The bullet has broken or fractured something, and this will

require surgery.”
Delalieu says nothing for just a moment too long.
“Good to see you’re all right, sir.” His voice is a nervous,
shaky thing. “Good to see you’re all right.”
Prologue “That was an order, Lieutenant.”
“Of course,” he says quickly, head bowed. “Certainly, sir.
How should I direct the soldiers?”
“Find her,” I tell him. It’s getting harder for me to speak. I
I’ve been shot. take a small breath and run a shaky hand across my
And, as it turns out, a bullet wound is even more forehead. I’m sweating in an excessive way that isn’t lost on
uncomfortable than I had imagined. me.
My skin is cold and clammy; I’m making a herculean effort “Yes, sir.” He moves to help me up, but I grab his arm.
to breathe. Torture is roaring through my right arm and “One last thing.”
making it difficult for me to focus. I have to squeeze my “Sir?”
eyes shut, grit my teeth, and force myself to pay attention. “Kent,” I say, my voice uneven now. “Make sure they keep
The chaos is unbearable. him alive for me.”
Several people are shouting and too many of them are Delalieu looks up, his eyes wide. “Private Adam Kent, sir?”
touching me, and I want their hands surgically removed. “Yes.” I hold his gaze. “I want to deal with him myself.”
They keep shouting “Sir!” as if they’re still waiting for me to
give them orders, as if they have no idea what to do without
my instruction. The realization exhausts me.
“Sir, can you hear me?” Another cry. But this time, a voice
I don’t detest.
“Sir, please, can you hear me—”
“I’ve been shot, Delalieu,” I manage to say. I open my
eyes. Look into his watery ones. “I haven’t gone deaf.”
All at once the noise disappears. The soldiers shut up.
Delalieu looks at me. Worried.
I sigh.
“Take me back,” I tell him, shifting, just a little. The world
tilts and steadies all at once. “Alert the medics and have my
bed prepared for our arrival. In the meantime, elevate my
arm and continue applying direct pressure to the wound.

must be dirt mixed with my own blood. I’m tempted to

punch my remaining fist through the wall.
Instead I take a moment to collect myself.
I’m suddenly too aware of everything in the air around me,
the scents and small noises and footsteps outside my door. I
One hate these rough cotton pants they’ve put me in. I hate that
I’m not wearing socks. I want to shower. I want to change.
I want to put a bullet through Adam Kent’s spine.
“Leads,” I demand. I move toward my bathroom and wince
Delalieu is standing at the foot of my bed, clipboard in hand. against the cold air as it hits my skin; I’m still without a
His is my second visit this morning. The first was from my shirt. Trying to remain calm. “Tell me you have not brought
medics, who confirmed that the surgery went well. They me this information without leads.”
said that as long as I stay in bed this week, the new drugs My mind is a warehouse of carefully organized human
they’ve given me should accelerate my healing process. emotions. I can almost see my brain as it functions, filing
They also said that I should be fit to resume daily activities thoughts and images away. I lock away the things that do
fairly soon, but I’ll be required to wear a sling for at least a not serve me. I focus only on what needs to be done: the
month. basic components of survival and the myriad things I must
I told them it was an interesting theory. manage throughout the day.
“My slacks, Delalieu.” I’m sitting up, trying to steady my “Of course,” Delalieu says. The fear in his voice stings me
head against the nausea of these new drugs. My right arm is a little; I dismiss it. “Yes, sir,” he says, “we do think we know
essentially useless to me now. where he might’ve gone—and we have reason to believe
I look up. Delalieu is staring at me, unblinking, Adam’s that Private Kent and the—and the girl—well, with Private
apple bobbing in his throat. Kishimoto having run off as well—we have reason to believe
I stifle a sigh. that they are all together, sir.”
“What is it?” I use my left arm to steady myself against The drawers in my mind are rattling to break open.
the mattress and force myself upright. It takes every ounce Memories. Theories. Whispers and sensations.
of energy I have left, and I’m clinging to the bed frame. I I shove them off a cliff.
wave away Delalieu’s effort to help; I close my eyes against “Of course you do.” I shake my head. Regret it. Close my
the pain and dizziness. “Tell me what’s happened,” I say to eyes against the sudden unsteadiness. “Do not give me
him. “There’s no point in prolonging bad news.” information I’ve already deduced for myself,” I manage to
His voice breaks twice when he says, “Private Adam Kent say. “I want something concrete. Give me a solid lead,
has escaped, sir.” Lieutenant, or leave me until you have one.”
My eyes flash a bright, dizzying white behind my eyelids. “A car,” he says quickly. “A car was reported stolen, sir,
I take a deep breath and attempt to run my good hand and we were able to track it to an unidentified location, but
through my hair. It’s thick and dry and caked with what then it disappeared off the map. It’s as if it ceased to exist,
sir.”
 I look up. Give him my full attention.
“We followed the tracks it left in our radar,” he says,
speaking more calmly now, “and they led us to a stretch of
isolated, barren land. But we’ve scoured the area and found
nothing.”
“This is something, at least.” I rub the back of my neck, Two
fighting the weakness I feel deep in my bones. “I will meet
you in the L Room in one hour.”
“But sir,” he says, eyes trained on my arm, “you’ll need
assistance—there’s a process—you’ll require a convalescent I manage to bathe without losing consciousness.
aide—” It was more of a sponge bath, but I feel better
“You are dismissed.” nonetheless. I have an extremely low threshold for disorder;
He hesitates. it offends my very being. I shower regularly. I eat six small
Then, “Yes, sir.” meals a day. I dedicate two hours of each day to training
and physical exercise. And I detest being barefoot.
Now, I find myself standing naked, hungry, tired, and
barefoot in my closet. This is not ideal.
My closet is separated into various sections. Shirts, ties,
slacks, blazers, and boots. Socks, gloves, scarves, and
coats. Everything is arranged according to color, then
shades within each color. Every article of clothing it contains
is meticulously chosen and custom made to fit the exact
measurements of my body. I don’t feel like myself until I’m
fully dressed; it’s part of who I am and how I begin my day.
Now I haven’t the faintest idea how I’m supposed to dress
myself.
My hand shakes as I reach for the little blue bottle I was
given this morning. I place two of the square-shaped pills on
my tongue and allow them to dissolve. I’m not sure what
they do; I only know they help replenish the blood I’ve lost.
So I lean against the wall until my head clears and I feel
stronger on my feet.
This, such an ordinary task. It wasn’t an obstacle I was
anticipating.

