Chapter 7
The Other Bunny
The room was deeper than I expected.
We walked through doorway after doorway, each one darker than the last, the walls narrowing until I could almost touch both sides at once.
Rue led the way, her footsteps sure and steady, her blonde hair catching the light from somewhere I couldn't identify.
She didn't look back. She didn't need to. She knew I would follow.
She knew.
She'd been watching.
Waiting.
"Who are you?"
I'd asked the question three times already. She hadn't answered. I didn't expect her to start now.
"Rue."
The word came out of nowhere, soft and almost sad.
"What?"
"My name. Rue. Like the herb. Bitter. Useful. Easy to overlook until you need it."
"Gabriel named you?"
"Gabriel named all of us."
She stopped in front of a door—metal, scarred, with a handle that looked like it had been melted and reshaped. She didn't turn around.
"He called me Bunny too. Before you. Before the Institute. Before he decided I wasn't worth keeping."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
She pushed the door open, and the room beyond was small and cold and empty except for a single chair in the center of the floor.
"Welcome to where the other Bunnies go to die."
The chair was bolted to the floor.
I could see the bolts from where I stood—four of them, rusted, stained with something dark.
The arms had scratches in the metal, deep grooves that looked like fingernails had made them.
The seat was padded in something that might have been leather once, cracked and worn and stained beyond recognition.
"How many?"
My voice didn't sound like mine. Too calm. Too steady. Too much like the voice I used when I was performing.
"How many of us?"
Rue walked around the chair, her fingers trailing across the back, her nails leaving faint lines in the dust.
"I don't know. I stopped counting. He stopped naming us after a while. We were just... batches. Numbers. Entries in a ledger."
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
She stopped in front of the chair and faced me.
"Ask yourself why you can't remember. Why your memories keep changing. Why the girl who wasn't there keeps appearing in your dreams."
"That's you."
"Partly. I'm real. I'm here. But I'm not the only one."
"The blonde. The one from the diner. The one who—"
"She was real too. For a while. Until he decided she wasn't."
"What happened to her?"
"The same thing that's going to happen to you. The same thing that happens to all of us."
She smiled, and her face shifted again—younger now, almost a girl, the hollow eyes of someone who'd stopped hoping for anything a long time ago.
"He uses us up. And then he throws us away."
"He loved me."
The words came out before I could stop them. Desperate. Broken. The words of someone who needed to believe something so badly that she'd convinced herself it was true.
"He loved me. He said I was perfect. He said I was the only one."
"He said the same thing to me."
"You're lying."
"He said the same thing to Batch 39. To Batch 36. To Batch 33. He said it to all of us, and we all believed him, and we all ended up here."
She gestured at the room, at the chair, at the walls that seemed to press closer with every word.
"This is where he brought us when we stopped being useful. When we started asking questions. When we started remembering who we were before he broke us."
"I never stopped being useful. I'm still hunting for him. I'm still—"
"You're still performing."
Her voice was flat now. Tired. The voice of someone who'd said these words before, to other women, in other rooms like this one.
"You're still doing what he trained you to do. Killing who he trained you to kill. Hunting because he taught you that hunting was the only way to be loved."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
She stepped closer, and her hand found my face, and her thumb traced my lower lip—the way Gabriel used to, the way Nathan would, the way everyone who'd ever touched me had learned to do.
"He never loved you. He loved what he could make you into. He loved the idea of you. The potential. The product."
"You're lying."
"He was planning to sell you. Before the Institute fell. Before his brother's people closed in. You were never going to be his. You were always going to be inventory."
"You're lying."
"Ask him. If you ever find him. Ask him why he left. Ask him why he didn't take you with him. Ask him why he abandoned you in that apartment with nothing but money and a letter and the expectation that you'd self-destruct within six months."
"How do you know about the apartment?"
"Because he did the same thing to me. He's dead."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"What?"
"Gabriel. He's dead. I heard he died in a fire. After the Institute fell. After his brother's people caught up with him."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You're lying. You're trying to make me stop hunting. You're trying to—"
"I'm trying to save you."
She grabbed my wrists, her grip surprisingly strong, and pulled me toward the chair.
