Page 67

Claire

The next day was one of my days off, and I was grateful not to have to perform for a crowd after everything I’d witnessed the night before. I hung one of my snowy-white towels in the window of the balcony door, hoping the White Rose would see my distress signal soon. In the meantime, I went through the motions around the house, trying to read or watch a movie, but I couldn’t focus. The spark at the core of my being felt like it’d been snuffed out.

Hamilton called in sick, and a distant part of me worried I’d overdosed him with the sleep medicine. The door to the security room remained shut, and I had a different soldier guarding me—a surly man in his mid-forties who looked like he’d rather be doing anything else. I supposed I couldn’t blame him; watching me pretend to read a book was hardly high entertainment. Eventually, I gave up and went to bed early, desperate to be alone and away from prying eyes.

The only thing that kept me sane was the hope that John would visit that night. I needed him so much that there was palpable ache in my chest. When the stone hit the balcony door that night, I leapt up. John climbed over the railing, and I met him at the door.

“Hey, baby,” he said, concerned but calm, but his eyes took on a wild urgency when he saw my tear-streaked face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Everything I’d been suppressing all day hit me at once: the sounds of the strange Lifeline machine. Julius’s cold smile when my father had begged him to spare my sister and me. The horrifying silence that had descended after the ‘harvest.’ My father’s dead face.

I collapsed forward, and John made a sound of alarm as he caught me in his arms. Horrible, animal sounds clawed their way out of my chest, and I sunk into him. My vision was blurred, and I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs.

“Claire, baby,” he whispered, distraught. “Christ.”

Because it was clear that I couldn’t walk, he half-dragged, half-carried me back into the bedroom, closing the door behind us. He sat on the bed with me in his lap, clutching me against his chest. I clung to him. I hadn’t cried like this since I was thirteen, when my father had died.

In a way, it was like I’d lost him all over again.

“You’re scaring the hell out of me,” John said, squeezing me. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Are you in danger? Has your cover been blown?”

I shook my head against his chest, and he blew out a breath of what seemed like relief, which felt wrong. There was no relief for me. I would relive my father’s death forever in my mind. I would never again know peace.

He let me cry for a while now that he knew I was in no immediate danger, holding me tight and stroking my hair. Eventually, I reached a point where I ran out of tears, and I sat hiccoughing and gasping, my face hot and my eyes swollen. John’s shirt was soaked, and he pressed a kiss against my head before he got up to head into the ensuite bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth, and I wiped my eyes as he sat next to me.

“It kills me to see you in this much pain,” John murmured, a tremor in his voice as he lifted my chin to meet his gaze. “Let me carry some of it for you, sweetheart. Please. Whatever it is…I’m here. We’ll figure it out.”

His amber eyes were so soft, so distressed, that I nearly broke down all over again. He was so good to me—better than anyone had ever been, and I hated how much chaos I’d inadvertently brought into his life. But he was right; I couldn’t carry this alone.

I took a deep breath and a hard swallow before I began. As soon as I started, the truth poured out of me, and I felt as though I was lancing a festering boil. I recounted every detail I could remember, the catharsis overwhelming in its intensity, and John listened intently, never interrupting me.

When I’d finished, I slumped against him. The emotional release had been potent, but now I felt drained, emptied of all the strength I’d needed to muster up to descend into the depths of Julius’s depravity.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” John murmured against my hair as he held me. “These people are monsters. Julius, most of all.”

His grip on me tightened on his last words, and he let out a tense breath.

“It wasn’t just him,” I said wearily. “That’s maybe the most disturbing part. There were…doctors or scientists who were involved. And soldiers. An inner circle of people must know about this, and not only do they not care, they assist.”

John was quiet again, but he stroked my arm idly, letting me lay my head on his chest.

“I just…” I trailed off. “I wish I knew what they were doing. What they were harvesting.”

A pregnant pause passed before John said, “I think I know.”

I jolted upright to meet his eye. “What? How?”

He reached over and tucked my hair behind my ear, his touch so gentle that it made my heart ache. His gaze was troubled and so deeply sad that I steeled myself.

“I met with Holly,” he answered after a moment. “I was getting ready to visit you again anyway when I got your message. Kimmy and I went to some kind of initiation ritual.”

He described the strange scene and the key to the Order’s current recruitment process: a promise of access to Immortalis, the drug that Jim J claimed granted his immortality and invulnerability. It didn’t seem like it should be possible, but then, I’d never have believed what happened to my father if I hadn’t seen it myself.

“Shockingly, nobody mentioned the part about having to harvest the ingredients from a living person,” John said sardonically. “I imagine that’d ruin the vibe.”

I frowned, thinking. The face of a teenage boy suddenly entered my mind. I’d only ever seen him once—when John and I had gone to the Cave to retrieve medicine for Kimmy. He’d been on stage when Jim J had introduced a small crowd of Wastelanders to his followers, and he’d mentioned that the Order had stolen him away from his home.

I wondered why he’d bother with Wastelanders.