I put socks on first; a simple pleasure that requires more unmoving until my mind is clear, uncontaminated,
effort than shooting a man. Briefly, I wonder what the containing nothing but a small white room. A single light
medics must’ve done with my clothes. The clothes, I tell hanging from the ceiling.
myself, only the clothes; I’m focusing only on the clothes Clean. Pristine. Undisturbed.
from that day. Nothing else. No other details. I blink back the flood of disaster pressing against the small
Boots. Socks. Slacks. Sweater. My military jacket with its world I’ve built; I swallow hard against the fear creeping up
many buttons. my throat. I push the walls back, making more space in the
The many buttons she ripped open. room until I can finally breathe. Until I’m able to stand.
It’s a small reminder, but it’s enough to spear me. Sometimes I wish I could step outside of myself for a while.
I try to fight it off but it lingers, and the more I try to ignore I want to leave this worn body behind, but my chains are too
the memory, it multiplies into a monster that can no longer many, my weights too heavy. This life is all that’s left of me.
be contained. I don’t even realize I’ve fallen against the wall And I know I won’t be able to meet myself in the mirror for
until I feel the cold climbing up my skin; I’m breathing too the rest of the day.
hard and squeezing my eyes shut against the sudden wash I’m suddenly disgusted with myself. I have to get out of
of mortification. this room as soon as possible, or my own thoughts will wage
I knew she was terrified, horrified, even, but I never war against me. I make a hasty decision and for the first
thought those feelings were directed toward me. I’d seen time, pay little attention to what I’m wearing. I tug on a
her evolve as we spent time together; she seemed more fresh pair of pants and go without a shirt. I slip my good arm
comfortable as the weeks passed. Happier. At ease. I into the sleeve of a blazer and allow the other shoulder to
allowed myself to believe she’d seen a future for us; that drape over the sling carrying my injured arm. I look
she wanted to be with me and simply thought it impossible. ridiculous, exposed like this, but I’ll find a solution tomorrow.
I’d never suspected that her newfound happiness was a First, I have to get out of this room.
consequence of Kent.
I run my good hand down the length of my face; cover my
mouth. The things I said to her.
A tight breath.
The way I touched her.
My jaw tenses.
If it were nothing but sexual attraction I’m sure I would not
suffer such unbearable humiliation. But I wanted so much
more than her body.
All at once I implore my mind to imagine nothing but walls.
Walls. White walls. Blocks of concrete. Empty rooms. Open
space.
I build walls until they begin to crumble, and then I force
another set to take their place. I build and build and remain
 they feel only makes me more determined to live a very
long life.
I will give no one the satisfaction of my death.

“No.”
Three I wave away the tea and coffee service for the fourth time.
“I do not drink caffeine, Delalieu. Why do you always insist
on having it served at my meals?”
“I suppose I always hope you will change your mind, sir.”
Delalieu is the only person here who does not hate me. I look up. Delalieu is smiling that strange, shaky smile. And
He still spends the majority of his time in my presence I’m not entirely certain, but I think he’s just made a joke.
cowering in fear, but somehow he has no interest in “Why?” I reach for a slice of bread. “I am perfectly capable
overthrowing my position. I can feel it, though I don’t of keeping my eyes open. Only an idiot would rely on the
understand it. He’s likely the only person in this building energy of a bean or a leaf to stay awake throughout the
who’s pleased that I’m not dead. day.”
I hold up a hand to keep away the soldiers who rush Delalieu is no longer smiling.
forward as I open my door. It takes an intense amount of “Yes,” he says. “Certainly, sir.” And stares down at his
concentration to keep my fingers from shaking as I wipe the food. I watch as his fingers push away the coffee cup.
slight sheen of perspiration off my forehead, but I will not I drop the bread back onto my plate. “My opinions,” I say
allow myself a moment of weakness. These men do not fear to him, quietly this time, “should not so easily break your
for my safety; they only want a closer look at the spectacle own. Stand by your convictions. Form clear and logical
I’ve become. They want a first look at the cracks in my arguments. Even if I disagree.”
sanity. But I have no wish to be wondered at. “Of course, sir,” he whispers. He says nothing for a few
My job is to lead. seconds. But then I see him reach for his coffee again.
I’ve been shot; it will not be fatal. There are things to be Delalieu.
managed; I will manage them. He, I think, is my only course for conversation.
This wound will be forgotten. He was originally assigned to this sector by my father, and
Her name will not be spoken. has since been ordered to remain here until he’s no longer
My fingers clench and unclench as I make my way toward able. And though he’s likely forty-five years my senior, he
the L Room. I never before realized just how long these insists on remaining directly below me. I’ve known
corridors are and just how many soldiers line the halls. Delalieu’s face since I was a child; I used to see him around
There’s no reprieve from their curious stares and their our house, sitting in on the many meetings that took place
disappointment that I did not die. I don’t even have to look in the years before The Reestablishment took over.
at them to know what they’re thinking. But knowing how There was an endless supply of meetings in my house.
My father was always planning things, leading discussions
and whispered conversations I was never allowed to be a

