Chapter 19
Someone saw me. Someone is out here with me. Are they already headed to the Extinguishers to report what they saw?
“Hey!” I shout. “Who’s there?”
As if they’d ever reveal themselves.
My earlier euphoria is doused under an icy shock of reality. This was reckless and impulsive. I’ve gotten away with it before, but perhaps I’ve grown too confident.
My gaze focuses on the tunnel entrance, lost in the distance of the craggy shadows. Maybe I just imagined it, and my stretched mind is playing tricks on me. Who would be out here? And if they were planning to accuse me of something, surely they would have done so?
I check the time and realize I need to get moving if I want to make it back to Amery before curfew.
With a huff, I pinch at my hair and clothing, snuffing out the remaining sparks, like I’m flipping a switch.
I wish I could bask for hours in the sensation of this energy moving across my skin, but there’s no more time.
I jump down from my perch, cross to the far side of the rock wall, and enter the ruins, my gaze checking left and right.
Still, I can’t shake the sensation of a presence creeping up the back of my neck.
I move quickly, guided by the lights of the storm, attempting to cast off the lingering sensation of my mind folding itself in half.
When I reach the train station, I inhale deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. I hop onto a waiting car just as it lurches to life and lumbers into the heart of the city, muttering a quiet curse to myself when we stop at the station nearest to Sogno. I should have anticipated this.
About a dozen House Fiama kids are making a scene on the platform, where other passengers have formed a ring of distance around them. I pray they opt for a different car, but the doors slide open, and they stumble in, their chatter cranked to full volume.
The group laughs and giggles as they shove into one another, not the least bit aware of the people around them. I tuck farther into my corner and pull my hood up, keeping my eyes averted.
On the other side of the platform, a night market is crammed with people sorting through piles of clothing. I notice the Patrol doling out rations of drybars to Hollows. The packaged bars are condensed with nutrients and intended as a filling substitute when fresh food is scarce.
I stare out the window at the faces, my gaze snagging on a woman who sits against the wall, dressed in gray and black clothing, her knees tucked up and her head tipped back.
There’s something familiar about her that I can’t put my finger on.
My eyes narrow as I study her intently, trying to decide if she’s real or just a product of my post-storm confusion. But I don’t get the chance to examine her further as the train starts to move and picks up speed, once again hurtling us closer to Amery.
After a few minutes, raised voices and shouts signal that a fight has broken out in the middle of the car. I stretch onto my tiptoes to see what’s happening. The train slides to another stop, and a mass of people spills onto the platform, clashing with the group that’s already waiting.
At the center of the mess is an Aria kid fighting with a Hollow.
I recognize Todd Henly and a Hollow about our age. The latter is lean and wiry, while Todd has a firm, athletic frame.
The Aria kids have formed a barrier around them, chanting and shouting, egging Todd on.
Todd and the Hollow clash, wrestling as they wrap their arms around each other’s waists. The train won’t move due to a gridlock of bodies jamming the door.
I can’t look away as the boys scrabble and fight, their faces turning red. Todd lifts the Hollow and slams him onto his back, to a chorus of cheers, before raising his arms and spinning in a circle of triumph. More and more people gather at the edges as they catch wind of what’s happening.
The wiry boy lies on the ground, winded and gasping for breath, while Todd celebrates his victory before taunting him again.
But the Hollow isn’t afraid. I see it in the determined set of his jaw. He rolls over onto his hands and knees, struggling to his feet, then sprints, ramming into a surprised Todd, knocking him back. They go tumbling together, punches wailing, as they slam into a door on the other side of the car.
Suddenly, the door where Todd and the Hollow are still struggling hisses open.
Someone must have pulled the emergency release.
Todd and the Hollow go tumbling off the edge, landing on the tracks.
The crowd condenses, some following the fight onto the tracks while others push their way toward the platform in the other direction.
I’m shoved left and right, squeezed into my corner. I need to move.
