Chapter 4 James
James
I stare into the distance, studying the eroding cliffs hollowed out along the shore. A sudden gust of wind buffets my body,
unsettling my hair. I shove the bag of gummy bears into my pocket without a word, feeling suddenly, deeply uncomfortable.
No one knows I was eating gummy bears when Rosabelle slit my throat. It was a weird detail; it felt weird to mention. I didn’t
include the part of the story where she looked at me and whispered You smell like apple and I felt the heat of her gaze on me like a shot to the heart. It didn’t feel like the right note to hit when sharing first
impressions of a mercenary. But there was just something about the way she’d looked at me then—something so intense and vulnerable
and emotional in her gaze—
Jesus.
I hear it—I hear the way I sound when I think about her and I sound deranged.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes.
If anyone else tried to feed me this kind of bullshit—like, yeah, wow, you should’ve seen how gorgeous that girl was right
before she fucking killed me—I’d think they were unhinged.
It’s possible I’m unhinged.
A month ago I thought it was a good idea to launch a covert operation into enemy territory. My instincts had been screaming
for a while that something was wrong. Implausible attacks on our soil were escalating. More key figures with old ties to The
Reestablishment were turning up dead. After a sudden, unexplained gas explosion at an elementary school, I couldn’t take it
anymore. It wasn’t an accident that over a hundred children died that day; we knew which nefarious force was responsible.
I needed to do something.
I lobbied hard for launching a mission into the Ark. I felt certain that if we didn’t find a way to gather intel we might
miss something more dangerous. I tried to tell everyone that something was coming; that we needed to know what they were capable
of—what else they were planning—but no one would listen to me.
No one had ever breached Ark Island and lived to talk about it.
The last refuge of The Reestablishment is notoriously impenetrable and unknowable—and Warner always insisted we weren’t ready
yet to take on that risk.
I decided to do it anyway.
At the very minimum, I thought coming home alive from a mission no one had ever survived would finally earn me the respect
of my friends and family. Instead, every day has been a new kind of hell. It’s true that I’m mostly pissed at Warner. But
it’s true, too, that Rosabelle has me entirely messed up.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
My last conversation with her plays on repeat in my head all the time. The sound of her voice. The fear and tenderness in
her eyes when she told me she trusted me.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about her constantly.
Still, I swing wildly back and forth between certainty and uncertainty where she’s concerned. I went from seeing her all day,
every day—to radio silence. And my mind has filled this dangerous vacuum with vivid memories and disturbing daydreams. The
rare glimpse of her smile. The sight of her surrounded by dead bodies. The silky give of her skin. The blood spattered across
her face. The breathless sound she made when I touched her. The moment she pointed a gun at Kenji. The way she looked at me
like she wanted me. The image of her dead body in the morgue.
I swallow, hard.
I turn my eyes to the water, listening to the wind as the tide grows more turbulent. I squint up at the sky, the gathering
gray clouds. The world feels ominous to me in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
I feel like I’m losing control of my life.
I’ve never felt quite like this, never been so distracted or angry or confused, not since I was a kid. My emotions are operating
at a heightened pitch, swinging between discomfort, desire, humiliation, fury—
I take a deep, cleansing breath.
When I was looking into Rosabelle’s eyes things felt clearer, but in her absence I’ve been inundated by calls to get my head checked.
Literally.
I went to visit Adam the other day and he pulled me aside to ask, very seriously, whether I’d consider seeing a psychiatrist for the unresolved trauma that’s leading me to make poor and destructive choices.
I stuck my head in his freezer for a full minute just so I wouldn’t lose my shit in front of his kids.
Everyone thinks I’ve lost my mind.
The night Warner put Rosabelle in prison, I tried to get him to see my side in all this, but he shut me down so fast—and with
so much venom—I was stunned. Furious. We haven’t had a proper conversation with each other since.
Worse, he had no trouble shutting me out.
I was a little more optimistic a few days ago; I thought the ice between us wouldn’t last. I thought it’d turn out like it
did in the movies: we’d bump elbows in the kitchen reaching for the same tub of protein powder and he’d realize he couldn’t
do this without me.
Nope.
My older brother deleted me from his life, as if our yearslong bonding montage never even happened. I’m just a subordinate
to him now. He hardly speaks to me anymore; instead he pages me all the time, ordering me around like I’m some kind of nameless
foot soldier.
