Chapter 68
THE GIRL STARING BACK
The mirror doesn’t speak.
Not that it ever did. But this morning, it feels especially quiet. There’s no plaque in the prep room. No words to tell me what to think.
No “Poise.”
No “Obedience.”
No “Purpose.”
That’s fine by me. I don’t need to hear it anymore. I know what they want me to be. I know I’m not it. And I know I’m still here, despite everything.
I am the program’s greatest creation.
One day, I hope to be their undoing.
The bruises from my flare have long since faded. My hair is carefully pinned and out of my face. My shoulders are square.
I look perfect.
My reflection watches, waiting, like she’s curious what I’ll replace the mantra with. I say nothing. I meet her gaze slowly. And for the first time—
She looks like me.
That shouldn’t be possible. She looks entirely different from the girl I thought I was. But in this moment, in this light? I am everything I need myself to be. And I’m getting out of here.
Today.
A painful tug at my wrist brings me back to reality. Vincent’s unlatching my cuff. I blink a few times, catching him studying me in the reflection.
This dress feels heavier than yesterday, but maybe it’s just me.
Golden gossamer, with little rhinestones stitched in perfect arcs that catch the light with every breath.
Too elaborate for me. Too elaborate for anyone, for that matter.
Vincent adjusts the hem carefully, like the world might end if the fabric sits a half inch too high.
His hands are steady. His eyes in the glass are anything but.
“You’ll be perfect,” he says, low enough that he may be trying to convince himself.
I lift my gaze to the mirror, catching his. “Will you be there?” His hands hover at my shoulders, so close I can almost feel the ghost of his touch.
“No,” he says. “Not for this.”
“Why not?” I turn, searching his face.
His inhale is measured, like he rehearsed this. “My part is over.”
The knot in my stomach tightens. “Are you being reassigned?”
He nods, small, as if restraint could soften the blow. “Downstairs needs eyes,” he says, tugging at the collar of his shirt like it’s a chain around his neck. “Someone has to watch the feeds.”
“Will I see you again?” I ask, fighting to keep my heart steady. He hesitates, and in that pause, I already know the answer.
“Not in the same way.”
My throat catches, heat presses behind my eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.” His voice softens, almost a confession. “Eventually.” He steps closer, too close for any protocol to allow. If there were eyes in the walls, this would be the end of both of us. But there aren’t. Not here. Not yet.
“You’ve done everything they asked,” he tells me. “And more. You’ve given them what they needed.”
“What about what I need?”
It stops him cold. His jaw works; he lowers his head. Then, his hand rises. A single brush of his knuckles across my cheek, so brief I almost think I imagined it.
“You needed someone to remember who you were.”
“I don’t,” I say, desperately hoping the admission alone won’t drown me on the spot.
His eyes burn into mine. “I do.”
The words hollow me out. Tell me then. Tell me who I am.
“Then tell me,” I breathe. But he’s already pulling back, walling himself behind his stupid mask.
“They’re coming.” His voice steadies. The door opens, and I don’t even need to turn to know who’s looming. Overpowering cologne, confident steps, the faint scrape of dress shoes on fake wood.
“Ready, little star?” Maverick slides into the room like poison dressed in silk. I keep my attention on Vincent…because I can’t not.
He meets my eyes. Nods once. “Go. Hold your head high.”
Everything in me wants to refuse. To cling to him and cry because I’m not sure I can handle any of this.
But I can’t give up. And I won’t.
I’ve come too far to collapse here.
“Goodbye, Vincent.” It feels like tearing out a piece of myself I’ll never get back. “Thank you. For everything.”
He flinches. His eyes turn deep, a swirling pool of anguish he can’t conceal. “Goodbye, Maysie,” he whispers.
The door shuts behind me.
And I feel like I’ve lost more than a mentor.