Chapter Eighteen
Gemma barely slept, and when she did, nightmares jolted her awake in a cold sweat.
Every time she drifted off, she saw her own lifeless body draped over the Kaizen.
A harrowing scream would break out of her as her guts burst through her spine, and Gemma would snap awake each time, rubbing her hands over her stomach, fighting the vomit that threatened to escape.
By the time the morning siren wailed, and the lights flicked on, she was even more exhausted than when she’d lain down.
Gemma winced as she forced herself to sit upright, every muscle in her body sore. Her dark brown hair clung to her neck and forehead in a wild mess, and her pale arms were red and blotchy from the night’s anxiety.
She squeezed her eyes closed and sucked in a deep breath. Today was going to be awful.
Slowly, Gemma descended her ladder, wishing she could call in sick from the Trials. But this wasn’t a job, and she couldn’t rest for one moment if she was to complete her mission.
Christian peered up at her from where he sat on the edge of his bed, a knowing look in his eyes.
Heat flushed through Gemma. Did he hear me scream?
He gripped her hand before she could pull hers off the ladder, and while he said nothing, Gemma felt the worry exuding through his caress, through the stroke of his thumb on the back of her hand.
She forced a nervous smile, struggling to maintain eye contact, and turned her hand around enough to give his a gentle squeeze. She knew he understood how she was feeling, and opening up to him had felt amazing.
But she’d also spent the past three years putting up walls and letting them come down was like ripping off her skin.
She hated feeling so vulnerable and loathed the lack of control over her own mind.
Sleep had never come easily, but now, more than ever, her demons needed to stay caged in the deepest circles of hell.
In the locker room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and her ears turned red. She looked as if she’d accidentally clamped pliers down on a live wire. It was a surprise Christian hadn’t burst out laughing at the sight of her.
Facing her teammates this morning was going to be way more difficult than she’d anticipated. Not because she looked like slop—a little chroma and braiding of her hair would make her somewhat presentable—but because her heart felt like it too.
Flying under the radar might be natural for Gemma, but lying was not. Her gut twisted every time, and after what happened with Moriah, she wasn’t sure she could trust her instincts anymore. If she let down her guard around any of them and the truth came tumbling out of her mouth . . .
She chose to skip breakfast, opting instead to hide in the locker room. The less time she had with her teammates before their next test, the better.
Gemma splashed cold water on her face before traversing the halls to their simulation room. Nausea grew in her stomach when she saw everyone waiting for her.
“There you are!” Imara shouted. “Christian said you were back, but we couldn’t find you anywhere. Why’d you skip breakfast?”
“Just needed a little extra rest this morning,” she replied nonchalantly.
Hawk nudged her and said, “Well, I’m glad to see we’re not a man down,” before Imara could ask any follow up questions.
Gemma almost thanked him for it. She forced a smile. “Yeah, me too.”
Christian grazed the small of her back as the others led the way into the simulation room. “You okay?” he spoke softly enough that the others wouldn’t hear.
“Yep, I’m good.” She didn’t wait to see if Christian bought her lie, leaving him in the hallway to join the others in their sleep chambers.
Her throat constricted as she unzipped her uniform to free her arms. She coerced her mind to settle as she pressed the button that plugged the machine into her deltoids.
If she was going to avenge her sister, she still had tests to successfully complete.
The dark-skinned female optic appeared on the inside of Gemma’s chamber lid, like the first time.
“Welcome back!” she said. “And welcome to your second simulated event of your Oranos Trials. Like your first simulation, you must pass as a group. But unlike your first trial, this crucible tests your mental fortitude. You’ll need to remember this code if you are to complete this test: A-1-B-7-F-6.
You also must never reveal this code to anyone, under any circumstances.
If any team member chooses to share it, their entire team is disqualified. Good luck.”
Sweat beaded on Gemma’s forehead as the world around her began to glow. Already, her mental fortitude hung on by a single thread. There was only one reason someone would willingly choose to share top secret information, and if withstanding torture was next on Rami’s list of Trials . . .
Gemma clenched her fists, digging her nails deep into her palms. Stars, help me.
The air grew humid and smelled of disinfectant as the simulated environment came into focus.
The team stood together in a small box with clear walls, wearing nothing but white shorts and sleeveless white shirts.
The walls reminded Gemma of electroglass, but without the usual computerized sheen.
Instead, these barriers were completely transparent, through which armed guards in black uniforms were positioned at every corner of the box.
A woman with light-olive skin commanded the room from a nearby sophisticated console. She wore a tight, white dress, and her silky, black hair was firmly knotted on the back of her head. Bright-red lips frowned at them as her heavy-lidded eyes glared from where she stood.
“We’re in a prison?” Hawk asked incredulously.
“Looks like it,” Christian replied, his tone wary and rigid. If Christian was worried, that was not a good sign.
