Veronica Rossi: Brooke

“Can’t make any promises,” Soren rasps. He’s kidding around, which is another reason he’s my favorite. This place is hell. If you can joke in here, then you can make light of just about anything.

“Well, aim to the side this time, all right?”

He nods and parts his lips. I bring the water to them and pour it in slowly. He’s sallow and sweaty, but he wouldn’t be bad-looking if he weren’t a Dweller. He has a strong face, with a heavy brow and eyes that look like they don’t miss much, even in their glazed, sickly state.

All the Dwellers are fair, with no wrinkles or scars or blemishes. I guess those qualities were done away with in the Pods. I feel very lucky that I look as good as they do—or better, actually—just by plain good fortune.

I can tell Soren is taking small, careful sips so as to keep the water down. “What’s your name again?” he croaks when he’s finished.

“Not telling you again.” All I need is forty Dwellers moaning “Brooke” to me all day long.

Drinking has made Soren out of breath. He’s panting a little when he says, “Outside . . . what’s happening?”

“Aether. Lots of it.”

His eyes narrow like he’s trying to picture the sky outside, and a small worry line appears on his brow. “How are we going to—”

“There’s nothing you can do to help,” I assure him, “especially in your pathetic condition, so just go back to sleep.” I get up and move on to the next person.

Molly says I’m not making enough of an effort with these people, but I really don’t think she’s been paying attention.

My path through the cavern is methodical. And targeted. I work my way toward Aria, who I’ve avoided until now.

I didn’t want Molly watching me around her. I didn’t want to feel like she was policing me. Like she thought I might hurt Aria. Being suspected of that would streak me, even though the idea of doing her harm does hold some appeal.

It takes me ten minutes to reach Aria’s side. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching me, I kneel next to her, moving as quietly as I can. She is in a deep sleep or maybe unconscious, but she is an Aud. I don’t want to take any chances that I’ll wake her.

As I look her over, my heart starts thudding and my face warms with anger.

Her right arm is bandaged, but blood seeps through the wrap, staining the white gauze with bright red spots.

Her arm was shot, apparently.

It’s becoming infected, apparently.

I should feel bad for her, I suppose.

I don’t.

She looks good for someone who’s wounded. That actually is apparent. Her hair is as black as the darkness around me but still shines like a diamond. Her skin is as pale as the moon, and she breathes like an Aud.

Soundlessly. Elegantly. Gently.

I am blond and strong and loud and determined, and no one will ever call me elegant. No one will ever see me as gentle. She is everything I’m not.

And Perry chose her.

Over me.

I let out a slow, shaky breath. Leaning closer to her, I picture Perry kissing her. Coals heat in my stomach, warming with every second that passes. The heat becomes unbearable; I nearly expect to see a glow through my shirt.

I can’t stand it anymore and have to let it out. Words pour from my lips.

“You probably can’t hear me,” I whisper, “but I hate you. I hate that you took away who I love. He was mine and we were happy until you came along. Maybe you think you fixed that by bringing Clara back, but you didn’t. Perry should be mine. Not yours.”

I sit back on my heels. The coals are still sizzling inside me. That didn’t make me feel any better.

Footsteps close in behind me. My heart almost leaps out of my throat as I whirl and see a figure emerging from the shadows.

Perry.

I thank the skies he’s not an Aud or he’d have heard everything I just said. Then I remember that he is a Scire, and two thoughts spring into my head: he will know my hateful feelings toward Aria, and he will smell vomit on me.

Standing, I pull my sleeve behind my back and summon my happiest memory in hopes of softening the bitterness I’m certain is in my temper.

Clara’s giggle comes to mind. The burbling sound my sister makes when she laughs—hopefully preserved despite her time with the Dwellers—is all I can come up with, but it’s enough to make me smile.

Perry stops in front of me, but his eyes hold on Aria for a beat. His hair is pulled back, with the shorter strands pinned behind his ear. “Hey, Brooke.”

“Hey, Per.” I’m relieved that I sound calm.

His weight settles to one hip as he looks around. “Doesn’t look like there’s been much improvement.”

My eyes stray to his narrow waist and then to the dusty leather pants that skim his long, muscular legs. He is nineteen now, and the only boy left in him is his ranginess. The leanness that makes him look even taller than he is.

I take in his crooked nose, his steep cheekbones. The bright green of his unrelenting eyes. He is weathered and softened like a seashell. Beautiful in the exact opposite way of the plain perfectness of the Dwellers.

He looks back at me, waiting for me to respond. I want to say that he improved this place the second he appeared. It’s the kind of thing I would have said once. But I just say, “Not really. If anything, they’re worse.”

“How is she doing?” he asks, tipping his chin.

The coals in my stomach crackle with heat. While I’ve been mooning over how beautiful he is, he’s been thinking about Aria.

I’m losing to a girl who’s unconscious.

“I don’t know.” An hour ago, Molly and Marron huddled by Aria as they discussed her injury, but I wasn’t listening. All I know is that the wound seems to be festering, but that’s true for many things around here.

Perry lets out a slow breath, and his focus settles on me squarely. He is no longer thinking about Aria. He is thinking about me. I know because a shadow falls over his eyes and he suddenly looks guilty. Maybe even a little worried.

“Take a walk with me, Brooke?”

I didn’t expect that. “I can’t right now,” I blurt. All I’ve wanted for months is time alone with him, but now I find myself trying to escape it. “Molly wanted me to—”

“I just saw her. She’s sending Marron and a few others over. She said you’re free to go.”

“Oh. All right.”

As we walk out, I’m glad he’s in front of me so I can try to gather myself. I know nothing is going to happen between us, but it doesn’t appear that my body is aware of this. My pulse races, and anticipation curls through me. It’s a familiar feeling. Six months ago we’d sneak into this cave, Roar and Liv trailing behind us, and I would land in Perry’s arms.

“Brooke,” he says, turning suddenly. We are somewhere in one of the jagged corridors that weave through the caverns inside the mountain. There’s a lantern far ahead, but the light is dim. I can only see the soft glint of the Blood Lord chain at Perry’s neck. “How are you doing?”

Sounds bounce around in all this rock, and though he is two paces away, it feels as though he whispered the question right into my ear. Gooseflesh prickles the skin on my arms.

“Clara’s back. Liv is dead. How do you think I am?”

It’s a rude comment, but I don’t know what else to say. He rejected me. Does he really expect me to confide in him? And I don’t know why he’s asking me that question, anyway. If anyone knows how I am, it’s Perry. His nephew, Talon, was missing just like Clara. And Liv was his sister. He lost her too.

There are no words to describe the emotions colliding inside me. My friend is gone; my sister is back. I am scalding and yet I’m chilled to the bone. I am angry. I am sadder than I’ve ever been in my life. My emotions rise and fall like the stoop and soar of a hawk.