Chapter 37 Rosabelle
Rosabelle
I wait, quietly spiraling, until he meets my eyes. I don’t even have to ask him to tell me what’s happening anymore.
“It’s another call for backup,” he says to me. “They’ve managed to corral one of the suspects in an enclosed location. They’ve
barred the exits, but there’s no telling what will happen next.”
“One of the suspects,” I note aloud.
James offers me a bleak look. “Yeah. They’ve already taken out a few people. Decoys, probably.”
I consider him then, hoping to deliver my next words gently, and likely failing in the effort. “James. I need you to understand
this: Your world is dangerously vulnerable. The Reestablishment has been pushing pieces carefully into place for years. They
have every intention of taking back their power—and you shouldn’t trust anyone,” I say. “Spies and agents have infiltrated
nearly every corner of your society.”
“Yeah,” he says, fixing me with a piercing look. “I know.”
“You have to let me come with you,” I say. “No one is as motivated as I am to get back that vial—”
He makes a harsh sound, something like a laugh. “You literally just told me not to trust anyone.”
“You can trust me.”
He considers me a beat, his eyes tight with some abstruse emotion. “You sure about that?”
It’s a long moment before I can offer him an honest answer. He watches me as I struggle in the silence, a breeze pushing my
hair across my face.
Finally, I say, “I think so.”
“You think so?” James smiles darkly into the distance. “I can’t tell you how much I hate that answer, Rosabelle.”
I say nothing to that, turning my eyes instead to the jacket I’m wearing, the jacket he took off his own back to keep me warm.
I find that little orange kite pin on the pocket, and I flex my fingers to keep from touching it, bite my tongue to keep from
asking about it.
I don’t want to learn more about him. I don’t want my heart to get any bigger. There’s no point.
I’ll be dead soon enough.
“You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you?” he says. “Something else.”
I look up sharply.
“You’re still keeping secrets,” he says. “I can tell. There’s something else you don’t want me to know.”
“Look,” I say, taking another lifesaving step backward. I try to stay calm. “I’m worried that no one else will realize the
importance of the vial tonight. The vial is more important than any assailant. And if there’s a chance it could be lost or
broken or overlooked—”
“Wow, deflection,” he says, cutting me off. “Nice. That’s mature.”
I meet his eyes, see the challenge there.
“Fine,” I say quietly. “Yes, I’m keeping secrets. But so are you.”
“Me?” His eyes widen. “I don’t have any secrets.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t,” he says. “I’m not mysterious like you. I don’t have secret files documenting my second life. This is who I
am. This is all of me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is—”
“What happens to you when you hear children cry?”
James recoils, hardening before my eyes. His voice is a breath. “What?”
“In the diner,” I say. “There were a few couples with young children at the tables near ours. Every time a child cried your
body seized up. You’d disappear inside yourself for seconds at a time. You’re really good at hiding it.” I tilt my head at
him. “It’s clear you’ve had a lot of practice hiding it. Nobody seems to notice the way you manage it.”
“Rosabelle—”
“I don’t think most people notice the way you handle your brother’s anxiety, either. The civilian. Adam. You anticipate and
soothe his emotions without being asked, as if you’ve been doing it for years. At the diner I caught a glimpse of the tattoos
on his arms. He was once a soldier of The Reestablishment. Does he suffer from post-traumatic stress? Was he always like this?
When did he start leaning on you for emotional support? He must be nearly ten years older than you.”
“I don’t—”
“You’re the youngest by far of everyone I’ve met who matters to you. Do any of your family members realize how much weight
you carry? Or do they treat you like an overgrown child? According to the data I gathered, you weren’t raised by your father
or even formally acknowledged by him until shortly before his death. Warner was loyal to The Reestablishment until a decade
ago; Adam appears to have enlisted in the army when The Reestablishment was still in power. You must’ve been very young. Practically
orphaned. Who raised you? Where is your mother? What happened to you when you were a child—”
“Stop,” James cries. He’s staring at me like I’ve cut him open. “I hate it when you do that.”
“When I do what?”
“Rip my heart out.”
This answer surprises me. “I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing.”
He almost laughs. “You didn’t realize? One way or another, I walk away from you bleeding. You’ve given me more scars than
anyone I’ve ever met.”
That strikes me badly. In fact, I hate it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
James sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “Look, those things you just said about me—they aren’t secrets.”
“What do you mean?”
“My past is not nefarious. There’s no subterfuge. It’s just—I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Oh,” I say quietly, looking away. “I can’t relate. I love talking about my past.”
James stills. “Did you just make a joke?”
I manage to smile in response.
It’s tentative and a little self-conscious, and it’s as close as I can get to a peace offering, but it doesn’t have the intended
effect. James doesn’t smile back.
