind, and definitely not strong enough to kill her.” I shrug. “So she bailed.”
Nouria straightens. When she looks at me, she looks stunned. “You think she’s really that desperate to die? You think she wouldn’t put up a fight if someone tried to kill her?”
“Yeah, it’s awful,” I say, looking away. “Emmaline’s in a really bad place.”
“But