part of. The men of those meetings are running this world “You shouldn’t take more than eight of those within a
now, so when I look at Delalieu I can’t help but wonder why twenty-four-hour period, sir.”
he never aspired to more. He was a part of this regime from I open the cap and toss three more into my mouth. I really
the very beginning, but somehow seems content to die just wish my hands would stop shaking. My muscles feel too
as he is now. He chooses to remain subservient, even when I tight, too tense. Stretched thin.
give him opportunities to speak up; he refuses to be I don’t wait for the pills to dissolve. I bite down on them,
promoted, even when I offer him higher pay. And while I crunching against their bitterness. There’s something about
appreciate his loyalty, his dedication unnerves me. He does the foul, metallic taste that helps me focus. “Tell me about
not seem to wish for more than what he has. Kent.”
I should not trust him. Delalieu knocks over his coffee cup.
And yet, I do. The dining aides have left the room at my request;
But I’ve begun to lose my mind for a lack of Delalieu receives no assistance as he scrambles to clean up
companionable conversation. I cannot maintain anything the mess. I sit back in my chair, staring at the wall just
but a cool distance from my soldiers, not only because they behind him, mentally tallying up the minutes I’ve lost today.
all wish to see me dead, but also because I have a “Leave the coffee.”
responsibility as their leader to make unbiased decisions. I “I—yes, of course, sorry, sir—”
have sentenced myself to a life of solitude, one wherein I “Stop.”
have no peers, and no mind but my own to live in. I looked Delalieu drops the sopping napkins. His hands are frozen
to build myself as a feared leader, and I’ve succeeded; no in place, hovering over his plate.
one will question my authority or posit a contrary opinion. “Speak.”
No one will speak to me as anything but the chief I watch his throat move as he swallows, hesitates. “We
commander and regent of Sector 45. Friendship is not a don’t know, sir,” he whispers. “The building should’ve been
thing I have ever experienced. Not as a child, and not as I impossible to find, much less to enter. It’d been bolted and
am now. rusted shut. But when we found it,” he says, “when we
Except. found it, it was . . . the door had been destroyed. And we’re
One month ago, I met the exception to this rule. There has not sure how they managed it.”
been one person who’s ever looked me directly in the eye. I sit up. “What do you mean, destroyed?”
The same person who’s spoken to me with no filter; He shakes his head. “It was . . . very odd, sir. The door had
someone who’s been unafraid to show anger and real, raw been . . . mangled. As if some kind of animal had clawed
feeling in my presence; the only one who’s ever dared to through it. There was only a gaping, ragged hole in the
challenge me, to raise her voice to me— middle of the frame.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for what feels like the tenth time I stand up entirely too fast, gripping the table for support.
today. I unclench my fist around this fork, drop it to the I’m breathless at the thought of it, at the possibility of what
table. My arm has begun to throb again, and I reach for the must’ve happened. And I can’t help but allow myself the
pills tucked away in my pocket. painful pleasure of recalling her name once more, because I
know it must’ve been her. She must’ve done something
extraordinary, and I wasn’t even there to witness it.
“Call for transport,” I tell him. “I will meet you in the
Quadrant in exactly ten minutes.”
“Sir?”
I’m already out the door. Four

Clawed through the middle. Just like an animal. It’s true.

To an unsuspecting observer it would be the only
explanation, but even then it wouldn’t make any sense. No
animal alive could claw through this many inches of
reinforced steel without amputating its own limbs.
And she is not an animal.
She is a soft, deadly creature. Kind and timid and
terrifying. She’s completely out of control and has no idea
what she’s capable of. And even though she hates me, I
can’t help but be fascinated by her. I’m enchanted by her
pretend-innocence; jealous, even, of the power she wields
so unwittingly. I want so much to be a part of her world. I
want to know what it’s like to be in her mind, to feel what
she feels. It seems a tremendous weight to carry.
And now she’s out there, somewhere, unleashed on
society.
What a beautiful disaster.
I run my fingers along the jagged edges of the hole,
careful not to cut myself. There’s no design to it, no
premeditation. Only an anguished fervor so readily apparent
in the chaotic ripping-apart of this door. I can’t help but
wonder if she knew what she was doing when this
happened, or if it was just as unexpected to her as it was
the day she broke through that concrete wall to get to me.
I have to stifle a smile. I wonder how she must remember
that day. Every soldier I’ve worked with has walked into a

