“This whole place is made of dead bodies?”
“We use a variety of carbon sources, not only human carcasses. I would place the number of bodies that have been absorbed into this environment at eighteen. This enclosure is relatively new. Your cohort is only the third one to occupy it.”
She squeezed the bone harder. “What happened to the other two groups?”
“The cohorts both failed. Each ward was terminated as a result of their own actions.”
Cora frowned, uncertain of what he meant.
“They murdered each other,” he clarified calmly, as though this information didn’t trouble him in the least. But it rocked Cora; her heart seized into a fist.
“Murdered?”
“We discovered that none of the previous inhabitants of this environment were adaptable to captivity,” he continued. “They grew irate. The males fought over the females. They started wandering alone instead of residing within the settlement areas. Eventually they killed each other.”
“You mean they went crazy.” It was a struggle to control her voice. “They couldn’t handle your mind games. The headaches. The optical illusions. You pushed them too far, messing around with time and space, matching random strangers together . . . what did you expect would happen?”
She was shouting now.
He folded his hands. “It will not happen again.”
“Why not?” She threw her arm in the direction of the jungle huts. “Leon’s halfway there already!”
For a second his mask slipped, and she saw indecision in his eyes. “The previous cohorts were selected solely for their desirable traits and their fertility. Unfortunately, their advanced age made them unable to adapt. That is why the six of you are all of an adolescent age. Old enough for procreation, but young enough to adapt. We spent considerable time reconfiguring the habitats to reflect the needs of your age bracket.”
If it wasn’t for the heavy fatigue in her limbs, Cora would want to slap him. The adults all turned violent, so they took teenagers instead. This explained the childlike nature of life in the cage: the candy store, the arcade, the prizes. As if they were six years old, not sixteen.
“Is that really what you think matters to us? Toys? Candy?” She sucked in a breath. “Is that really what you think matters to me?”
She clamped her mouth shut before her voice broke. She knew how desperate she sounded. The other Kindred viewed them as dolls they could toy with, but she had thought Cassian was different. She thought he saw her as a person, not a plaything.
Maybe she’d been wrong.
Cora closed her eyes, but the image of the bleached bone didn’t go away. Was she truly just a chore for him—something to keep alive and healthy? What about the times he’d bent the rules for her? What about the necklace with the charm of a dog? What about the stars?
She clutched her necklace so hard that the sharp charms bit into her palm. With her eyes closed, she could almost believe she was back home. She’d wake in the morning in her own bed, with the smell of brunch downstairs, and the soft hum of the morning news on the downstairs TV.
“Cora.”
Her eyes snapped open. He’d moved close enough that she tasted metal.
“I know that more matters to you. I know that you long for home. I know that you wish you had told your family more often that you loved them.” He reached for her neck. The Warden’s hand flashed in her head, his fingers against her windpipe. But Cassian’s hand didn’t tighten around her throat; it stopped on the charm necklace. His bare fingers touched it gently, almost reverently, and that nameless electricity sparked around the edges of her throat.
“How long were you watching me on Earth?” she whispered.
“Long enough.”
“Long enough for what?”
“To know you, and what you are capable of. There is more to you than the other wards know. Boy Two cares for you, but he doesn’t know you. Not as well as I do.” His fingers curled around the charms. Their bodies were very nearly touching. Her eyes sank closed as his breath whispered against her ear.
“A smile can hide so much. A smile can be a lie.” His voice rose and fell oddly. With a start, she realized he was trying to sing—but his voice was rusty and unpracticed; he must never have sung before. It was one of the songs she had written after the bomb threat at her dad’s political rally.
Heat radiated from Cassian’s hand, holding on to the necklace, holding on to her.
“A smile can make me want to scream, and leave all this behind.”
He was singing her words, which she’d never shared with anyone—not even Charlie. Words she’d used to make sense of a life she didn’t fit into anymore. About a little girl who was supposed to spend her whole life smiling, even when she was sad, or scared, or went to prison for a crime she didn’t commit.
Her throat burned. She’d been holding her breath. It caught up with her all at once, and she sucked in air. Her chest grazed against his; electricity pulsed and the bone knocked against her leg. The bone. She’d forgotten the femur clutched in her hand.
She stepped back, and he released her necklace, and the spell was broken.
“Cora—”
“Get away from me.” Her voice was a knife. “You’re a liar. We aren’t safe here at all. If you don’t kill us first, then we’ll end up killing each other.”
He looked at her like she’d slapped him. His hand flexed at his side, once, twice, and he opened his mouth as though to plead with her. But then he straightened, and the mask returned.
“Your safety is of utmost importance to us. The stock algorithm accurately predicts—”
“Did the stock algorithm predict what happened with the last groups?”
He paused. “There is always a margin of error.”
Margin of error, she thought. Such a tidy way to explain eighteen dead bodies.
The sun was merciless. The mud tried to swallow her feet. Fear and anger and exhaustion seized her body in a tight fist, and yet the worst of all of it was the way his black eyes shifted to her, always back to her, as though she was different. His pet.
I am different, she realized. I’m the only one sane enough to know we’re in danger.
“I will personally ensure the safety of everyone in this environment,” Cassian repeated more insistently. “We simply require you to follow a set of basic rules.” He leaned close, and all that emotion came rushing back. He could be tender; he could be cruel too. “It has been twenty-one days, Cora. You have until sunset.”