Day presses a finger to his lips, silencing me, and then grabs my hand. His skin is warm through the fabric of his glove. The feel of his fingers around mine is such a shock after all these months that I can’t remember the rest of my sentence—everything about him, his touch, his closeness, feels right. “Let’s talk in private,” he whispers.
We head inside one of the doors lining the corridor, then close it behind us and turn the lock. My eyes do a categorical sweep of the room (private dining chamber, no lights on, one round table and twelve chairs all covered in white cloths, and a single large, arched window at the back wall that lets in a stream of moonlight). Day’s hair transforms in here to a silver sheet. He turns his gaze back to me now.
Is it my imagination, or does he look as flustered as I am about our brief handhold? I feel the sudden tightness of the dress’s waist, the air hitting my exposed shoulders and collarbone, the heaviness of the fabric and the jewels in my hair. Day’s eyes linger on the ruby necklace sitting at the small of my throat. His parting gift to me. His cheeks turn a little pink in the darkness. “So,” he says, “is this seriously why I’m here?”
Despite the anger in his voice, his directness is like a cool, sweet breeze after all these months of calculated political talk. I want to breathe it in. “The Colonies refuse to accept any other terms,” I reply. “They’re convinced that we have a cure for the virus, and the only one who might carry the cure is Eden. The Republic’s already running tests on other former . . . experiments . . . to see whether they can find anything.”
Day cringes, then folds his arms in front of his chest and regards me with a scowl. “Already running tests,” he mutters to himself, looking off toward the moonlit windows. “Sorry I can’t be more enthusiastic about this idea,” he adds dryly.
I close my eyes for a moment. “We don’t have much time,” I admit. “Every day we don’t hand over a cure further angers the Colonies.”
“And what happens if we don’t give them anything?”
“You know what happens. War.”
A note of fear appears in Day’s eyes, but he still shrugs. “The Republic and the Colonies have been at war forever. How will this be any different?”
“This time they’ll win,” I whisper. “They have a strong ally. They know we’re vulnerable during our transition to a young new Elector. If we can’t hand over this cure, we don’t stand a chance.” I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you remember what we saw when we went to the Colonies?”
Day pauses for a heartbeat. Even though he doesn’t say it aloud, I can see the conflict written clearly on his face. Finally, he sighs and tightens his lips in anger. “You think I’m going to let the Republic take Eden again? If the Elector believes that, then I really did make a mistake throwing my support behind him. I didn’t help him out just to watch him toss Eden back into a lab.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. No use trying to convince him of how much Anden also hates the situation. “He shouldn’t have asked you like this.”
“He put you up to this, didn’t he? I bet you resisted too, yeah? You know how this sounds.” His tone turns more exasperated. “You knew what my answer would be. Why’d you still send for me?”
I look into his eyes and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Because I wanted to see you. Isn’t that why you agreed too?”
This makes him pause for a moment. Then he whirls around, rakes both hands through his hair, and sighs. “What do you think, then? Tell me the truth. What would you ask me to do, if you felt absolutely no pressure from anyone else in this country?”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Steel yourself, June. “I’d . . . ,” I begin, then hesitate. What would I say? Logically, I agree with Anden’s assessment. If the Colonies do what they threaten, if they attack us with the full force of a superpower’s help, then many innocent lives will be lost unless we take a risk with one life. There is simply no easier choice. Besides, we could ensure that Eden would be treated as well as possible, with the best doctors and the most physical comfort. Day could be present during all of the potential procedures—he could see exactly what was happening. But how do I explain that to a boy who has already lost his entire family, who saw his brother experimented on before, who has been experimented on himself? This is the part that Anden doesn’t understand as well as I do, even though he knows Day’s past on paper—he still doesn’t know Day, hasn’t traveled with him and witnessed the suffering he’s gone through. The question is too complicated to be answered with simple logic.
Most importantly—Anden’s unable to guarantee his brother’s safety. Everything will come with a risk, and I know with dead certainty that nothing in the world could possibly make Day take this risk.
Day must see the frustration dancing across my face, because he softens and steps closer. I can practically feel the heat coming off him, the warmth of his nearness that turns my breath shallow. “I came here tonight for you,” he says in a low voice. “There’s nothing in the world they could’ve said to convince me, except that you wanted me here. And I can’t turn down a request from you. They told me you had personally . . .” He swallows. There’s a familiar war of emotions in his expression that leaves me with a sick feeling—emotions that I know are desire, for what we once had, and anguish, for desiring a girl who destroyed his family. “It’s so good to see you, June.”