It wasn’t much use to him—he was safe from me. The shadow in me didn’t want anything from him. There was no hunger to steal what little magic he had inside, keeping him human. But why give it to me? When I started to ask the question aloud, he just pushed away from the wall and folded my fingers gently around the sphere, holding my hands between his.
“If there was a way to switch me off when the darkness comes,” he said softly, “I’d never go anywhere without it.”
His face was close, his eyes meeting mine. For the first time, I realized that it wasn’t about hating him the way I hated myself, for being what we were. For the first time, I realized that Oren understood me. He was the only one in the world who could. He was giving me a way to take myself out, rather than let the hunger take over again.
Oren let go of me and stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, you’ll get your chance to face Prometheus. And if Tansy and Nix are in there, you’ll get your chance to find them, too.”
I took a deep breath, feeling dizzy.
“But—here’s the thing. They’re going tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I burst out, staring. “So soon?”
Oren shrugged. “They didn’t tell me why, but I suspect it’s to do with you. The less time you’re here, the less opportunity there is for you to . . .”
He trailed off, but I knew what he meant. “Less opportunity for me to hurt someone.”
Oren grimaced. “They don’t know you, Lark.”
I shook my head. “No. The problem is they do know me now. The real me.”
Oren was silent for a long moment, gazing at me with those pale, unreadable eyes. I knew was he was thinking about, knew with utter certainty that at any moment he’d give me another speech about strength and power and only being a weapon when I choose to be. Just as surely, I knew I couldn’t stand to hear it, not now. Not while Nina still lay unconscious, while Tansy might be being tortured at that very moment, while Olivia was pounding the life out of anyone who came near.
So instead I stood abruptly. “Is that all?”
Oren opened his mouth, but stopped, hesitating.
“Try to get some sleep,” he suggested, his voice rough. Then he turned his back, and was gone.
I let myself sink back down with a creak of the mattress. I knew I should do as he said—that I should do as I was ordered by the Renewables here. But I was buzzing with nerves, and with energy, and I knew I wasn’t going to sleep. There was a good chance I wasn’t coming back from the mission tomorrow. I paced the confines of my room, fingers tracing the curves of the blackout device in my pocket. What do you do when it might be your last night alive?
I waited in the muggy heat of my shut-in room, letting the hours tick by, until the sounds of feet moving past and machines being used and switched off again faded. I’d come to know the rhythms of this place, and I could tell as the world grew quieter that the rebels were all settling down to sleep, that they weren’t plagued by the same restlessness as I was, the night before we faced Prometheus.
I pressed my cheek to the door. Oren hadn’t locked it on his way out. If it were anyone else, I would think they had simply forgotten, but Oren didn’t miss details like that. He left it unlocked on purpose, giving me the option to escape. He was worried about me.
Beyond the door, I could sense the telltale glow of the guard’s energy. A Renewable—they weren’t taking any chances with me. I didn’t recognize the signature, but whoever it was, I didn’t want him or her tagging along when I went to find Olivia. I didn’t even know what I was going to say to her, but I knew I didn’t want an audience.
Burying the thread of guilt warning me against what I was doing, I reached out with agonizing slowness until I could just tap into the edge of the man’s aura. I didn’t need to take a lot of his power, just enough to make him drowsy. The darkness inside me stirred sluggishly, and I fought to keep it down. If I let it wake, there was no telling what it might do.
You don’t have to do anything, whispered my guilt. Just do as you’re told and wait.
But I kept at it, knowing that if I paced inside my room all night, I’d go mad. Gradually, I could feel the man’s consciousness waning, his power flickering and dulling all around him. I eased the door open as silently as I could and found him leaning back against the wall. He twitched as one of the door hinges squealed, but didn’t wake.
I slipped down the hallway in the opposite direction from the guard, my senses buzzing and tingling with the extra magic in my system. The air was only slightly cooler out here than in my tiny room. Though there were giant air-circulation vents all over the place, the air was still close and warm. It made me long for wind, the same wind that had so frightened me the first time I’d heard it howling through the ruins. Still, the farther I got from my tiny room, the better I felt.
I’d been to the infirmary only once, right after the mission. But I remembered where it was, and my feet brought me there without hesitation. There were no guards on that door—after all, they believed the monster was contained, safe in her room. I let my mind trickle out carefully, enough to sense one presence in the room. Nina? Had they left her alone?
But when I eased the door open a fraction, I saw a healer sitting at the foot of one of the beds, head drooping onto his chest. His was the life force I’d sensed. There was a form in the bed, but I felt nothing from it. My throat closed. Nina’s body was as inert to my senses as the bed she rested in.
They had connected her to a number of machines, one of which I could tell from here was trying to artificially restore her magic. I could hear their mechanisms whirring and clicking, a gentle cacophony echoing through the silent night. Though the healer seemed to be asleep, I stayed where I was. I told myself that it was because I couldn’t risk waking the healer watching over Nina, but I knew the truth. From here, I could just glimpse Nina’s face, ashy and drawn. I didn’t want to see more.
I stood there on the threshold for what felt like an hour, unable to enter, unable to leave. My handiwork, lying there at the edge of life.
When I finally turned away, I knew where I was going. I had a good idea of where Olivia would be if she wasn’t in the infirmary with her friend. I headed for the roof, pausing at the door that opened up onto the nighttime Lethe air. I couldn’t sense anything beyond it, but Olivia wasn’t a Renewable. She had the same magic all normal people did, untapped—but it was quiet and hard to detect this far away. I took a deep breath and swung the door silently outward.
She was there, sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over empty space. She didn’t look back as I entered, but I saw her stiffen and I knew she’d guessed it was me. I hesitated, hanging onto the edge of the door, unwilling to let it swing closed. Now that I was here, I had no idea what I wanted to say. I wanted to confess, but she already knew what I’d done. I wanted to take it back somehow, but it was impossible.
“Olivia—” I began, my voice emerging as a whisper. “I’m so sorr—”
“Don’t.” Her voice was quiet but sharp, cutting through mine like a knife. No bubbly enthusiasm, no friendly warmth. She sounded tired. Angry. “If what Oren tells me is true, then you didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and you have nothing to apologize for. And if he’s wrong, and you did it on purpose— then I don’t want to hear you lie about feeling regret.”
I took a step back, half-intending to leave her alone. But before I could act on the impulse, she turned, glancing over her shoulder me. “You’re thinking about tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked. “About the fact that you might not come back.”