Robin Wasserman - Torn

“He’s right, I could—”

“You could not . What happens when they find you passed out by the vent access port and realize what you did?”

“So, better idea. He slips the stuff into the vents, you get everyone out—and I make it all possible by meeting up with this ‘guy’ in the first place. Tell me how to find him.”

But I knew where she’d have to go to find him. The same place all Jude’s ‘guys’ were. The place you lived when you were the kind of ‘guy’ who dealt in illegal bioweapons and various other diversions of the delinquent class.

“Are you forgetting what Auden said? No one leaves here without permission, not mechs, not staff.”

“I’m not exactly staff so much as Tyson Renzler’s pet project,” Zo said. “If I want to leave, trust me, I can make it happen.”

“Which means this will work,” Jude said. “I can tell her exactly how to find this guy and what she needs to say to him, no problem.”

“You want her to go into the city, by herself , and trust that your ‘guy’ won’t take advantage of that?”

“He’s a friend,” Jude said.

“Yeah. I’ve met your friends .”

“I can do this,” Zo said. “I’m not scared.”

“Then you’re an idiot. So now you’re really not doing it.”

“Lia,” she said. “Trust me. Just, for once, trust me .”

I peered at her in the dark, trying to decode the shadowy outline, piece together the expression on her face.

“I am scared, okay?” she admitted. “But I can do this. Let me.”

I didn’t care how many mechs it would save; I wasn’t willing to risk my sister. But maybe I didn’t get to decide that for her. “One condition,” I said.

“Anything.”

“You’re not going alone.”

She already knew where to find Auden.

Ani and Quinn helped spread the word to the rest of the mechs. It was a whisper campaign, notes scrawled in dust and wiped away, murmured in willing ears, even razored into flesh as our blade made the rounds. Word spread that it was time to get out, that staying here was death, that there would soon be a signal.

But there’d be no signal and no escape unless Zo came back with what we needed—and all the plotting and whispering and strategizing in the world wasn’t enough to distract me from what would happen if she never came back at all. What had I done, sending her into the city? I could picture her stepping over steaming piles of garbage, pressing herself against peeling building fronts as packs of rats (both the rodent and human variety) skulked past. I could even picture her following Jude’s directions to the towers themselves, decaying strongholds protected by legless and armless children who thought they were sentries, who hoisted machine guns nearly as tall as they were.

That’s where my picture faded. Because I couldn’t picture her getting in, and I couldn’t picture her getting out again, and I didn’t care how high the stakes were or how many of us would die if this didn’t work—none of it was worth what I’d done, letting her believe she could do it on her own.

But two days later it appeared, buried beneath our morning supply of linens, two slim aerosol tubes of Amperin, and a note bearing only two words:

Your turn.

She was safe.

It was a matter of waiting. Zo still had the hard part—disabling the ventilation system security. She’d give us the signal if and when it worked. When it came, Jude and I would head for the vents while Ani and Quinn coordinated the rest of the mechs, alerting them that the time had come. She’d warned us it might take five minutes to get a clear shot at the computer system, or it might take hours. There was no way of knowing. And so we waited, keeping one eye on the giant screens overhanging the atrium. They broadcast messages to keep us calm, sanitized news of the outside world and assurances of how quickly our prison term would end. Soon, hopefully, they would go dark, just for a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, and that would be Zo. It felt strange to be sitting on a bench side by side with Jude, as if we were just two friends out for a day in the steel-encased park. We’re allies, I thought. Not friends. There’s a difference. Though it was becoming increasingly unclear exactly what it was.

“Can you believe your sister?” Jude said, lounging back on the bench, legs stretched wide.

“What?”

“Everything.” Jude shook his head. “She’s impressive.”

“For an org, you mean.”

“For anyone.”

I’d never known Jude to admit respect for an org, much less this kind of naked admiration. “Don’t.”

“What?” Voice oh so innocent.

“You know what.”

“No… apparently only one of us is a mind reader.”

“Forget about Zo.”

“Ah, sibling rivalry. Ugly, Lia. Doesn’t become you.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“And you’re a joke. You really think I’d go after your sister?”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

“What? No!”

The self-satisfied smile appeared. “Jealous.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“There’s no shame in it—who wouldn’t want this?” His hands did a little eat your heart out flourish over his body.

I grabbed his hand and bent it backward, several inches farther than it was supposed to go.

“Hey!”

“Ready to shut up?”

“Ready to let go?” He yanked his hand away before I could. Still stronger; always stronger. “I was teasing, psycho.”

“I’m not joking about this, asshole.”

“You really want to do this? Now?”

“Got nothing better to do.”

“Fine. No Zo. I swear.”

“Whatever that’s worth.”

“Psycho and paranoid. Great.”

“I’m not saying it again—”

“Listen to me,” he said, suddenly serious. “I will never pursue your sister. With or without your permission. You know that. You know why.”

“Actually, I don’t.” But I was starting to get a very bad feeling. There was only one reason he would stay away from someone temptingly off-limits, just because I’d asked him to, just because she was my sister. Either he was lying, or…

“This is not going to happen,” I said, suddenly aware of every inch of my body and its too-close proximity to his. “You. Me. Never. ”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Riley was your best friend!”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Never,” I said again. “Even if I wanted it to. Which, to be clear, I don’t.”

“You think I do?” Jude said quietly. “It’s the last thing I want.”

“I hate you,” I said, and in that moment, with a wave of revulsion and rage stronger than I’d felt for anyone, even Savona, it was true.

“You are so angry,” he said.

“Your observational skills never cease to amaze me.”

“No,” he said. “I mean you’re always angry.”

“Of course I am.”

“So just tell me why .”

I couldn’t believe it. All this time I’d thought we understood each other. That there was one common bond tying us together, one empty space that both of us were trying desperately to fill, one white-hot fire of purpose and revenge driving us both. And now he was confused ? “Why aren’t you angry?” I said, only barely resisting the urge to shout. “He’s dead! And no matter what we do, even if we fix everything and save everyone, he’s still dead . And you just…”

“What?”

“You accept it.” I wanted to slap him.

Jude flinched like I had. The bright golden point flickered at the center of his pupils. “I’m angry.”