simulation knowing exactly what to expect, but I purposely reminding myself that her improvements had nothing to do
kept those details from her. I thought the experience should with me.
be as undiluted as possible; I hoped the spare, realistic They had to do with Kent.
elements would lend authenticity to the event. More than A betrayal that somehow seemed impossible. That she
anything else, I wanted her to have a chance to explore her would leave me for a robotic, unfeeling idiot like Kent. His
true nature—to exercise her strength in a safe space—and thoughts are so empty, so mindless; it’s like conversing with
given her past, I knew a child would be the perfect trigger. a desk lamp. I don’t understand what he could’ve offered
But I never could’ve anticipated such revolutionary results. her, what she could’ve possibly seen in him except a tool for
Her performance was more than I had hoped for. And escape.
though I wanted to discuss the effects with her afterward, She still hasn’t grasped that there’s no future for her in the
by the time I found her she was already planning her world of common people. She doesn’t belong in the
escape. company of those who will never understand her. And I have
My smile falters. to get her back.
“Would you like to step inside, sir?” Delalieu’s voice jolts I only realize I’ve said that last bit out loud when Delalieu
me back to the present. “There’s not much to see within, speaks.
but it is interesting to note that the hole is just big enough “We have troops all across the sector searching for her,”
for someone to easily climb through. It seems clear, sir, he says. “And we’ve alerted the neighboring sectors, just in
what the intent was.” case the group of them should cross ove—”
I nod, distracted. My eyes carefully catalog the dimensions “What?” I spin around, my voice a quiet, dangerous thing.
of the hole; I try to imagine what it must’ve been like for “What did you just say?”
her, to be here, trying to get through. I want so much to be Delalieu has turned a sickly shade of white.
able to talk to her about all of this. “I was unconscious for all of one night! And you’ve already
My heart twists so suddenly. alerted the other sectors to this catastrophe—”
I’m reminded, all over again, that she’s no longer with me. “I thought you would want to find them, sir, and I thought,
She does not live on base anymore. if they should try to seek refuge elsewhere—”
It’s my fault she’s gone. I allowed myself to believe she I take a moment to breathe, to gather my bearings.
was finally doing well and it affected my judgment. I “I’m sorry, sir, I thought it would be safest—”
should’ve been paying closer attention to details. To my “She is with two of my own soldiers, Lieutenant. Neither
soldiers. I lost sight of my purpose and my greater goal; the one of them are stupid enough to guide her toward another
entire reason I brought her on base. I was stupid. Careless. sector. They have neither the clearance nor the tools to
But the truth is, I was distracted. obtain said clearance in order to cross the sector line.”
By her. “But—”
She was so stubborn and childish when she first arrived, “They’ve been gone one day. They are badly wounded and
but as the weeks passed she’d seemed to settle; she felt in need of aid. They’re traveling on foot and with a stolen
less anxious to me, somehow less afraid. I have to keep vehicle that is easily trackable. How far,” I say to him,
frustration breaking into my voice, “could they have gone?”
 Delalieu says nothing. Then
“You have sent out a national alert. You’ve notified “Sir,” he gasps. “Please forgive me.”
multiple sectors, which means the entire country now
knows. Which means the capitals have received word.
Which means what?” I curl my only working hand into a fist.
“What do you think that means, Lieutenant?”
For a moment, he seems unable to speak.

Now more than ever, I need to be in control of myself and

my responsibilities. But my mind is scattered, my body
fatigued and wounded. All day I’ve been inches from
collapsing, and I don’t know what to do. I have no idea how
to fix it. This weakness is foreign to my being.
Five In just two days, one girl has managed to cripple me.
I’ve taken even more of these disgusting pills, but I feel
weaker than I did this morning. I thought I could ignore the
pain and inconvenience of a wounded shoulder, but the
Delalieu follows me to my door. complication refuses to diminish. I am now wholly
“Gather the troops in the Quadrant tomorrow at ten dependent on whatever will carry me through these next
hundred hours,” I say to him by way of good-bye. “I’ll have weeks of frustration. Medicine, medics, hours in bed.
to make an announcement about these recent events as All this for a kiss.
well as what’s to come.” It’s almost unbearable.
“Yes, sir,” Delalieu says. He doesn’t look up. He hasn’t “I’ll be in my office for the rest of the day,” I tell Delalieu.
looked at me since we left the warehouse. “Have my meals sent to my room, and do not disturb me
I have other matters to worry about. unless there are any new developments.”
Not counting Delalieu’s stupidity, there are an infinite “Yes, sir.”
number of things I must take care of right now. I can’t afford “That’ll be all, Lieutenant.”
any more difficulties, and I cannot be distracted. Not by her. “Yes, sir.”
Not by Delalieu. Not by anyone. I have to focus.
This is a terrible time to be wounded. I don’t even realize how ill I feel until I close the bedroom
News of our situation has already hit a national level. door behind me. I stagger to the bed and grip the frame to
Civilians and neighboring sectors are now aware of our keep from falling over. I’m sweating again and decide to
minor uprising, and we have to tamp down the rumors as strip the extra coat I wore on our outside excursion. I yank
much as possible. I have to somehow defuse the alerts off the blazer I’d carelessly tossed over my injured shoulder
Delalieu has already sent out, and simultaneously suppress this morning and fall backward onto my bed. I’m suddenly
any hope of rebellion among the citizens. They’re already freezing. My good hand shakes as I reach for the medic call
too eager to resist, and any spark of controversy will button.
reignite their fervor. Too many have died already, and they I need to get the dressing on my shoulder changed. I need
still don’t seem to understand that standing against The to eat something substantial. And more than anything else, I
Reestablishment is asking for more destruction. The civilians desperately need to take a real shower, which seems
must be pacified. altogether impossible.
I do not want war in my sector. Someone is standing over me.
I blink several times but can only make out the general
outline of their figure. A face keeps coming in and out of
focus until I finally give up. My eyes fall closed. My head is
pounding. Pain is searing through my bones and up my
neck; reds and yellows and blues blur together behind my
eyelids. I catch only clips of the conversation around me.
—seems to have developed a fever— —probably sedate
him— —how many did he take?— They’re going to kill me, I Six
realize. This is the perfect opportunity. I’m weak and unable
to fight back, and someone has finally come to kill me. This
is it. My moment. It has arrived. And somehow I can’t seem
to accept it. “Juliette,” I whisper. “What are you doing here?”
I take a swipe at the voices; an inhuman sound escapes I’m half-dressed, getting ready for my day, and it’s too
my throat. Something hard hits my fist and crashes to the early for visitors. These hours just before the sun rises are
floor. Hands clamp down on my right arm and pin it in place. my only moments of peace, and no one should be in here. It
Something is being tightened around my ankles, my wrist. seems impossible she gained access to my private quarters.
I’m thrashing against these new restraints and kicking Someone should’ve stopped her.
desperately at the air. The blackness seems to be pressing Instead, she’s standing in my doorway, staring at me. I’ve
against my eyes, my ears, my throat. I can’t breathe, can’t seen her so many times, but this is different—it’s causing
hear or see clearly, and the suffocation of the moment is so me physical pain to look at her. But somehow I still find
terrifying that I’m almost certain I’ve lost my mind. myself drawn to her, wanting to be near her.
Something cold and sharp pinches my arm. “I’m so sorry,” she says, and she’s wringing her hands,
I have only a moment to reflect on the pain before it looking away from me. “I’m so, so sorry.”
engulfs me. I notice what she’s wearing.
It’s a dark-green dress with fitted sleeves; a simple cut
made of stretch cotton that clings to the soft curves of her
figure. It complements the flecks of green in her eyes in a
way I couldn’t have anticipated. It’s one of the many
dresses I chose for her. I thought she might enjoy having
something nice after being caged as an animal for so long.
And I can’t quite explain it, but it gives me a strange sense
of pride to see her wearing something I picked out myself.
“I’m sorry,” she says for the third time.
I’m again struck by how impossible it is that she’s here. In
my bedroom. Staring at me without my shirt on. Her hair is
so long it falls to the middle of her back; I have to clench my