That’s when a hand closes around my wrist. I shake it off, but it holds me firmly and pulls me against a warm, hard body.
“You need to get out of here,” someone says in my ear.
A voice I recognize immediately.
Rook.
Where did he come from?
I’m too surprised to reply as he shoves through the crowd, dragging me behind him. He’s much bigger and taller and divides the seething bodies in a way I couldn’t on my own.
The mass is frantic now. We’re jostled left and right, and someone screams in terror as several more people are knocked onto the tracks.
Somehow, we make it off the train and across the platform, though not without several elbows to my ribs, a few knocks to the head, and my pinkie toe taking the brunt of someone’s errant heel.
Still, it’s a small price to pay as Rook drags me to the stairs and up the first few steps.
From here, I can see the tracks and the people trying to climb back up, but there’s no room.
A woman scrambles over the edge but is kicked back without anyone realizing it.
She screams as she hits the tracks and tries again, along with the dozens of others who crawl over one another like frightened ants.
“We need to help them!” I call out.
Rook nods but doesn’t break his stride as we shove up the crowded steps. “We can’t do anything from here,” he argues. “We need to alert the Patrol.”
I watch as Todd winds his arm and punches the Hollow in the jaw. The boy goes flying and lands on his back, his neck snapping and his head hitting the side of the raised track. I stop climbing with a gasp, my hand covering my face.
“Come on!” Rook hisses. He tugs on my arm, and we continue up.
The ground begins to rumble, signaling an oncoming train from the opposite direction.
“Skies,” I whisper. Everyone on the tracks is about to be crushed.
But Rook is right. We need to get help. He doesn’t let up his vise grip on my arm as we continue our climb. I can’t look as a high-pitched horn squeals in warning, the train barreling into the station.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I look away as we ascend, step by agonizing step.
The screams.
They shatter the air against a backdrop of screeching brakes, crushed bodies, and the crowd’s frantic shouts.
Rook tugs on me again, and I focus on pushing up and up.
When we finally reach the top of the stairs, we burst onto the street crowded with people.
The screams float up, dousing us in the horror of death.
But they’ve become distant and muted, and I can’t seem to get enough air in my lungs.
I notice several Patrols already arriving, and I watch as Rook quickly fills them in on what just happened. After they disappear into the station, Rook continues dragging me away from the chaos as I stumble after him, until we finally reach a quiet plaza.
He eases me onto a bench, and I bend over, putting my head between my knees as nausea swirls in my gut, threatening to bring everything up.
I lose the battle with my stomach.
Spying a garbage can, I leap up and hurl everything into it.
A gentle hand gathers my hair, holding it back while I grip the edges of the bin.
My necklace is hanging out of my shirt, the mask dangling and the amethysts winking in the light as I picture the people trapped on the tracks.
My snot mingles with my tears until I’m spitting up bile and my knees have turned to rubber.
I’ll hear those screams for the rest of my life.
Finally, I stop, breathing heavily as Rook releases his grip on my hair and lets it settle over my shoulder.
He backs away a step and stuffs his hands into his pockets.
Wiping the corner of my mouth, I stand up and quickly braid my hair into a single plait to keep it out of my face.
Then I tuck my necklace back into my shirt.
I cling to the edge of the garbage can for several more seconds as the wail of sirens fills the air, and another wave of nausea makes me dizzy. An ambulance barrels past, red lights reflecting off the plaza’s dark stone.
I sniff and swipe my nose with the back of my sleeve.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Rook. He nods, then points to the bench, where we both settle side by side.
Propping my elbows on my knees, I drop my head, waiting for the last of the nausea to fade.
Rook sits quietly next to me, and we don’t say anything for several long minutes.
I listen to the sounds of chaos in the distance as my vision blurs, a familiar numbness seeping through my limbs as I try to imagine myself somewhere else.
