Chapter 20
The following week at Amery is somber.
Everyone’s been shaken by the tunnel incident, and most weren’t even there to witness the worst of it. Three kids from Amery died, including Todd. They shut down the entire train network for forty-eight hours to investigate the matter, but I’m not sure what they’ll find.
At night, I lie awake, hearing the sound of the train cars screeching into the station.
And then come the screams. The screams.
They play on a loop, echoing in the recesses of my darkest thoughts.
In my mind’s eye, I see Todd and that poor Hollow tumbling off the tracks.
The families of the dead students arrived at school a few days ago. I was passing through the main hall as Dean Withers greeted them. They stood together with their heads bowed as she offered them condolences.
They took the bodies to be cremated, and I couldn’t stay to watch. I found a quiet corner of the library where no one could see me, and I sat curled up in a ball in one of the plush leather chairs until I stopped shaking.
Now, it’s the middle of the night, and I lie awake, blinking up at the ceiling.
Another storm is brewing in the distance, and combined with my nightmares, I haven’t slept much in days. Despite playing witness to that tragedy, it’s a good thing I took time to escape the city to absorb the cloud burst that night. I’d be crawling right out of my skin otherwise.
Giving up on yet another night of sleep, I toss off the covers and pull on some comfortable clothing, wincing at the ache in my limbs.
I’ve been avoiding everyone except for Trinity.
She’s the only one I could talk to about any of this.
I did leave out the part about Rook, worried she might freak out.
For the last few days, she’s been complaining of dizzy spells and bouts of nausea. But I’ve known her long enough to know when she’s lying, and she’s faking it to hide in her hospital bed and avoid her inevitable confrontation with House Fiama.
In a lucky but grim twist of fate, the tunnel incident bought her some time while school officials dealt with the fallout. But Dr. Perez told me they’re discharging her today, and she can’t avoid it any longer.
I slip through the halls quietly. Days ago, Dr. Perez gave Edward and me the entrance code, knowing we like to visit her at all hours.
I enter the dimly lit room. It’s peaceful here. Quiet. I can see why Trinity doesn’t want to leave.
I pad over to where she lies sleeping, her chest rising and falling softly, and drop into the bedside chair, propping an elbow on the armrest before leaning my head on my hand.
I watch her, finding calm in the rhythmic pulse of her steady breathing. Within a long list of worries, the main thought that’s been itching at the back of my mind is actually Rook. And not because I nearly made a complete fool of myself when he touched my face.
Why was he on the same train? How did he find me so quickly, and how did I fail to notice him? My focus was on the House Fiama kids making such a commotion, so maybe he was also hooded and I overlooked him.
I can’t help but recall that shadow by the rocks after I absorbed Spark.
Did he follow me? And if so, what did he see? And why?
“Poe?” comes a soft voice that stirs me from my thoughts. Trinity blinks up at me heavily. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, sitting up. “Just couldn’t sleep, and I thought I’d come check on you.”
“Still having nightmares?” she asks, and I nod.
“A little bit.” We’re quiet for a moment before I reach out and take her hand. “You have to leave today.”
She presses her mouth together. “I know. I’m scared. Are they . . . talking about me?”
“Not really,” I say, and I think I catch a flash of annoyance in her eyes, but that can’t be right.
“Honestly, everyone’s so distracted by the train incident.
I think it’s the best time for you to return.
We’ll attend the memorial this afternoon, and you can hold your head high. Who cares what they all think?”
“I do,” she grumbles petulantly, and I huff out a laugh.
Of course she does. We all do. We’re literally raised to care what Society thinks. It’s ingrained in us from before we can even talk.
“Well, maybe it’s time for us to care a little less,” I answer softly, and her surprised expression jumps to mine.
“What are you saying?” she asks.
I shrug and tuck up a knee under my chin. “I don’t know. I’m tired. It’s been a long few weeks.”
“You can say that again,” she answers before sitting up. “Remember when we were little, and we’d hide under the covers when the storms came?” Her voice takes on a dreamy quality. “They always made you so nervous.”
They did, but I don’t elaborate on why, though I have no doubt she’s always suspected something.
“And your nanny would bring us cookies and hot chocolate, and she’d sing to us, and I don’t know, it would make me feel better, too.”
The corner of my mouth tips up in a soft smile.
“Of course I remember.”
“Those times were so much . . . simpler.”
I suppose it’s easy to think of them that way. By then, I had a secret that could get me killed and a father who nearly did so with his temper. I’m not sure “simple” is the right word, but she’s having a moment, and I don’t correct her.
“Sometimes Raine would try to scare us by hiding under the bed,” I add, and she laughs.
“What a jackass,” she snorts before her eyes spread. “Sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
“It’s okay.” I wave her off. There was a time when I could barely hear his name spoken aloud and certainly didn’t want to be reminded of his shortcomings, but time has eased that ache, tamping it from sharp and bright to dull and chafing. I consider it progress.
“He was such a jackass when he did that. Among many other things.”
Her shoulders ease as she laughs softly before we both fall silent again.
Trinity blinks, and I watch as she wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “What am I going to do, Poet? I don’t know if I’m strong enough to pass the next two tests. What if this is it for me?”
I’m not sure how to answer her.
“I’ll be there with you no matter what,” I say. “And I don’t care if you aren’t Society. You and I are friends forever.”
I watch as tears fill her eyes, and she holds her hand out to mine.
We clasp our fingers together, and she squeezes them hard.
I stare at our hands, thinking of the days when we’d run around the playground or walk down the hallways at school, confident that we were safe.
“I’m not sure it will be that simple,” she says, and I look up.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “They can’t keep us apart.”