fists against this unbidden need to run my hands through it. into my ear, her lips almost touching my cheek. “Do you
She’s so beautiful. love me?” she whispers.
I don’t understand why she keeps apologizing. “What?” I breathe. “What are you doing—”
She shuts the door behind her. She’s walking over to me. “Do you still love me?” she asks again, her fingers now
My heart is beating quickly now, and it doesn’t feel natural. I tracing the shape of my face, the line of my jaw.
do not react this way. I do not lose control. I see her every “Yes,” I tell her. “Yes I still do—”
day and manage to maintain some semblance of dignity, She smiles.
but something is off; this isn’t right. It’s such a sweet, innocent smile that I’m actually shocked
She’s touching my arm. when her grip tightens around my arm. She twists my
She’s running her fingers along the curve of my shoulder, shoulder back until I’m sure it’s being ripped from the
and the brush of her skin against mine is making me want socket. I’m seeing spots when she says, “It’s almost over
to scream. The pain is excruciating, but I can’t speak; I’m now.”
frozen in place. “What is?” I ask, frantic, trying to look around. “What’s
I want to tell her to stop, to leave, but parts of me are at almost over—”
war. I’m happy to have her close even if it hurts, even if it “Just a little longer and I’ll leave.”
doesn’t make any sense. But I can’t seem to reach for her; I “No—no, don’t go—where are you going—”
can’t hold her like I’ve always wanted to. “You’ll be all right,” she says. “I promise.”
She looks at me. “No,” I’m gasping, “no—”
She searches me with those odd, blue-green eyes and I All at once she yanks me forward, and I’m awake so
feel guilty so suddenly, without understanding why. But quickly I can’t breathe.
there’s something about the way she looks at me that I blink several times only to realize I’ve woken up in the
always makes me feel insignificant, as if she’s the only one middle of the night. Absolute blackness greets me from the
who’s realized I’m entirely hollow inside. She’s found the corners of my room. My chest is heaving; my arm is bound
cracks in this cast I’m forced to wear every day, and it and pounding, and I realize my pain medication has worn
petrifies me. off. There’s a small remote wedged under my hand; I press
That this girl would know exactly how to shatter me. the button to replenish the dosage.
She rests her hand against my collarbone. It takes a few moments for my breathing to stabilize. My
And then she grips my shoulder, digs her fingers into my thoughts slowly retreat from panic.
skin like she’s trying to tear off my arm. The agony is so Juliette.
blinding that this time I actually scream. I fall to my knees I can’t control a nightmare, but in my waking moments her
before her and she wrenches my arm, twisting it backward name is the only reminder I will permit myself.
until I’m heaving from the effort to stay calm, fighting not to The accompanying humiliation will not allow me much
lose myself to the pain. more than that.
“Juliette,” I gasp, “please—”
She runs her free hand through my hair, tugs my head
back so I’m forced to meet her eyes. And then she leans
 the back of my throat. It takes all my self-control not to jerk
away from him.
“Sit up, son. You should be well enough to function now.
You were too stupid to rest when you were supposed to, and
now you’ve overcorrected. Three days you’ve been
Seven unconscious, and I arrived twenty-seven hours ago. Now get
up. This is ridiculous.”
I’m still staring at the ceiling. Hardly breathing.
He changes tactics.
“Well, isn’t this embarrassing. My son, tied down like an “You know,” he says carefully, “I’ve actually heard an
animal.” interesting story about you.” He sits down on the edge of
I’m half-convinced I’m having another nightmare. I blink my bed; the mattress creaks and groans under his weight.
my eyes open slowly; I stare up at the ceiling. I make no “Would you like to hear it?”
sudden movements, but I can feel the very real weight of My left hand has begun to tremble. I clench it fast against
restraints around my left wrist and both ankles. My injured the bedsheets.
arm is still bound and slung across my chest. And though “Private 45B-76423. Fletcher, Seamus.” He pauses. “Does
the pain in my shoulder is present, it’s dulled to a light hum. that name sound familiar?”
I feel stronger. Even my head feels clearer, sharper I squeeze my eyes shut.
somehow. But then I taste the tang of something sour and “Imagine my surprise,” he says, “when I heard that my son
metal in my mouth and wonder how long I’ve been in bed. had finally done something right. That he’d finally taken
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” he asks, initiative and dispensed with a traitorous soldier who’d been
amused. stealing from our storage compounds. I heard you shot him
He moves closer to my bed, his footsteps reverberating right in the forehead.” A laugh. “I congratulated myself—
right through me. “You have Delalieu whimpering apologies told myself you’d finally come into your own, that you’d
for disturbing me, begging my men to blame him for the finally learned how to lead properly. I was almost proud.
inconvenience of this unexpected visit. No doubt you “That’s why it came as an even greater shock to me to
terrified the old man for doing his job, when the truth is, I hear Fletcher’s family was still alive.” He claps his hands
would’ve found out even without his alerts. This,” he says, together. “Shocking, of course, because you, of all people,
“is not the kind of mess you can conceal. You’re an idiot for should know the rules. Traitors come from a family of
thinking otherwise.” traitors, and one betrayal means death to them all.”
I feel a light tugging on my legs and realize he’s undoing He rests his hand on my chest.
my restraints. The brush of his skin against mine is abrupt I’m building walls in my mind again. White walls. Blocks of
and unexpected, and it triggers something deep and dark concrete. Empty rooms and open space.
within me, enough to make me physically ill. I taste vomit at Nothing exists inside of me. Nothing stays.
“It’s funny,” he continues, thoughtful now, “because I told
myself I’d wait to discuss this with you. But somehow, this

