Marissa Meyer - Scarlet

“ Maybe ,” he said. “Maybe, if you had a full name, an address, something specific. But a last name and a country—an enormous country—and a description? Scarlet, if you tell them this, they’ll only take you captive, in hopes that you’ll be able to identify this man.”

Tugging at her zipper, she studied him, how his eyes were more crazed with every breath he took.

“Good,” she said. “Then we’ll offer to trade me for my grandmother.”

He shrank back, shaking his head, but Scarlet was bolstered. “We’ll go together. You can tell them that you have information, but you’ll only give it to them on the condition that they let you walk away free, and that you take my grandmother with you. And they can have me.”

Wolf shuddered.

“Wolf, you have to promise me you’ll take care of her. We don’t know what kind of condition she’ll be in. If they’ve … if she’s hurt … you’ll have to take care of her.” Her voice hitched, but there were no more tears. Her resolve was complete.

Until—“What if she’s already dead, Scarlet?”

Dread settled in her stomach at the words she’d refused to speak, for fear it could make them real. The train was still slowing and Scarlet could make out the furious noise of the city: hovers and netscreens and buzzers warning to stay off the tracks. It was the middle of the night, but in the city there was never silence.

“Do you think she is?” Her voice trembled. Her heart throbbed as she waited for him to answer. “You think they’ve killed her?”

Every moment wrapped around Scarlet’s neck, strangling her, until the only possible word from Wolf’s lips had to be yes . Yes, she was dead. Yes, she was gone. They’d murdered her. These monsters had murdered her.

Scarlet pressed her palms into the crate, trying to push through the plastic. “Say it.”

“No,” he murmured, shoulders sinking. “No, I don’t think they’ve killed her. Not yet.”

Scarlet shivered with relief. She covered her face with both hands, dizzy with the hurricane of emotions. “Thank the stars,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

His tone hardened. “Don’t thank me for telling the truth when it would have been mercy to lie to you.”

“Mercy? To tell me she’s dead? To break my heart?”

“Making you believe she was dead was the only chance I had to convince you not to go looking for her. We both know that. I should have lied.”

The hum of the tracks deepened as the train crawled into a station. Voices yelled. Machinery clanked and hissed.

“It’s not your decision to make,” she said, grabbing the portscreen and checking their location. They’d made it to Paris. “I have to go after her. But you don’t have to come with me.”

“Scarlet—”

“No, listen. I appreciate your help. How far you’ve brought me. But I can go on alone. Just tell me where to go and I’ll find it myself.”

“Maybe I won’t.”

Scarlet shoved the port into her pocket, anger burning in her cheeks. But then she met Wolf’s gaze and saw, not stubbornness, but panic. His fingers curling and uncurling, again and again.

She released her mounting resentment. Scooting toward Wolf, she cupped his face in her hands. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. “They’ll want this information, won’t they?”

His expression was stone.

“We’ll offer me as a trade. You and Grand-mère can go somewhere safe, take care of each other, and when they let me go, I’ll come find you. They can’t keep me forever.”

She smiled as warmly as she could, and waited for him to return it. When he didn’t, she rubbed her thumbs across his cheeks and kissed him. Though he instantly pulled her against him, he didn’t let the kiss linger.

“There’s no guarantee they’ll let you go. When they’re done with you, they might kill you. You’re sacrificing your life for hers.”

“It’s a chance I have to take.”

The train came to a steady stop and sank down onto the tracks.

Wolf’s eyes saddened. “I know. You’ll do what you have to do.” Peeling her hands off his shoulders, he placed a sweet kiss against her wrist, where the blood pulsed beneath her skin. “And so will I.”

The underground platform was well lit and filled with androids and hovering carts ready to unload the train’s cargo. Scarlet followed Wolf into the shadows of another freight train. They waited until an android turned away before crawling up onto the platform.

Wolf grabbed her wrist and pulled her across the platform, ducking behind a cart loaded with crates. A moment later Scarlet saw an android roll into the car she and Wolf had just abandoned, its blue light seeping back out the door.

“Be ready to run when that train leaves,” Wolf said, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. Not seconds later, the train lifted up off the tracks and began gliding back into the tunnel.

Scarlet sprang toward the tracks, only to find herself being pulled back by her hood. She let out a strangled cry and slammed back into Wolf.

“Wha—”

He placed a finger to his mouth.

Scarlet glared and ripped her hood from his grasp, but then she heard it too. The hum of an approaching train.

It was on the third track out and blew past them without any indication of slowing, vanishing into the darkness again as quickly as it had come.

Wolf grinned. “Now we can go.”

They reached the other platform without any further run-ins, spotted only by a middle-aged man who watched them curiously over his port.

Scarlet checked her own port when they reached street level. The city was quiet in the still of morning. They were at the Gare de Lyon, surrounded by avenues of shops and offices. Though Wolf tried to hide it, Scarlet could tell he was sniffing for something.

All she could smell was city. Metal and asphalt and baking bread from a closed patisserie on the corner.

Wolf headed northwest.

The street was lined with imposing second-era Beaux-Arts structures and flower boxes hanging from stone-wrapped windows. An ornate clock tower stood in the distance, its face lit up and showing two broad pointed hands and roman numerals; below it stood a digital screen that read 04:26 beside an ad for the newest model of house android.

“How far are we?” Scarlet asked.

“Not far. We can walk.”

They turned left at a traffic circle, Wolf half a step ahead of her, hunched over like he was barricading himself. Scarlet’s gaze traveled down his arm, over the bandaged wound that no longer seemed to be bothering him, to his fidgeting fingers. She wanted to reach out to him, but found it impossible. She tucked both of her hands into her hoodie’s pockets instead.

There was an abyss opening up between them, cutting through whatever they’d shared on the train. They were almost there—almost to her grandmother, almost to the Order of the Pack.

Maybe he was leading her to her death.

Maybe Wolf was marching toward his.

She tilted her chin up, refusing to frighten herself with her own morose thoughts. All that mattered now was rescuing her grandmother, and she was so close. So close.

The ancient residences drew in closer to the road as they left the busy intersection behind. There was only the occasional sign of life—a cat cleaning itself in the window of a hat shop, a man in a suit darting from a hotel into a waiting hover. They passed a netscreen that showed a commercial for a shampoo that claimed to change the color of one’s hair based on their moods.

She already yearned for the solitude of the farm. That was the only reality she knew. The farm and her grandmother and her weekly deliveries. And now, Wolf. That was the reality she wanted.