She yanked her hands away.
The girls opened their eyes, gazing at her with pity. She averted her own eyes, staring down at the table in front of her, trying to still her erratic pulse. They’re only trying to be nice, she tried to tell herself. They aren’t trying to hurt me.
“In any case, that’s when the Dracken came,” Aiko continued, breaking the awkward silence. “They found us and rescued us and brought us back here, where we no longer have to worry about anything. Food, shelter, school—it’s all provided by the Dracken.” She stared off into the distance, a dreamy look on her face. “We owe them our lives.”
“We’re a family,” Rashida declared. “And now you’re our family too.”
They fell silent, as if waiting for her response. She bit her lower lip. She knew what they wanted her to say. The foster families had always wanted the same thing—for her to be thrilled to be a part of it all, for her to consider herself one of them. But try as she might, the words stuck in her throat, just like they had a dozen times before.
I’m not like you, she wanted to scream. I don’t belong here.
And this time it was especially true. After all, these kids had come here willingly, following the pied piper of dragons and his promises of a better life. They’d given up their freedom, their free will—and evidently the chance to wear something other than navy blue sweat pants. And yet they all seemed so happy, perfectly content to live out their lives in this creepy mall without Internet access or TV.
Content? something inside of her nagged, or brainwashed?
Either way, now she was stuck here right alongside them, she realized, as the panic rose inside of her once again. Whether she liked it or not.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Two hours later—or was it three?—Trinity paced the soft-carpeted floor of the most luxurious chamber she’d ever seen, located in a space that had once held a Baby Gap. Draped in lush crimsons and accented in gold, the room had all the luxuries Trinity could have ever imagined and then some, all done up in her favorite colors and styles.
It was almost as if someone had gone into her head and plucked all her secret fantasies from her brain and made them real. From the king-sized canopy bed wrapped in sheer silk curtains to the stylish sitting room with plush upholstery and a glittering chandelier. There was even a gigantic marble bathroom, complete with steam shower and whirlpool tub—and one of those fancy Japanese toilets with all the extra buttons that Trin had always been curious to try.
The other recruits—the Potentials—all lived in dorms, she’d been told, located in the former Sears at the other end of the mall. The boys on the second floor, the girls on the first. But the girl who had founded their organization—the Fire Kissed herself!—was too special to be subjected to those humble accommodations. She deserved only the best.
And only the best it was. The best prison cell ever.
It was the silence that was the worst. When she’d gotten back to her room after lunch, she’d tried to reach Emmy, to restore the connection between them. She’d gotten so used to the dragon babbling and chirping in her head over the last few days, the sudden absence felt deafening. Where had they taken her? Was she okay? She wondered if she’d made a mistake allowing them to make off with the egg in the first place. But Caleb had assured her they would take good care of the dragon. That was the whole reason they’d come back in time to begin with, after all. But still, Trinity couldn’t help but wonder.
A knock sounded on the door. She turned to it reluctantly. “Who’s there?” she asked.
“Caleb.”
Her heart started. Where had he been? She hadn’t seen him since they’d first arrived and she realized, annoyingly, that she’d kind of missed him. Which was stupid, she knew, to miss someone who’d basically kidnapped you and held you against your will. What did they call it? Stockholm syndrome? Ugh. What a total cliché. Just because he’d been kind to her, helped her shut out the voices in her head, held her hand as she cried for Emmy. Big freaking deal. At the end of the day, he was still sardonic and cynical and kind of a douche. Nothing like his brave, heroic brother, Connor, who had honor and dignity and…
…wants you dead, a voice inside jabbed.
She sighed, stalking to the door and ripping it open. “Where have you been?” she demanded, her voice sounding angrier than she’d meant it to.
“Nice to see you too, princess,” he replied coolly as he stepped into the room. He had changed from his dusty road clothes and was now wearing a plain white T-shirt and slouchy jeans. His hair was still damp, slicked back from his face, and he smelled of Irish Spring soap. She cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected, as she stole a glance at herself in the mirror, wishing she’d taken the time to comb out her curls after her bath, then scolded herself for caring.
She realized he’d come bearing gifts—namely a cart of covered silver platters, linen napkins, fine tableware, and a carafe of what appeared to be coffee and another of soda. Prison room service? She would have laughed if she weren’t so pissed.
“I’m not hungry,” she declared, forcing her eyes away from the cart.
Caleb didn’t reply. Instead, he busied himself with the covers, removing them one by one. Heaping bowls of pasta, steaming platters of rice, pizzas dripping with cheese—it went on and on, the rich, savory smells torturing Trinity until her stomach betrayed her with a feral growl. After her uneasy conversation with the Potentials, she’d been too freaked out to eat and now she was absolutely ravenous. But still. She scowled and turned away, plopping down on her bed, arms crossed over her chest. She would not be bought by something as simple as a mall-cooked meal.
“I don’t want it,” she repeated. “Take it away.”
But Caleb only continued his reveal—mountains of mashed potatoes, buttery rolls fresh from the oven, glistening vegetables, and sugary desserts. Every single dish one of her favorites.
“Are you sure about that?” he asked, giving her a skeptical look. “After all, everything’s been prepared exactly the way you like it according to our records.”
She frowned. According to their records. In other words, the time travelers had studied her life like it was some kind of history project—just like with the bedroom—thinking they could win her over by plying her with her favorite things. It should have felt good, for them to have given so much thought, taken so much care. But instead it felt invasive, an unfair advantage.
“Come on, Trin,” Caleb cajoled. “It’s just food. It’s not like I looked up your bra size.” He gave her a winning smile. She scowled back.
“What, do you want a medal for that?”
“Hey, I think I exhibited tremendous restraint!” He joined her over on the bed, dropping his impish grin and giving her a serious look. “Okay, what’s wrong?” he asked. “I thought you’d be pleased. The Dracken went through a lot of trouble to design all of this for you. We did extensive research into what makes you happy. So why aren’t you happy?”
He made it sound so simple, like a math problem or something. They gave her what she wanted; she’d do what they wanted. But it didn’t work like that.