Chapter 66
THE FINAL TEST
“Are we almost there?” Colt groans, stretching his arms above his head like he’s grown stiff from walking. Ironic, for a man who stands around all day.
Vincent cocks his head. “Almost is relative. We’ll get there when we get there.”
“Who thought it’d be a good idea to put tier three so far from everything. Isn’t this supposed to be a privilege?” Colt runs a hand along the concrete wall. My eyes stay forward, but I offer him a light laugh.
My heels click in rhythm as I flutter down the hallway, both of my protectors in tow. Panic should be hitting me by now. Panic about tomorrow. About defying the system that saved me on what’s supposed to be one of the most important days of my life. Any rational person with sanity left would panic.
I don’t.
The only thing standing in the way of my escape—I mean graduation—is a final set of diagnostics. Five minutes or less, ideally. Vincent will attach my cuff to the monitor, I’ll get shocked for a while, then the cuff will settle to its beautiful, natural green, and I’ll be on my way.
Colt clears his throat as we near the door. “Should I wait outside?”
Vincent shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. This won’t take long.” He swipes his badge. The door slides open.
Oh.
Oh, fantastic.
Doctor Carr is here.
He’s perched at the counter that overlooks the exam chair, sleeves rolled up, glasses settled on the bridge of his wrinkled nose. A smile twists his features when he spots us.
“Right on schedule,” he says flatly, gesturing for me.
Vincent steps in front, gaze heated. “I thought I had clearance to handle diagnostics.”
“You do,” Carr replies, a hint of amusement creeping in. “We have something to take care of first.” He taps something on his screen. Vincent’s tablet buzzes in response.
Vincent tears his eyes away from Carr, face hardening as he scans the message.
“No,” he says, clipped. “There’s no need. She’s passed every diagnostic with no flags on record since her last trial.” He wrings his hands in a way I haven’t seen since…
No.
Surely not. Right?
“I’ll remind you that her last trial failed. Tremendously.” Carr cuts in, sharp. “We need data, Harrow. Something measurable. Some assurances.”
“It’s a risk—”
“It’s protocol,” Carr says simply. “You of all people should know that.” Something sparks behind Vincent’s eyes, but he doesn’t speak. Carr rolls his wrist out. “Every girl must prove their stability before being permitted to graduate.”
Stability. Failed. Last Trial.
It’s happening again.
Nausea seizes my insides fast enough to make my head spin.
“It’s a simple trial. Neutral stimuli, no custom triggers,” Carr continues. Vincent’s eyes scan the tablet again. His jaw flexes. After a long moment, he steps back, bowing his head.
He’s giving up.
“Only this.” Vincent’s voice is so tense. Everything about him is tense, now that I look. “Nothing more.”
My mind screams in anger, but cold panic seizes my body before I even have the chance to defend myself.
This is it.
They’re going to run me through the trial again. The one that almost killed an instructor—not to mention almost killed me.
There’s a tug on my arm. I cast a sidelong glance at Colt, now holding my elbow.
Carr nods once, beckoning me closer with one finger. My feet take root, planting so firmly in the tile that I’m not sure Colt could pry me up if he tried. My eyes unfocus until the room’s a blur.
I try to protest, but the sound dies in my throat. The world stills, a blurred mess of forgotten plans and boundless fear.
If he runs the test again, I’ll die.
Here.
Now.
In front of Colt. In front of Vincent. Worst of all, in front of the man who takes pride in having gutted me. The man who has apparently dragged me through this entire process twice and whose face tells me he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
Colt tugs my arm again, fingers shaking. “You don’t have to—”
“She does.” Carr barks at him, clearly losing patience. “Step forward, 214.”
A dam at the recesses of my mind begins to buckle. I haven’t had to hear my number in over a month. I forgot how dehumanizing it is to be stripped down to a designation.
But I can’t falter. Not when I’m so close.
My feet stick like cement, but I manage a single step. Just enough for the signal reader above to register my presence. I wait for Carr to grab the containment cuffs that are placed neatly on the side table. But he remains facing me, watching with dead eyes and an even deader soul.
“Begin,” he announces to the system. The lights dim down to the dull blue only used for late-night downtime. I suck in a breath, batting away the memories that threaten to surge. The common room. Brielle’s nonsense stories. Ivy’s snide remarks.
And June.
June’s laugh. Her smile. Her endless jokes.
Her pain.
The pain we chose not to see until it swallowed her whole and stole her away.
“Focus,” Vincent snaps, sharper than usual. I force my chin up, force myself to stare at the wall and see nothing. Hear nothing. Feel nothing.
There’s a chime as the sound cues start.
Horrible, violent noises. Screaming. Crying. The pounding of a fist against metal. My heart hammers in my chest, but my head remains clear. The sounds are too vague to register as real.
Pressure prickles at the edge of my vision. I force the sensation away. It’s in my head. Always in my head. The floor stills. The heat subsides. I almost smile at the surge of control.
Carr takes another step back, watching me with so much intensity that I may as well be in front of an audience of thousands.
He taps his tablet, and the sound grows louder.
Faster. Throbbing pain builds behind my eyes.
I stare down at my hands as my fingertips grow fuzzy, buzzing with an energy I can’t trace.
A shadow moves in my periphery. Vincent. His mouth parts, but I can’t quite catch the words. Carr only smiles wider.
The room begins to spin. I gnaw on my cheek until iron coats my tongue. It steadies me enough to draw a single breath.
Overhead lights flash like white-hot lightning, striking me head-on. Heat claws viciously at my neck. I’m trembling, but I don’t let myself collapse. I think I’m clenching my fists. I think I’m crying. No—I know I’m crying.
A blur of dark blocks my vision. It reaches for me. I can’t fight it; my body is too tense to recoil. I press my eyes shut. Snap them open. The world sharpens just enough for me to see him.
Colt’s in front of me. Mouthing words I can’t hear, shaking my shoulders.
He looks stricken, like it’s his world collapsing instead of mine.
His eyes are searching mine desperately.
I struggle to focus on every line of his face as he looks at me.
A surge of rogue energy pulsates between us, throwing him back on the tile.
My gaze catches on my arms; they’re glowing again, angry with power that threatens to end me.
Colt’s on his feet in a second. Then he’s reaching for me again, and I know if he touches me now I’m going to burn him. The sounds are still muted, but four words force their way through, garbled and raw.
Fight this, Mays, please.
My veins turn to pure ice. Instinct takes over. I force every spark of displaced energy into the concrete below before he has the chance to make contact. It leeches from me in streams of liquid fire, prying at my consciousness. All at once, it dissipates, leaving me drained.
The floor tremors violently as my world shifts back into focus. Nausea rakes my system. I double over and vomit onto Colt’s boots.
“Acceptable,” Carr says flatly, already moving toward the door. He gives me the faintest glance over his shoulder. “Congratulations, 214.”
I don’t know whether I should throw my arms up in triumph or collapse to the floor sobbing. Honestly, I wish I could split myself in two just so it’d be possible to do both. I turn on my heel, facing Vincent.
“So—did I win?” It doesn’t quite land as light as I’d hoped, but I can see relief trickle over his features. He nods.
“Something like that.”