Chapter 35
NO REST FOR THE WEARY
I take my place on the line. Steps careful, posture perfect. I’m last, which feels so incredibly fitting.
Carr hasn’t arrived yet. A blessing, truly.
One that will certainly be short-lived. The exam room itself isn’t a surprise, thankfully, since V snuck me by a few days ago to preview the space.
He claimed it wasn’t cheating since the other girls had evaluations before, which was a good enough answer for me.
The pristine white tile is colder than it appeared, and the mirrored walls are significantly more disturbing now that I’m actually in front of them.
I don’t make eye contact with the men seated around the semi-circular table, opting to gaze just above. Chin up, soft smile. The picture of a pretty, pliant girl, exactly what they want to see.
I count them out of habit. Five in my periphery. Two are instructors; I’m not too sure about the others. They look important, and worse, impatient. V lingers near the door, hands clasped behind his back, face perfectly calm. He doesn’t flinch. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
A ghost. Fitting.
Carr enters, needing no introduction. He’s dressed in a pressed white lab coat, clipboard tucked under one arm, pen uncapped and ready.
He takes his place in the center, with Mister M trailing close behind.
He looks tired, but present. Arms crossed, shoulders tense.
Doctor Carr turns his back on us, facing the table.
“Thank you for taking the time to be here today.” They all nod ceremoniously. My eyes land on V once more, but he doesn’t so much as twitch.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” Carr strides to the front of the line, his face eerily unreadable. “Juniper, designation 219. Movement sequence six.”
“Yes, sir.” It’s shaky, not a strong start. Sequence six is one of the simplest drills, a few steps, a curtsy, and a pivot turn. But she falters, almost falling face-first.
“Balance is off. Try again,” he orders. She does. It’s better, but not perfect. No one claps when she finishes, and I see the slightest downturn of her lips when she realizes there’s nothing to celebrate. “Brielle, designation 212. Social aptitude, script 4.”
Bri begins reciting, but her words are over-rehearsed. Skipped phrases here and there, even a few beats of silence. She laughs nervously at the end. Carr shakes his head, scribbling more notes furiously in the margins.
“Ivy, designation 216. Movement sequence two.” Ivy doesn’t react. In fact, she’s as still as the dead. Staring at the wall like it’s moments away from sucking her up. “216,” Carr repeats, less patient now. Her head turns slowly, methodically as she studies him.
“I don’t know that one,” she says quietly, eyes fluttering like she’s struggling to hold them open.
“Shame. We can discuss it in my office later.” He snaps his fingers at Vance and Ralston.
“Take her downstairs, please,” Carr orders.
Ralston’s eyes flash with pity, but he obeys.
Loud boots click against the tile floor as the enforcers charge forward, hauling her out before she has the chance to protest. Though I’m not sure she would’ve.
My stomach drops at how easily she accepts her fate.
Juniper looks like she’s about to puke. I don’t acknowledge it, keeping my eyes trained forward. Under the polish, my chest constricts so tight I’m not sure I’m breathing.
“She’s slipping,” Doctor Carr states, not a question.
“Ivy was just nervous,” Mister M offers quickly.
“There’s no excuse for that, and you know it.”
“Of course,” Mister M concedes. It may be the first time he’s ever sounded small.
“214. Movement sequence eight.” The hardest one. Figures.
I take a step forward, smile wide, but not too wide. Chin up. I try to picture the harness from the posture studio. My chest stays lifted as I curtsy to the panel. I hit every angle, every step, every turn. Graceful. Precise. Perfection. Or at least something close. Doctor Carr nods, just once.
“214?” He’s going off script.
“Yes, sir?” I respond, carefully level. My heart pounds in my ears. He didn’t stop to ask anyone else questions. My left hand betrays me, trembling. I tuck it behind me, holding painfully still. Masking it all with a graceful smile.
“Are you grateful to be here?” Carr asks. Mister M doesn’t miss a beat, tapping his pen twice against his clipboard.
The statement. The stupid gratitude statement. My mind stumbles, trying to sort the sentences. I am grateful for the— I am corrected to be— no. Wait. Lucky? Lucky to be corrected. Maybe? I don’t know. I’m not feeling very lucky right now. I suck in a breath, resetting my posture to stall for time.
V’s form catches at the corner of my eye. He brushes two fingers against his thigh. A cue. His cue. The phrase floods my brain so fast I could cry.
