I’m out there somewhere. Me, just as I look right now, only it’s not me—not really. It shouldn’t be so surprising—if a Forged version of Blaine exists, why not me, too?—but I feel like there’s not enough air in the room.
“And your model’s newer,” Clipper says, pointing at the 5 on the screen. “I wonder what that means in terms of its capabilities.”
That my Forged counterpart is the version that can be Forged again and again? But no, there’s only one in operation. It can’t be. Unless there’s simply one at the moment and hundreds are still being produced.
“Check Bree!” I say, now panicked. “Hurry. Bree and all the captains and Xavier and Bo and—”
“Time’s up!” Titus announces, strolling into the room before Clipper can even bring a finger back to the keyboard.
“Wait. This is important.” Bruno grabs my arm and starts hauling me away from the computer. “Dammit! You don’t understand how important this is!”
But I’m shoved into the hallway despite my begging. Kaz is waiting with Sammy and Jackson. Sammy must read the panic on my face because he’s searching the room, neck craned as we are jostled off.
We burst into Titus’s quarters, and Bree is there. She’s sitting on one of the crates, a single guard behind her. Her face is painted with bruises and scabs, but her eyes light up when we enter, and the injuries seem suddenly minuscule.
She flashes me a smile, and I don’t return it.
I should. I want to.
But I get this feeling.
This horrible, viscous, vile feeling.
When I met Bree, she had long since run from Frank. She had already been Heisted. What if the girl I know . . . what if she’s never really been her?
No. That can’t be. I would know. I’d be able to tell.
Except you couldn’t tell with your own brother, the doubt says.
But Bree was living with the Rebels for nearly a year when I met her. She would have compromised Crevice Valley’s location already, figured out a way to reach Frank. Or she would have done it in person when we went back to Taem for the vaccine. She would have betrayed the Rebels a long time ago if she were truly a Forgery.
Unless she has her own motives, the doubt whispers. Unless she’s so strong she’s loyal to herself before Frank. Like Jackson. He brokered a deal in Stonewall that went against his mission just to keep himself alive.
I can’t start thinking like this. Bree is Bree. That’s all she’s ever been. The way she’s fought for the Rebels without hesitation since I met her. The way she feels about me—all that passion and anger and hurt when we argued on the beach. The way she cried just the other day in her cell. She’s real. She has to be, because I’m not willing to leave her behind. I can’t. Couldn’t. It would kill me.
She’ll kill you herself, if she’s a Forgery.
But she’s not.
She’s not. She’s not. She’s not.
I’ve decided.
“Well, go ahead,” Titus says, folding his arms over his chest. “Ya’ve got ’til the count of fifty.”
“For what?” I glance at the team, but they look equally confused.
Titus jerks his head toward Bree. “To say yer good-byes.”
TWENTY-NINE
BREE’S SMILE IS GONE, REPLACED immediately with a snarl. She jumps to her feet and the guard behind her grabs her at the elbows.
“Is this a joke?” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm.
Titus looks insulted. “I ne’er joke. Ya did yer job, and yer leavin’ now, just as we agreed.”
“We shook on it! In blood. The door for my team.”
“Ah, see, that’s the thing,” he says, shaking his head. “We ne’er made a deal fer yer team. I said that if the boy opened the door, yer men would walk free. We shook on those words.”
“I . . . you . . .” But I can’t get out anything else because my lungs feel like they’re about to collapse. I didn’t catch his word choice originally, and even if I had, I might not have taken it so literally. It makes no sense, agreeing to a deal that ensures only part of your team’s safety.
“Why?” I finally manage.
“Why not? A healthy female of breedin’ age? We ain’t stupid ’nuff to let that sort of resource wander off. It’d be wasteful, really.”
No wonder they kept her separate from us, had nurses come to examine her. I can’t walk out now, leave Bree to this sort of fate. I take a deep breath, tell myself that if I can only reason with him, everything will be fine.
“You know I wouldn’t have agreed to this.”
“Ain’t my fault ya didn’t analyze my words.”
“You can’t do this,” I try again.
“Oh, but I can.” He smiles and his eyes never leave mine as he waves a hand toward Bree’s guard. “Take her to the Breeder hall and have someone introduce her to her new job.”
Bree screams as she’s tugged toward the doorway, a single word—No!—and it’s her voice, uncharacteristically high and cracking, that causes me to abandon all reason.
I lunge at Titus. He pulls out his knife, but I don’t care about the blade. I care only about Bree, because I realize a million truths in the blink of an eye: I need her and I trust her and I think I might love her and I saved her from a sinking ship and she reads me almost as well as my brother and can make loon calls with her hands and is stubborn and crazy and reckless and real and even if it puts my damn life on the line, I’m not leaving Burg without her.
Titus and I crash to the floor. I hear Sammy jump to action behind me, going after Bruno or Kaz. I think even Clipper joins in, but I don’t dare turn my head to check. I claw the knife from Titus’s hand, push it aside. I don’t want to fight him with the blade because it will make it too easy. I want to feel every ounce of pain I inflict on him. I lose count of my punches. My hands are bloody, my knuckles on fire. Titus is moments away from passing out when someone—Bruno or Kaz—strikes me from behind. My world blurs. I fall to my knees, skull throbbing.
I look for Titus and find him already on his feet, retrieving the knife. He twists around and kicks all in one motion. My head whips backward. The world is white. And then Titus is above me, his knees against my chest and his blade right before my eyes. I spit at him. He lifts me by my shirt and slams me against the floor.
“Any last words before yer butchered, Reaper?” Titus’s nose is gushing, his teeth smeared with blood, but he looks so happy in this moment. Proud. Behind him, Sammy is pinned to the wall by Kaz, and Clipper is slumped to the floor, dazed. Bruno towers over me, watching in amusement.
I catch Jackson in the corner. He’s just standing there, motionless, watching us get beaten to death. I knew he wouldn’t be able to fight it. It was wishful thinking to believe a Forgery could ever be my ally.
But then again . . .
Jackson’s hands have become fists. They are clenched at his side, trembling. His lip twitches. His eyes dart between us all. It’s like he wants to do something but can’t find the courage.
“Now would be the time, Jackson. This is the moment we talked about.”
Titus makes a face, confused with my seemingly odd choice of last words. Then he shrugs and brings the blade closer.
And Jackson springs to life.
He pulls Titus off my chest as though he weighs nothing and knees him in the gut. Titus coughs, buckles over, drops the knife. It is in Jackson’s hand in a flash and before I’ve even scrambled to my feet, Jackson has dragged it across Titus’s neck.