room’s on that side of the building, Honoria,” Mr. Pace says.
“Get that wrist treated before it gets infected,” she says. “And have her window resealed. I won’t tolerate another weak point on this facility, especially not on a priority target.”
Priority target . . . no way is that a good thing.
“And next time you take a stroll outside, wear your gloves. You’ll have a harder time scraping your hands.”
I dig my bare toes into the dirt, thankful she doesn’t look at my feet.
Honoria stalks past us. Mr. Pace gives a heavy sigh.
“You didn’t smell the smoke inside, did you?”
“I could have,” I offer lamely.
“The burn’s been going for hours. If it had bothered you inside . . . please tell me you haven’t been out here for hours.”
Yes, I’m definitely going to kill Tobin. This should be his lecture, too.
“Marina, I know it’s technically safe inside the Arc, and the sun’s only just set, but after last night—”
“Nowhere’s safe.”
“That’s not what I meant.” His hand falls heavy on my shoulder, but this time he doesn’t move it. “The Arclight is safe. Last night was an aberration, but it still happened.”
“Will it happen again?”
“We’re doing what we can to make sure it doesn’t, but we’ve stagnated on drills so long that we forgot the Fade aren’t simply monsters in some children’s story, easily overcome because they’re on the wrong side. They don’t move in the ways most convenient to us. They’re intelligent, and they can plan. Last night, their plans proved superior to ours. Next time we’ll have to be better. And that will be easier if you stay where you’re supposed to be.”
This wasn’t what I had in mind when I left my room. All I wanted was air and open space, not to cause more trouble for people who’ve already given too much to protect me.
“Where’d I come from?” I ask, nudging the edge of his dirt diagram with my toe. “Which side?”
“The short side,” he says. “We found you hiding in the Grey.”
“In the water?”
“Yeah,” he says. “There’s an old boat platform out there. You’d gotten into the water behind the pier supports. We almost missed you.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. We weren’t the only ones who couldn’t find you.”
He heads toward the main building, stopping when I pause to collect my shoes and socks. It’s a harder decision to follow him than it should be. There shouldn’t be anything out here daring me to stay, but there is. An itch I can’t quite reach kicks in every time I turn away from the horizon.
I wonder if this is what it was like for those who came before, if that itch is the first hint of hearing the call to join the Dark.
But I won’t. Not ever.
“I’ll have to scrape it before I can bandage it,” Dr. Wolff says after examining my arm.
Mr. Pace abandoned me promptly upon delivering me to the hospital. I suspect his quick exit had something to do with Dr. Wolff’s dirty looks and muttered promises of unspecified pain for those who thought they were better equipped to treat his patients.
“Hold still” is the only warning he gives, and when he’s done, tiny dots of blood glisten on my skin where he scraped away more than one layer of flesh. But unlike Honoria, Dr. Wolff tries for gentle. “That wasn’t too bad, I hope.”
I grit my teeth, determined not to let the tears show.
“How’s your inhaler?”
“Why won’t it work on anything but my headaches?”
“What else would you need it for?”
“My leg,” I say, kicking it for emphasis.
“You pushed it too hard last night, didn’t you?” he asks.
I shrug. Dr. Wolff isn’t intimidating in the least when he’s not armed with medical instruments, but my throat threatens to close up every time I come here.
“Does it hurt now?” he asks.
“It’s a little sore,” I lie. The echo of pain from my nightmare has plagued me since I woke up.
“You didn’t break the wound open?”
“No,” I say quickly, afraid he’ll decide he needs to examine it again, which will only lead to more questions and a longer stay.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dr. Wolff eyes me suspiciously for the too-polite answer, but I imagine he’s seen plenty of people acting strange since last night.
“How’s Jove?” I ask, redirecting him.
Several beds are curtained off, so I assume he’s behind one of the partitions, but I’d sort of like to know that what Anne-Marie and I did last night made a difference. It would be nice to be the answer to a problem for once, rather than the cause.
“He’ll be all right,” Dr. Wolff says. “I understand he has you to thank for that.”
“I didn’t do much.”
“Not many people would have made the choice you did.” My face must show my confusion because he explains. “You and Annie kept him from going to into shock. It takes a great deal of compassion to offer aid after someone’s hurt you.”
Somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate my saying I was more concerned with keeping Anne-Marie from losing it than keeping Jove comfortable.
“Jove was scared,” I say. “He thought . . . you know . . . that his mom was one of them. He thought she’d come with the Fade to take him back to the Dark.”
“And he blamed you?”
“He always has.”
“Do you think his opinions have changed?”
“I doubt he can tell me. I’m pretty sure his jaw was broken.”
“Dislocated and fractured,” Dr. Wolff corrects. “But it should heal good as new.”
He picks up an empty syringe. I’d hoped we could skip the blood sample this visit, but the man is nothing if not consistent. I roll up my sleeve and give him my arm, watching the tube in his hand as it fills.
“Have you given any consideration to where you’d like to focus your studies once you age up?” he asks.
“It sort of slipped my mind.”
Along with everything else that wasn’t “run for your life or die trying.”
“Well, should it happen to slip back in, I hope you’ll consider what I’ve said. There are some things a person’s born to, whether they want to believe it or not,” he says. He removes the needle and taps me on the head with my hospital file while I bend my elbow to stop the bleeding.
“You might as well let me refill your inhaler while you’re here. If you’ve been using it for your leg, you’ve probably depleted it. I’m surprised you haven’t overdosed.”
I pull the cord over my head and hand it to him without mentioning that most of my inhaler usage