Warner and I have fought before, but never exactly like this, and never for this long.
Every interaction between us is now clipped and volatile.
Not even Juliette seems capable of mediating.
She’s made a couple of half-hearted attempts to get us in the same room, but it’s clear she’s on Warner’s side. Hell, everyone is on his side.
In a stunning reversal, I’ve managed to unite everyone against me in his favor. Warner’s never been so unanimously supported
in anything. Ever.
“C’mon, man,” Kenji says, peering up at the sky. “Wrap this up. It looks like it’s going to rain and I want to head back.”
My jaw tenses. “I thought you were avoiding Nazeera.”
“I’m sorry”—he raises his eyebrows at me—“I didn’t realize I needed your permission to change my mind. Besides, I just realized
I can avoid her in the warmth of my own home.” He hesitates. “Maybe.”
“Has she even given you anything yet?” I ask. “Any leads, any intel? Any indication of what’s coming?”
“Who?” He frowns. “Nazeera?”
I exhale sharply, irritated. “Obviously I’m talking about Rosabelle.”
“Obviously?” he echoes, studying the kit of ocean samples still open before me. “How is that obvious? The rest of us have other things
on our minds. The rest of us aren’t obsessed with a girl rotting in prison for murder.”
I glance up at him. “Didn’t Nazeera try to kill you once?”
“That was an accident! And she only did it because she liked me,” he adds, his voice quieting. “Damn. She used to like me.”
“And you think I’m the idiot?”
“You know what? I’m leaving.” He shoots another look at the sky and starts moving. “You can walk home.”
“Why won’t you answer my question?” I call out as he goes. “Have you figured out what’s in the vial yet?”
“That’s none of your business,” Kenji calls over his shoulder. “And you know it.”
“It’s been nine days and you still don’t know anything, do you? You still haven’t gotten her to speak, have you? I bet she
hasn’t said a single word.”
Kenji stops in place, turning around to glare at me just before his pager goes off again. He scans it, his mouth flattening
into a grim line. “I need to take this.”
I shake my head, my mood darkening only further. “Whatever.”
“Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?” he says, stomping toward me. “Is this some kind of delayed puberty? Are you about
to grow your first chest hair?”
I flip him off without looking at him.
“Listen,” Kenji tries again, “if you tell anyone I said this I’ll deny it until the day I die, but Warner is, like, genuinely
hurt right now. You’re treating him like shit, and, believe it or not, he doesn’t deserve it.”
“I’m treating him like shit?” I look up, eyes wide. “I can’t even use the elevator in my own house without a chaperone! I can’t access the gym
in the mornings! He’s docked my pay—put me on probation—”
“C’mon, James.” Kenji looks disappointed. “You know Warner better than anyone, and you don’t need me to tell you that our favorite emotionally stunted jackass might be feeling heartbroken and betrayed by your stupid, reckless behavior. If you want to fix this, you need to start by apologizing.”
“How many more times do I need to apologize?” I shout, nearly choked with anger. “I’ve apologized a thousand times already—”
“Not for this, you haven’t.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Here we go again.” Kenji rolls his eyes. “You know what? I actually think Warner is going easy on you. You have no idea what
we’re dealing with right now. On top of everything else he has to manage, Warner has to mitigate the chaos you brought into our lives—”
“If I don’t know anything, it’s because no one is telling me anything,” I say, struggling to rein in my temper. “All I want
to do is help. Why do you think I’m so pissed off? I’m fucking worried. We need her to talk before it’s too late—”
“Trust me, Warner is doing his best.”
“Warner doesn’t know how to deal with her!” I explode. “Their temperaments are too similar—”
“Bro, you’re in no position to talk. You spent almost two weeks with her and you couldn’t get her to give up shit.”
I turn partly away, my fists flexing.
“Maybe not,” I admit quietly. “But I learned enough about her to tell you this: Rosabelle isn’t going to open up to any of you. I’m the one who spent eight hours a day with her. I’m the one who knows her, who understands her—”
“Jesus. James, do you hear yourself right now?”
“Look, believe whatever you want,” I say, heat radiating up my neck. “But I’m the only one of us who made it into the Ark
and out again. I’m the only real resource we have right now, and instead of utilizing me, no one will even let me near her.”
