Chapter 36
TRIUMPHANT
Two hours later, we’re back in the common room. There’s no fanfare, no relief, just the steady thrum of the vents and an unease that won’t settle. Today was everything I wanted it to be. I showed them—and more importantly, I showed myself.
So why does it feel so wrong? I thought I’d feel unstoppable. Instead, I just feel hollow. Because while I flourished—
They fractured.
Brielle’s cross-legged on the sofa, nervously tugging threads loose from her hem.
Ivy turns a page she hasn’t read. The cuff at her wrist glows a steady green that feels wrong.
She was dropped off an hour ago, bandages wrapped on both wrists, black hair half clipped back with pins she hasn’t bothered to remove.
June’s sprawled on the rug, baring her teeth like she’s daring the ceiling to collapse on her.
“Well, cheers to me! Lowest score in the wing. Not that anyone’s shocked. Bet Carr’s already penciling in my funeral notes.”
“Junie—” Brielle starts, but June cuts her off with a sharp laugh.
“No, really. You should’ve seen their faces when I almost ate the floor. Pure delight. Like ‘oh good, another screwup, put her on the chopping block.’” She claps in mock applause, then lets her hands fall into her lap. “I’m killing it.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I whisper. She’s been off since we left the evaluation room. She didn’t crack any jokes at dinner or tease Brielle when she tripped over her shoes. She keeps staring at things that aren’t there. Almost like—
No.
I don’t let myself go there.
This is nothing like Avery.
June is fine.
She tilts her head, jade eyes glinting. “Why not? If they could take Avery, they could take any of us. Might as well be me.”
A shiver runs down my spine. A stupid, hopeful part of me still tries to believe Avery is truly just in a specialized review, but my confidence shakes with each passing day.
I worry my lip between my teeth, anxiety pulling at my skin.
A question I’d never be allowed to ask surges behind my eyes.
If something happens to me, would anyone know?
I tamp down my terror to focus on June. “Please, stop it,” I whisper, reaching down for her hand.
She pulls away, lacing her fingers through her auburn curls and tugging until a strand snaps. “You think I haven’t tried?” she chokes out. “I breathe and it’s wrong. I stop and it’s worse. What am I supposed to do when there’s no way to win?”
The lights flicker overhead, stuttering back to pale blue. “I can’t do this anymore,” she tries to laugh, but it breaks into a sob halfway through. “I just can’t.”
The wave of emotion that floods the room sends my head reeling. Brielle curls tighter into herself, tears welling behind the cardigan sleeve she has pressed to her face. Ivy remains still. An unblinking, unfeeling version of herself. I’m not even sure the words are reaching her.
“It’s okay,” I coax. “Everything’s going to work out. Graduation will be here before we know it, then we’ll get to marry rich guys or something and never have to see Mister M again.” The joke falls undeniably flat. I shudder at my own half-lie, wishing graduation didn’t feel eons away.
She claps a hand over her eyes, then pulls it away like it burns her. “Yeah, right,” she says with a sigh.
Ralston clears his throat from the doorway. He steps in with a clipboard tucked under one arm, a tray of syringes balanced in the other. Colt follows close behind, stiffer than usual, kicking the door shut with his boot.
“Early evening protocol,” Ralston says, a little worse for wear. “Line up.”
Brielle rises first, obedient, tucking her hair back and rolling her sleeve. Colt’s already waiting, hand hovering near her elbow like he’s guiding her through glass. He murmurs something low—too soft for me to catch—as Ralston administers the injection.
Ivy stands next, wordless, rolling her sleeve in one clean motion. Colt doesn’t touch her, but he doesn’t look away either.
Then Juniper.
She takes her time standing, dragging her feet across the rug. “Tuck me in after, too?” she mutters when she finally offers her arm.
“Quiet,” Colt snaps, sharper than I’ve ever heard him.
He grips her elbow harder than necessary, holding her steady until the needle’s in.
His jaw is tight, eyes on the cuff as the light flickers orange, then flashes back to green.
Only then does he release her. Ralston places a steadying hand at June’s back, guiding her toward her room.
My pulse is in my throat as Colt steps in front of me, the brown of his eyes so pale, he almost doesn’t look real. He pushes my sleeve up, fingers brushing too close to the cuff. The needle pricks. Cold races down my arm. My vision blurs at the edges, but it won’t last. It never does.
“You okay?” My words are so soft they barely form. His eyes widen in surprise.
“No,” he admits. “But it’s fine. Try to rest, all right?” The honesty of it sends a chill down my spine. He grips tighter, thumb pressing against my elbow as the cuff hits green.
Ralston returns, tone sharp. “Rooms. Lights out.”
One by one, we file to the back, shuffling into our glorified cages. I fall back onto my bed, trying to pinpoint where things started going wrong—
And deciding it must’ve been long before this place erased my identity and dared to call it salvation.
The sedation haze wavers within the hour, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
A truly dangerous thing.
I chance a quick glance to the camera on the wall, relieved to find it dormant. My hands twitch as I dig beneath my mattress, producing the forbidden book and slipping back under the covers. I haven’t read it in weeks, but if I don’t get out of my head soon, I’ll drown in a sea of my own thoughts.
I flip through the pages, tracing the creatures with my fingers, savoring the paper’s roughness against my skin.
On the last page, my nail snags on a tear I didn’t catch before. I pull it back to reveal another sheet caked to the back, sticking under a mountain of black ruin. With careful fingers, I pry them apart.
Black smudges fill the empty space in wild strokes, like something was written and crossed out until there was no space left. Whoever had this book before me left only one line, outlined again and again to the point that the paper wears thin under spatters of ink.
A monster only becomes dangerous once it remembers its name.