“I am grateful to reflect the program’s excellence,” I say, bowing my head. Mister M’s jaw tenses.
“What is the purpose of excellence?” Carr asks. My first answer gave me confidence. This round, I don’t need time to think.
“To reflect the integrity and objectives of the organization.” I make a mental note to thank V for those extra lessons. Carr nods again.
“And whose integrity do you reflect?”
“My mentor’s.” No hesitation. I might survive this.
“Which one?” A trap. One I know the right answer to, even if it isn’t right. My eyes flick to Mister M, who narrows his gaze. He knows exactly what corner I’ve been backed into.
“Mister M has overseen my progress,” I state, clear and sweet. “But both have helped me immensely." It doesn’t sound hesitant, but it feels like I’m swallowing glass. V’s expression doesn’t change, which at least tells me I haven’t messed up royally.
“What do her progress notes reflect?” Carr asks. This question isn’t for me.
“Average at best,” Mister M states, sounding bored. “As far as—”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Carr snaps, turning to the back wall. V’s shoulders tense for a moment, but he takes a small step away from the wall, reporting with ease.
“Remarkable. Near-perfect scores in posture, movement, and etiquette. Very gifted at piano. Known sedation resistance. No other irregularities to note.” He offers me the smallest nod.
One of the members, a tall man with silver cufflinks, raises a hand. “Piano?”
“Yes,” V answers smoothly, like he practiced for this in the mirror. “Her aptitude scores place her in the top percentile. Top rank, to be specific.” A murmur ripples down the line.
The man glances toward Carr. “Then why wasn’t she included in the music rotation?”
Carr does not look pleased. “That roster was finalized during the previous evaluation.”
“With lower scores than this?” the tall man presses. “The investors’ ball is next month. They’ll expect to see the strongest subjects.”
“I’ll see that it’s amended,” Carr says tightly. From the corner of my eye, I see Mister M’s jaw tense. Good.
“Excellent progress, 214. Let’s hope it continues.”
I fight the urge to collapse into a puddle of triumph and pent-up anxiety. Catastrophic mistakes avoided: eighteen. I’ll take it.
Carr pivots to address the group. “Girls, you’re dismissed.” We move for the door, holding our line, skirts swishing in sync.
“Ashford, stay a moment.” Mister M’s face pales. He runs a hand through his hair and turns back with a tight smile. Doctor Carr nods to V, who follows us out, shutting the door behind him.
The other girls are already halfway down the hall, whispering to each other. I want to follow, but for a moment all I can do is breathe. For once, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.
V exhales slowly, like he, too, has been holding his breath since we stepped into that room.
“You did well,” he says. The tension that usually coils tight through his shoulders has slackened. His jaw is unclenched, his fists uncurled.
“You’re not smiling,” I murmur. “Should I be worried?” He huffs, a gentle sound that might be a laugh if he weren’t exhausted.
“If I smiled every time you impressed me, they’d start to suspect something.”
I blink, unsure of how I could possibly respond to that. “Impressed?” I muster, cocking my head with the laziest hint of a smile. He nods, meeting my eyes. For the first time in days, he really meets them.
“You weren’t perfect. But you were undeniable.” It’s a compliment, somehow. We start down the corridor. I want to revel in the silence, but like always, I have too many questions.
“They didn’t say my name,” I whisper. “Just the number. They called Brielle by name. Juniper. Even Ivy.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
He hesitates, and I know there’s something he doesn’t want to tell me. He clicks his tongue. “Because your name’s not in your file.” I stop dead in my tracks. So does he.
“What?”
“I mean that literally, Maysie. Your official record lists your designation, 214, but the field for your name is redacted.” My stomach knots.
Why?
“That can’t be right. Even the new girls—”
“Have names,” he finishes. “I know.”
“So it was erased?”
“Maybe. Or it was never entered. Either way, someone made a choice.” Something icy snakes down my spine. I do not like the implications of that.
A strange sense of unease settles in my chest. “Wait—then how’d you know my name?”
He gives a faint shrug. “You told me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
I shake my head. I’d know if I did. I open my mouth to say so, but he’s quicker.
“I’m not them,” he says softly. “I don’t need your file to know who you are.” The words knock the breath from my lungs. He takes a half-step back, like he knows he’s said too much. “Get some rest. They’ll be watching you closer after today.”