moment seems so right, doesn’t it?” I can hear him smile. make things right. So lucky I had time to correct the
“To tell you just how tremendously . . . disappointed I am. mistake.”
Though I can’t say I’m surprised.” He sighs. “In a single I freeze.
month you’ve lost two soldiers, couldn’t contain a clinically The room spins.
insane girl, upended an entire sector, and encouraged “I was able to track down his wife,” he says. “Fletcher’s
rebellion among the citizens. And somehow, I’m not wife and their three children. I hear they sent their regards.”
surprised at all.” A pause. “Well, this was before I had them killed, so I
His hand shifts; lingers at my collarbone. suppose it doesn’t really matter now, but my men told me
White walls, I think. they said hello. It seems she remembered you,” he says,
Blocks of concrete. laughing softly. “The wife. She said you went to visit them
Empty rooms. Open space. before all this . . . unpleasantness occurred. You were always
Nothing exists inside of me. Nothing stays. visiting the compounds, she said. Asking after the civilians.”
“But what’s worse than all this,” he says, “is not that I whisper the only two words I can manage.
you’ve managed to humiliate me by disrupting the order I’d “Get out.”
finally managed to establish. It’s not even that you “This is my boy!” he says, waving a hand in my direction.
somehow got yourself shot in the process. But that you “A meek, pathetic fool. Some days I’m so disgusted by you I
would show sympathy to the family of a traitor,” he says, don’t know whether to shoot you myself. And then I realize
laughing, his voice a happy, cheerful thing. “This is you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you? To be able to blame
unforgivable.” me for your downfall? And I think no, best to let him die of
My eyes are open now, blinking up at the fluorescent lights his own stupidity.”
above my head, focused on the white of the bulbs blurring I stare blankly ahead, fingers flexing against the mattress.
my vision. I will not move. I will not speak. “Now tell me,” he says, “what happened to your arm?
His hand closes around my throat. Delalieu seemed as clueless as the others.”
The movement is so rough and violent I’m almost relieved. I say nothing.
Some part of me always hopes he’ll go through with it; that “Too ashamed to admit you were shot by one of your own
maybe this time he’ll actually let me die. But he never does. soldiers, then?”
It never lasts. I close my eyes.
Torture is not torture when there’s any hope of relief. “And what about the girl?” he asks. “How did she escape?
He lets go all too soon and gets exactly what he wants. I Ran off with one of your men, didn’t she?”
jerk upward, coughing and wheezing and finally making a I grip the bedsheet so hard my fist starts shaking.
sound that acknowledges his existence in this room. My “Tell me,” he says, leaning into my ear. “How would you
whole body is shaking now, my muscles in shock from the deal with a traitor like that? Are you going to go visit his
assault and from remaining still for so long. My skin is cold family, too? Make nice with his wife?”
sweat; my breaths are labored and painful. And I don’t mean to say it out loud, but I can’t stop myself
“You’re very lucky,” he says, his words too soft. He’s up in time. “I’m going to kill him.”
now, no longer inches from my face. “So lucky I was here to
 He laughs out loud so suddenly it’s almost a howl. He
claps a hand on my head and musses my hair with the same
fingers he just closed around my throat. “Much better,” he
says. “So much better. Now get up. We have work to do.”
And I think yes, I wouldn’t mind doing the kind of work that
would remove Adam Kent from this world. Eight
A traitor like him does not deserve to live.

I’m in the shower for so long I actually lose track of time.

This has never happened before.
Everything is off, unbalanced. I’m second-guessing my
decisions, doubting everything I thought I didn’t believe in,
and for the first time in my life, I am genuinely, bone-
achingly tired.
My father is here.
We are sleeping under the same godforsaken roof; a thing
I’d hoped never to experience again. But he’s here, staying
on base in his own private quarters until he feels confident
enough to leave. Which means he’ll be fixing our problems
by wreaking havoc on Sector 45. Which means I will be
reduced to becoming his puppet and messenger, because
my father never shows his face to anyone except those he’s
about to kill.
He is the supreme commander of The Reestablishment,
and prefers to dictate anonymously. He travels everywhere
with the same select group of soldiers, communicates only
through his men, and only in extremely rare circumstances
does he ever leave the capital.
News of his arrival at Sector 45 has probably spread
around base by now, and has likely terrified my soldiers.
Because his presence, real or imagined, has only ever
signified one thing: torture.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt like a coward.