"Look at this. Look at what he did to us. Look at where he brought us when we stopped being useful."
"That's not him. That's—"
"That's exactly who he is. Who he's always been. A man who takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left, and then he moves on to the next one."
"You don't know him."
"I know him better than you ever will."
"You're lying."
"Maybe."
She released my wrists and stepped back.
"But I'm not the only one who's been watching you. There are others. People who want what you know. People who want what you've become."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to stop hunting a ghost. I want you to face the truth. Gabriel is dead. He died in a fire. And you've been killing people for nothing."
No.
The word echoed through my skull, bouncing off the walls, drowning out everything else.
No.
He wasn't dead.
He couldn't be dead.
He'd said he'd come back.
He'd promised.
"You're ready."
For what?
For this?
For finding out that everything I'd done—every kill, every body, every morning I'd woken up with blood on my hands and no memory of how it got there—had been for nothing?
"He's dead."
Rue's voice, echoing.
"He died in a fire."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
The room was spinning. Or maybe I was spinning. Or maybe the world was spinning, and I was standing still, and everything I'd believed was crumbling around me.
Memory.
Gabriel's face, kind and cold, loving and leaving.
"You're the only one."
"There were others."
"You're perfect."
"Batch 39 was a failure."
"I'll come back."
"He's dead."
Which memories were real?
Which were lies?
I couldn't tell anymore.
I'd never been able to tell.
"You're shaking."
Rue's voice, soft now. Almost gentle.
"You need to sit down."
"I need to find him."
"He's dead. There's nothing to find."
"You don't know that."
"I know that you're killing yourself trying to find someone who doesn't want to be found. I know that you're falling apart. I know that you're waking up in strange places with blood on your hands and no memory of how it got there."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I've been watching you. Because someone asked me to."
"Who?"
"Someone who wants to help you. Someone who knows what you're going through. Someone who's been where you are."
"Who?"
"His name is Nathan. He's been tracking you for weeks. He sent me to find you. To bring you to him."
"I don't know anyone named Nathan."
"You will."
She reached out her hand.
"Come with me. Let me take you somewhere safe. Let me introduce you to someone who can help you understand what's happening to you."
"I don't trust you."
"You don't have to trust me. You just have to come with me."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you'll keep hunting. Keep killing. Keep falling apart until there's nothing left. And one day, you'll wake up in a room like this one, and you won't remember how you got there, and you won't remember who you are, and you won't remember why any of it mattered."
I didn't trust her.
I didn't believe her.
But I followed her.
Because following was the only thing I knew how to do.
The hallway stretched before us, dark and endless, and Rue walked ahead of me with her sure and steady footsteps. The walls pressed closer. The ceiling lowered. The air grew thick and warm, and I could feel sweat beading on my forehead, my upper lip, the small of my back.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere you can rest."
"I don't need to rest."
"Yes, you do."
She didn't look back.
"You've been running for weeks. Hunting for weeks. Killing for weeks. You're exhausted. You're starving. You're falling apart."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
She stopped in front of another door—wooden this time, old, with a handle that looked like brass.
"This is where I leave you."
"What?"
"Someone else will take you the rest of the way. Someone you can trust."
"I don't trust anyone."
"You trusted Gabriel."
"That was a mistake."
"Maybe. But you survived. You're still here. You're still fighting."
She turned to face me, and her face was soft now—almost kind, almost human.
"That's more than most of us can say."
"What happened to you? After Gabriel threw you away?"
"I found someone who helped me. Someone who gave me purpose. Someone who taught me that I could be more than what he made me."
"Nathan?"
"Yes."
"What does he want with me?"
"He wants to help you. The way he helped me."
"And what does he get in return?"
"Your loyalty. Your skills. Your willingness to fight for something bigger than yourself."
"That sounds like another cage."
"Maybe. But at least this cage has a door. At least this cage lets you see the sun."
She reached out and touched my face, and her fingers were warm, and I didn't flinch.
"Think about it. You don't have to decide now. You don't have to decide ever. Just... rest. Eat. Sleep. Let someone take care of you for once."
"I don't know how to let anyone take care of me."
"I know."
She smiled, and it was almost sad.