I shake my head. “No, you know what? It’s worse than that—everyone is acting like I’m dead.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been shunned and shut out of my own life! Cut off from my own family—”
“Because you’ve proven you can’t be trusted—”
“Do you truly believe that?” I say, turning angrily to face him. “Do you really believe you can’t trust me? Me? A lifetime of dedication and you think I’d sell you out? That I’d risk endangering the lives of everyone I love—”
Kenji laughs, stunned. “C’mon, man, you already did.”
“And I’m telling you, for the hundredth time: I don’t agree.”
“She murdered three people!” he shouts back. “She would’ve murdered me if you’d given her the chance! She was found in possession
of a nefarious vial, the contents of which are so deadly and volatile we still haven’t been able to form a comprehensive assessment
of its capabilities—”
“I know, I was there—”
“James—”
“—and I’m not trying to say that she’s on the right side of history.” I cut him off. “I’m not trying to say she’s a misunderstood saint. I’m just trying to point out that there’s more going on with her. She knows something. She was going to tell me something important in those tunnels—”
Kenji cuts me off with a loud, aggravated sound.
“All right, enough,” he cries, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t fucking take it anymore. I need you to stop talking like this before I fully
lose my mind, okay? I’ve already lived through this once. I’ve served my time. You have no idea how exhausting it was to listen
to Juliette go on and on and on about how Warner isn’t as bad as people think and he isn’t a monster and don’t hurt his tiny little feelings or I’ll kill you—”
“Well, she was right.”
“No,” Kenji says flatly, opening his eyes. “She wasn’t. Warner is ruthless. When he’s on your side—great, you win. When he’s
not”—he laughs, darkly—“good luck. I love that man like a brother but you haven’t seen him the way I’ve seen him. You were
too young to know him the way I’ve known him. I firmly believe that without Juliette he would’ve lost his soul a long time
ago. And let me be perfectly clear,” he adds, “that kind of connection—the connection he has with J? That only happens once
in a lifetime. Trust me. The rest of us losers are not the chosen ones.”
“I’m not—Kenji, I’m not trying to compare my situation with theirs! I already told you I’m not in love with her!”
“I think you doth protest a bit too much, bro.”
I hesitate; take a step back. “What?”
“What?” he says defensively.
“Are you quoting Hamlet at me right now?”
“Fuck you, I like Shakespeare.”
“I never said I didn’t like Shakespeare,” I say, confused. I feel suddenly exhausted. I push my hands through my hair, search
the darkening skies. “Look, I’m just trying to point out that no one has spent as much time with her as I have. I can understand
why you don’t want to give her a chance—but what about me? Why is no one willing to believe me? Don’t my thoughts and opinions count for anything? I want to keep my people safe, just like the rest of you.”
For the first time, Kenji goes quiet.
He studies me.
“And maybe I do care about her,” I say into the silence. “Maybe that does make me an idiot. But it also makes me an asset.
I know things about her. She feels comfortable with me. You need me; you need my insight. And if you don’t let me into this
process, you’re going to fail. I keep trying to tell you that you can’t keep her locked up like this—”
“Nope. You need to stop now.” Kenji holds up a hand before looking over his shoulder, searching for ghosts. “I’m not supposed
to be discussing this with you. If Warner finds out I so much as let you say her name in front of me, he’s going to lose his
shit—”
“I don’t care,” I say, my voice rising an octave.
“I need you to hear me. The very fact that she’s played prisoner for over a week has to be part of a larger strategy.
I think she wants us to let our guard down.
I think she’s pretending we’ve got the upper hand, that she can be managed safely behind bars.
But when she’s ready she’s going to disappear, and you won’t even realize she’s gone—”
“That’s your big theory?” Now Kenji makes a sound of disbelief. “You think she’s going to escape? Bro, supermax is a relic
of The Reestablishment. Not only is she monitored around the clock, but the prison was purpose-built by the fascists to make
escape impossible—”
“What on earth is wrong with you?”
Kenji and I both look up, struck, at the sound of his voice. Warner is standing on an outcropping just above us, his eyes
flashing with electric anger. “Does this bleak period in our lives strike you as the best time to ignore my pages? Of all
the stupid, irresponsible—”
“Whoa, hey, what’s going on?” Kenji asks, his body tensing. “What’s happening?”
Warner’s expression goes flat and cold. He turns to look at me with exaggerated reluctance, as if there’s a literal gun to
his head. “I need to talk to you,” he says.
I’m rendered still, even as my heart starts hammering. “Why?”
“The girl,” he says, “is missing.”