But this, this is bliss. This protracted moment—this illusion address them about these recent developments.”
—of strength. Being out of bed and able to bathe: it’s a “Yes, sir,” he says. He nods once, without looking up.
small victory. The medics wrapped my injured arm in some “You are dismissed.”
kind of impermeable plastic for the shower, and I’m finally “Sir.” He drops his salute and disappears.
well enough to stand on my own. My nausea has settled, the I’m left alone in front of her door.
dizziness is gone. I should finally be able to think clearly,
and yet, my choices still seem so muddled. Funny, how accustomed I’d become to visiting her here; how
I’ve forced myself not to think about her, but I’m beginning it gave me a strange sense of comfort to know that she and
to realize I’m still not strong enough; not just yet, and I were living in the same building. Her presence on base
especially not while I’m still actively searching for her. It’s changed everything for me; the weeks she spent here
become a physical impossibility. became the first I ever enjoyed living in these quarters. I
Today, I need to go back to her room. looked forward to her temper. Her tantrums. Her ridiculous
I need to search her things for any clues that might help arguments. I wanted her to yell at me; I would’ve
me find her. Kent’s and Kishimoto’s bunks and lockers have congratulated her had she ever slapped me in the face. I
already been cleared out; nothing incriminating was found. was always pushing her, toying with her emotions. I wanted
But I’d ordered my men to leave her room—Juliette’s room— to meet the real girl trapped behind the fear. I wanted her to
exactly as it was. No one but myself is allowed to reenter finally break free of her own carefully constructed restraints.
that space. Not until I’ve had the first look. Because while she might be able to feign timidity within
And this, according to my father, is my first task. the confines of isolation, out here—amid chaos, destruction
—I knew she’d become something entirely different. I was
“That’ll be all, Delalieu. I’ll let you know if I require just waiting. Every day, patiently waiting for her to
assistance.” understand the breadth of her own potential; never realizing
He’s been following me around even more than usual I’d entrusted her to the one soldier who might take her
lately. Apparently he came to check on me when I didn’t away from me.
show for the assembly I’d called two days ago, and had the I should shoot myself for it.
pleasure of finding me completely delirious and half out of Instead, I open the door.
my mind. He’s somehow managed to lay the blame for all The panel slides shut behind me as I cross the threshold. I
this on himself. find myself alone, standing here, in the last place she
If he were anyone else, I would’ve had him demoted. touched. The bed is messy and unmade, the doors to her
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. And please forgive me—I never armoire hanging open, the broken window temporarily
meant to cause additional problems—” taped shut. There’s a sinking, nervous pain in my stomach
“You are in no danger from me, Lieutenant.” that I choose to ignore.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” he whispers. His shoulders fall. His head Focus.
bows. I step into the bathroom and examine the toiletries, the
His apologies are making me uncomfortable. “Have the cabinets, even the inside of the shower.
troops reassemble at thirteen hundred hours. I still need to Nothing.
 I walk back over to the bed and run my hand over the
rumpled comforter, the lumpy pillows. I allow myself a
moment to appreciate the evidence that she was once here,
and then I strip the bed. Sheets, pillowcases, comforter, and
duvet; all tossed to the floor. I scrutinize every inch of the
pillows, the mattress, and the bed frame, and again find Nine
nothing.
The side table. Nothing.
Under the bed. Nothing.
The light fixtures, the wallpaper, each individual piece of How could I have forgotten?
clothing in her armoire. Nothing. This notebook was in her pocket the day she was making
It’s only as I’m making my way toward the door that her escape. I’d found it just before Kent put a gun to my
something catches my foot. I look down. There, caught just head, and at some point in the chaos, I must’ve dropped it.
under my boot, is a thick, faded rectangle. A small, And I realize I should’ve been looking for this all along.
unassuming notebook that could fit in the palm of my hand. I bend down to pick it up, carefully shaking out bits and
And I’m so stunned that for a moment I can’t even move. pieces of glass from the pages. My hand is unsteady, my
heart pounding in my ears. I have no idea what this might
contain. Pictures. Notes. Scrambled, half-formed thoughts.
It could be anything.
I flip the notebook over in my hands, my fingers
memorizing its rough, worn surface. The cover is a dull
shade of brown, but I can’t tell if it’s been stained by dirt
and age, or if it was always this color. I wonder how long
she’s had it. Where she might’ve acquired it.
I stumble backward, the backs of my legs hitting her bed.
My knees buckle, and I catch myself on the edge of the
mattress. I take in a shaky breath and close my eyes.
I’d seen footage from her time in the asylum, but it was
essentially useless. The lighting was always too dim; the
small window did little to illuminate the dark corners of her
room. She was often an indistinguishable form; a dark
shadow one might never even notice. Our cameras were
only good at detecting movement—and maybe a lucky
moment when the sun hit her at the right angle—but she
rarely moved. Most of her time was spent sitting very, very