He goes slack. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
The smile fades from my face. Need knifes through me.
“I just want to be clear,” he says, his voice tight. “That if we were up against anything less than a global threat right
now, I’d be trying to figure out how to finish what we started in that diner.”
We lock eyes for a breathless moment.
“You kissed my chest,” he says finally.
“Your heart,” I whisper.
This answer seems to surprise him. “My heart?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” he breathes. I watch his throat work. “Okay.”
I take an unconscious step toward him and he shakes his head.
“Probably not a good idea,” he says. “Come any closer to me right now and I might do something stupid. I might finally give
Warner a reason to kill me.”
My heart briefly stops.
James tears his eyes away from me. “So this is what you were talking about, isn’t it?” he says. “Earlier tonight, when you said there were agents all over the continent. You said they were planning synchronized acts of terror against civilians over the next several weeks.”
“Yes.”
“So there are more vials,” he says. “More agents.”
“Yes.”
“And when you said we had less than seven weeks—”
“I meant seven weeks before it was all over,” I explain. “Not seven weeks before it started.”
He takes a deep, unsteady breath, then mutters an epithet on the exhale.
“Do you understand now why I need to go back to the Ark as soon as possible?” I ask him.
“I understand why you need to go back,” he says. “What I don’t understand is why you think I’m so incompetent that you wouldn’t
even tell me your plan.”
“I don’t think you’re incompetent—”
“I was there, Rosabelle. I’m the only other person on the planet who’s been in and out of the Ark—”
“Yes, and that’s part of the problem,” I explain, cutting him off. “You think you made it out alive on your own merits, but
you don’t understand the scope of Ark surveillance. You only made it out alive because you were part of the plan—because Klaus
read your mind and manipulated you, anticipated your moves, and built a script for our escape based on a series of emotional
extrapolations derived from a thorough analysis of your character—”
“Wait, what?” he says. “What do you mean, read my mind? Who the fuck is Klaus?”
“James.” I squeeze my eyes shut, then turn my face up to the glitching moon.
“Please,” I say, summoning patience before I meet his eyes.
“We’re officially out of time. I promise I’ll tell you everything if we live to have the chance, but if there are agents trying to get back the vial right now it’s because they know I’ve failed my mission—and if I don’t get ahead of this the consequences are going to be so much worse than any of us can possibly anticipate. ”
“Fine,” he says darkly. “I’ll make you a deal, Rosabelle.”
“No.”
“You can’t just say no.”
“No.” I try to cross my arms, but the sleeves on this jacket are too long, making me look like a child. I drop my arms. “No deals.
I already know I’m not going to like this—”
“You haven’t even heard the terms yet—”
“No,” I say again, anger coiling in my chest. “You’re not coming with me to the island.”
“Then you’re not coming with me tonight.”
“James—”
“Rosabelle.”
“This isn’t the same thing!” I nearly shout. “You won’t survive five seconds on the Ark—”
“I won’t survive five seconds?” He raises his eyebrows. “Jesus, Rosabelle. Just drive a stake through my heart.”
“I’m not trying to insult you,” I say, exasperated. “It’s not just you. None of you would survive, not even your scary older
brother. You have no idea what you’re up against—”
“I’ll take my chances,” he says.
“I don’t want you to die!”
James actually laughs, the sound sharp and brief. “You know, I never get tired of hearing you say that. Coming from you, it’s
like poetry.”
“James.”
“What?” he says. “I’m serious.”
I shake my head, losing steam. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I can’t reason with you.”
James reaches suddenly into his pocket again, retrieving his pager. “Shit,” he says. “Okay, now I really have to go—”
“I’m coming with you—”
“No way.” He backs up a few steps. “Take the deal, Rosabelle.”
“No.”
“Fine. Can you walk back to the house on your own, or do you still need me to carry you?”
I could scream. “I’m not going back to the—”
I sense the sky move before I hear the explosion, and I look up in time to see violent tremors warping the moon and clouds
above. I gasp, my eyes widening as a fire cloud erupts like daylight in the distant dark; then the sound, shattering the silence—
Deafening.
My ears ring, a high-pitched frequency vibrating through my head. I stumble back, then pitch forward, realizing James has
grabbed me by the waist, steadying me.
“You okay?” he shouts, his eyes wild.
I nod, blinking, willing my head to clear, my ears to quiet. Fear shudders down my spine. I look up at the burning sky as if from outside of myself; James turns with me to stare at the smoke, his own body rigid with tension.
I feel like I’m inside of a nightmare.
“James,” I say, raising my voice above the din.
He doesn’t look at me when he says, “You ready to accept the deal?”
“Only if we discuss the terms later.”
“Fine,” he says sharply. “Let’s go.”