The gleam of the artificial light from the ceiling cast eerie shadows across the white room as the interrogator moved from her station to press a square section of wall.
Gemma’s stomach lurched into her throat when part of the floor near the interrogator opened, and a sleek, metal chair rose from beneath, its frame adorned with intricate patterns of circuitry that pulsated with a deep-red glow.
The chair itself was devoid of any cushioning or comfort, and at its base were red sensors that hummed with latent power.
Gemma backed away from it as if it were a bomb ready to explode.
“Oh, fuck no,” Imara said. “There is no way on this stars-forsaken planet that I’m getting in that thing.”
“You have to,” Hawk said. “None of us can say no, unless you want to be the reason all of us are sent back to Perileos.”
Imara’s beautiful features tightened as she frowned, her dark eyes moving from one teammate to the next. She didn’t have a choice, same as Gemma. Staying on Reva was not an option for any of them, and Gemma wasn’t about to let her sister down.
Imara sighed and put her hands on her head as she began to sway in anticipation.
“Bring the ladies first,” the interrogator announced.
Imara jumped behind Hawk as Christian grabbed Gemma’s wrist.
“Let me go first,” Christian said.
The interrogator scowled. “The girl of Indian descent will go first.”
Imara mumbled something repeatedly as Hawk gently swung her around him. Her eyes were glassy, but she stood tall, a vein pulsating rapidly beneath the skin of her russet-brown neck.
Gemma grabbed her hand as two of the guards turned, and the wall in front of them shimmered, like looking through a soap bubble. The female guard reached in and clasped Imara’s shoulder, yanking her toward the chair. Gemma didn’t let go until Imara was ripped from her grasp.
Once in the chair, the guards restrained Imara’s wrists and ankles with unforgiving efficiency, and they attached sensors to locations on her arms, legs, abdomen, chest, and temples. Then a metallic choker protruded from the back of the chair, encircling Imara’s thin neck.
Gemma held her breath as Imara closed her eyes, her hands now visibly shaking.
The interrogator placed a plastic mask over Imara’s mouth and nose, which connected to the chair via a long tube.
The sight of it alone made Gemma’s knees weak.
The device resembled those she’d used on patients who’d needed oxygen.
There were only two reasons that was being used on them.
Either they were going to be administered an inhalant, or their oxygen was about to considerably deplete.
It didn’t matter anymore that this was about passing the Trials. In the simulated environment, every sensation was felt, and Gemma feared for her team. Reymond had told her that some interrogators might use torture, and every molecule in Gemma’s body shouted that this woman was one of those.
And Gemma could no longer deny how much she truly cared about her comrades as a sharp dread gripped her heart.
“These sensors will analyze your physiological responses to my questions and monitor your vital signs,” the interrogator explained. “Try to resist, and the collar will shock you. Lie, and the collar will shock you. Disobey, and the collar will shock you.”
Gemma wiped her clammy hands on her shorts when the interrogator waved at one of the guards at the console.
The red glow of the chair brightened.
A loud hiss, and the mask over Imara’s mouth and nose filled with a creamy, white gas. She groaned and squirmed in her seat, fighting her restraints. Bright-blue volts shocked Imara’s neck. She stiffened with a yelp.
“I tried to warn you not to resist,” the interrogator drawled. “Now, give me the code to your bomb sequence.”
The same code their guide had provided them appeared on the glass walls of their prison cell: A-1-B-7-F-6. It was mirrored so that Imara could see it, but none of their captors seemed to be aware of its existence.
The simulation was goading her into giving it up.
Imara’s screams were heart-shattering as she continued to dodge the question. Gemma grimaced every time the collar snapped electricity into Imara’s neck. She wanted to look away, to close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else—anywhere else.
But she didn’t want Imara to feel like she’d been left alone.
“Fine. If you don’t want to share the code, how about I tell your comrades about the man you killed?” the interrogator threatened.
Gemma held her breath as Imara sobbed, shaking her head. She killed someone?
More gas filled the mask over Imara’s face.
“Look at him!” the interrogator shouted. “Look at his lifeless body. Do you want them to know how he died, how he bled out in your bed, and you just left him there for your mother to find?”
“Please stop,” Imara begged, her voice cracking.
“Give me the code, then!”
Imara pressed her lips together and shook her head. The room strobed with blinding blue light as Imara was filled with another bout of electricity.
Gemma wanted to shout at Imara to tell the interrogator what she wanted to hear. She clamped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head back and forth, unable to fathom that anyone was capable of such cruelty.
After what felt like days, the interrogator finally backed away, waving a hand at her guards. “She’s useless. Get her away from me.”
Gemma placed her trembling fingers against her cheek. Imara had survived without breaking. They were one step closer to passing their Trials, and Imara didn’t have to suffer any more pain.
Two of the guards practically dragged Imara back to their cage, dumping her on the floor.