still, on her bed or in a dark corner. She almost never spoke. submitted by her parents. I knew she’d been pulled out of
And when she did, it was never in words. She spoke only in school at fourteen. I knew she’d been through severe
numbers. testing and was forced to take various—and dangerous—
Counting. experimental drugs, and had to undergo electroshock
There was something so unreal about her, sitting there. I therapy. In two years she’d been in and out of nine different
couldn’t even see her face; couldn’t discern the outline of juvenile detention centers and had been examined by more
her figure. Even then she fascinated me. That she could than fifty different doctors. All of them described her as a
seem so calm, so still. She would sit in one place for hours monster. They called her a danger to society and a threat to
at a time, unmoving, and I always wondered where she was humanity. A girl who would ruin our world and had already
in her mind, what she might be thinking, how she could begun by murdering a small child. At sixteen, her parents
possibly exist in that solitary world. More than anything else, suggested she be locked away. And so she was.
I wanted to hear her speak. None of it made sense to me.
I was desperate to hear her voice. A girl cast off by society, by her own family—she had to
I’d always expected her to speak in a language I could contain so much feeling. Rage. Depression. Resentment.
understand. I thought she’d start with something simple. Where was it?
Maybe something unintelligible. But the first time we ever She was nothing like the other inmates at the asylum—the
caught her talking on camera, I couldn’t look away. I sat ones who were truly disturbed. Some would spend hours
there, transfixed, nerves stretched thin, as she touched one hurling themselves at the wall, breaking bones and
hand to the wall and counted. fracturing skulls. Others were so deranged they would claw
4,572. at their own skin until they drew blood, literally ripping
I watched her count. To 4,572. themselves to pieces. Some had entire conversations with
It took five hours. themselves out loud, laughing and singing and arguing.
Only afterward did I realize she was counting her breaths. Most would tear their clothes off, content to sleep and stand
I couldn’t stop thinking about her after that. I was naked in their own filth. She was the only one who showered
distracted long before she arrived on base, constantly regularly or even washed her clothes. She would take her
wondering what she might be doing and whether she’d meals calmly, always finishing whatever she was given. And
speak again. If she wasn’t counting out loud, was she she spent most of her time staring out the window.
counting in her head? Did she ever think in letters? She’d been locked up for almost a year and had not lost
Complete sentences? Was she angry? Sad? Why did she her sense of humanity. I wanted to know how she could
seem so serene for a girl I’d been told was a volatile, suppress so much; how she’d achieved such outward calm.
deranged animal? Was it a trick? I’d asked for profiles on the other prisoners because I
I’d seen every piece of paper documenting the critical wanted comparisons. I wanted to know if her behavior was
moments in her life. I’d read every detail in her medical normal.
records and police reports; I’d sorted through school It wasn’t.
complaints, doctors’ notes, her official sentencing by The I watched the unassuming outline of this girl I could not
Reestablishment, and even the asylum questionnaire see and did not know, and I felt an unbelievable amount of
respect for her. I admired her, envied her composure—her myself. Every move I made was a mistake. Every calculated
steadiness in the face of all she’d been forced to endure. I effort was a failure. I only wanted to watch her interact with
don’t know that I understood what it was, exactly, I was someone. I wondered if she’d seem different; if she’d
feeling at the time, but I knew I wanted her all to myself. shatter the expectations I’d already formed in my mind by
I wanted to know her secrets. simply having a normal conversation. But watching her talk
And then one day, she stood up in her cell and walked to someone else made me crazy. I was jealous. Ridiculous. I
over to the window. It was early morning, just as the sun wanted her to know me; I wanted her to talk to me. And I
was rising; I caught a glimpse of her face for the very first felt it then: this strange, inexplicable sense that she might
time. She pressed her palm to the window and whispered be the only person in the world I could really care about.
two words, just once. I force myself to sit up. I hazard a glance at the notebook
Forgive me. still clutched in my hand.
I hit rewind too many times. I lost her.
I could never tell anyone I’d developed a newfound She hates me.
fascination with her. I had to effect a pretense, an outward She hates me and I repulse her and I might never see her
indifference—an arrogance—toward her. She was to be our again, and it is entirely my own doing. This notebook might
weapon and nothing more, just an innovative instrument of be all I have left of her. My hand is still hovering over the
torture. cover, tempting me to open it and find her again, even if it’s
A detail I cared very little about. only for a short while, even if it’s only on paper. But part of
My research had led me to her files by pure accident. me is terrified. This might not end well. This might not be
Coincidence. I did not seek her out in search of a weapon; I anything I want to see. And so help me, if this turns out to
never had. Far before I’d ever seen her on film, and far, far be some kind of diary concerning her thoughts and feelings
before I ever spoke a word to her, I had been researching about Kent, I might just throw myself out the window.
something else. For something else. I pound my fist against my forehead. Take a long,
My motives were my own. steadying breath.
Utilizing her as a weapon was a story I fed to my father; I Finally, I flip it open. My eyes fall to the first page.
needed an excuse to have access to her, to gain the And only then do I begin to understand the weight of what
necessary clearance to study her files. It was a charade I I’ve found.
was forced to maintain in front of my soldiers and the
hundreds of cameras that monitor my existence. I did not I keep thinking I need to stay calm, that it’s all in my
bring her on base to exploit her ability. And I certainly did head, that everything is going to be fine and someone is
not expect to fall for her in the process. going to open the door now, someone is going to let me
But these truths and my real motivations will be buried out of here. I keep thinking it’s going to happen. I keep
with me. thinking it has to happen, because things like this don’t
I fall hard onto the bed. Clap a hand over my forehead, just happen. This doesn’t happen. People aren’t forgotten
drag it down the length of my face. I never would’ve sent like this. Not abandoned like this.
Kent to stay with her if I could’ve taken the time to go This doesn’t just happen.

My face is caked with blood from when they threw me Please please please
on the ground, and my hands are still shaking even as I
write this. This pen is my only outlet, my only voice, I slam the cover shut.
because I have no one else to speak to, no mind but my I’m shaking again, and this time I can’t stop it. This time
own to drown in and all the lifeboats are taken and all the shaking is coming from deep within my core, from a
the life preservers are broken and I don’t know how to profound realization of what I’m holding in my hands. This
swim I can’t swim I can’t swim and it’s getting so hard. journal is not from her time spent here. It has nothing to do
It’s getting so hard. It’s like there are a million screams with me, or Kent, or anyone at all. This journal is a
caught inside of my chest but I have to keep them all in documentation of her days spent in the asylum.
because what’s the point of screaming if you’ll never be And suddenly this small, battered notebook means more
heard and no one will ever hear me in here. No one will to me than anything I’ve ever owned.
ever hear me again.
I’ve learned to stare at things.
The walls. My hands. The cracks in the walls. The lines
on my fingers. The shades of gray in the concrete. The
shape of my fingernails. I pick one thing and stare at it
for what must be hours. I keep time in my head by
counting the seconds as they pass. I keep days in my
head by writing them down. Today is day two. Today is
the second day. Today is a day.
Today.
It’s so cold. It’s so cold it’s so cold.