I picture the Patrol subduing the crowds. The ambulances picking up the injured. I wonder what became of everyone. The Fiama kids and the Hollow that Todd probably killed. I wonder if anyone from Amery was hurt, and I wonder if maybe they deserved it a little bit.
Then I shake my head, trying to cast off that equally horrible thought.
Finally, my breathing slows, and I return to the earth, no longer floating inside my body. The effects of touching the storm still linger, making the events of the last half hour feel somewhat distant, almost fuzzy around the edges. But not enough to soften the terror of what I just witnessed.
My gaze slides to Rook, who stares at the fountain with a dent between his brows.
“Are you okay?” he asks, not looking at me. I shake my head, though I’m not sure if he can see it.
“Not really.”
“Yeah,” he answers, inhaling a deep breath, his head tipping forward, hair falling around his face.
“What were you doing on the train?” I ask.
Slowly, he looks over. “What were you doing on the train? Weren’t you at Sogno like everyone else?”
My gaze shifts to the ground. “I left early,” I say.
“Is that so?” he asks, and I’m sure he can tell I’m lying. His tone definitely suggests he doesn’t believe me, which annoys me for some reason.
“Yes,” I answer sharply, looking up again. “Why else would I have been on the train?”
He shrugs. “No other reason, of course, but you ran out of the library pretty fast?”
Then he straightens, his shoulder brushing mine as he sits back on the bench. His gaze flicks to me briefly before darting away. I notice he didn’t answer my initial question, so I don’t reply to his, returning the favor.
“We should head back. It’s almost curfew, and the last thing you need is to be caught out late,” he says.
I make a sound of indignation. “The last thing I need?”
He arches an eyebrow, and I can’t help but admire how annoyingly good it makes him look. It pisses me off, but his smug derision digs in like a splinter, giving me something tangible to focus on.
“According to everyone, you’ve gotten yourself into some trouble lately,” he says.
I scoff. “I did nothing wrong.”
He doesn’t reply, and I get the sense he’s allowing me to fill the silence. I desperately want to ask about his own initiation, but I hold my tongue. I’m shocked the gossip mill hasn’t dug up more information, but then my usual source of news is Silver, and she’s not really talking to me.
I don’t want him to think there’s anything I find compelling about him. I shouldn’t even be talking to him. If my father found out I’ve been . . . not friendly exactly, but that I’ve even spoken to a Solitude, he’d lose his shit.
A siren’s wail punctuates the relative silence, which becomes Rook’s cue to stand. I follow him up, and we face each other as he peers down at me, searching my face. I’m too shocked to move when he reaches out and touches my jaw, a thumb sweeping over the curve of my cheek.
My breath hitches as he shifts closer, and I swear his eyes grow darker. Is he planning to kiss me? I lean in, pulled like I’m a distant planet dragged into his orbit.
My lips part, my mouth dry.
“You have a scratch,” he says, his voice hoarse, strained.
I think he’s trembling. I’m just not sure why.
Another swipe of his thumb, and then he pulls his hand away.
Quickly. I blink, realizing I’ve misread the entire situation while noticing the drop of blood on his finger before he wipes it on his pants. “But I think you’ll live.”
I nod, heart in my throat, stomach hanging somewhere around my ankles. Skies, I’m such a fool. I remember my breath smells like vomit anyway. Probably for the best.
“Let’s go.” He gestures for me to start walking, and we head down the street, weaving through the crowds, our hands and arms occasionally brushing by accident. Every time his skin touches mine, my breath hitches.
Luckily, that last subway stop isn’t too far from school, and we get back just as other students are returning from their night out. Their general air of merriment suggests they haven’t heard about the accident yet.
Rook ducks his head and slips through the spaces as several people greet me, asking what happened when they notice the scratch on my face. I don’t get the chance to say anything as he disappears around the corner, leaving me on my own.
He just saved my life. Held my hair back while I puked into a trash can.
Touched my cheek with such careful tenderness . . . and now I don’t even warrant a nod good night.
I hate that it bothers me so much.