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  Stomach in my throat, I hold my breath as Violet backs over the edge. Just leans and leans and leans until she bends her knees and takes a step backward and down. I gasp and run to the edge, but she’s there grinning up at us as she slowly lets out slack from the double lengths of rope in her hand, takes a few steps backward, lets out some more. Down and down and down. The ropes creak against her weight. Quentin and Bastian nervously adjust their grasps on the third length of rope they’ve tied to her in case her grip fails, letting out more length as she descends. Her grin becomes gritted teeth the farther she goes. Her light-stick sheds a feeble glow into the nothingness around her.

  Finally, she finds her feet some thirty yards down and my muscles relax a little bit. I realize I’m heaving like I’ve been running a marathon. She unties her security rope, looks up, gives a thumbs-up.

  Quentin pulls the security rope back up and over the edge and holds it up. “Who’s next?”

  Terrified, I glance at Bastian. He wordlessly steps forward and takes the rope. As he ties it around himself, Quentin pushes a length of it into my shaking hands and steps forward.

  Silent with horror, I watch as Quentin wraps the rope around my cousin’s rib cage, instructs him to step over the ropes, lifts them, and wraps them around Bastian’s wrist. “Ready?”

  Bastian nods, though I can see the horror of what he’s doing in his wide black eyes. He backs to the edge, shores up his grip as Quentin comes back to me, and draws the security rope taut against his back. “Remember. Go slow. Don’t let go.”

  I keep my eyes closed as Bastian goes over, and I let the rope slowly slide through my fingers, giving him slack. Forever turns into eternity as inch by inch, he descends.

  And then suddenly there’s a yelp, a sharp yank, and the rope falls from my loosened hands. Quentin is pulled forward a few steps before regaining himself. With a grunt, he leans hard against the rope, the length of it biting into his skin. Scrambling, I regain my length of the rope and pull with him, levering all my weight against the dead-weight on the end.

  Beyond my ringing ears, I hear Violet yelling from below. “Get your feet back under you! Don’t lose track of that rope.”

  There’s struggling on the other end of the creaking length that is the only thing holding my cousin from certain death. Quentin is breathing heavy against me, my body is soaking with perspiration, and it feels like the rope is going to slip out of my grasp at any moment.

  “Hold on,” he grunts. I don’t know who he’s talking to.

  “That’s it,” Violet is saying. “Now pick ’em up and get ’em back ’round your wrist. Stay calm.” A few more minutes. “Okay, give him some slack.”

  Quentin nods to me, and we ease off the rope, let it slide again. Time creeps. The rope inches through my twitching fingers. I stare at it, intent, ready to grab instead of drop it this time. And then finally he’s down.

  I sag to the floor, a shaking mess.

  Slowly, Quentin gathers the rope up once more, coiling it around his arm. Then he’s still for a long minute. I can tell he’s staring at me, waiting. “Elle?”

  I shake my head. “I-I can’t.”

  He crouches down in front of me, meets my haunted eyes. I feel him take up my hands, hold them against his chest. “You’re shaking.”

  Of course I am. I don’t want to die.

  “You can do this,” he whispers.

  Mute now, I shake my head again.

  “Hey.” Shifting both my hands to one of his, he reaches out with the other, stills my head with a palm to my cheek. “Look at me.”

  I do, only because I don’t have a choice. He has me trapped.

  His expression is calm. Serene, like the boy who shot my uncle in the head. I wish I could turn off like that, become cool and calculated and unfeeling. “I will not let you fall. You need to trust me. You need to trust yourself. Stand up.”

  Swallowing hard, I get to shaking legs. I don’t know how I’m going to go down on such unstable things. One is injured as it is.

  “Shoes,” he prompts.

  I slip out of my heels, let the cold stone touch my synthetic skin. It feels strange being on flat feet. I’ve grown up on heels. Without them he seems like a giant as he bends and comes around to my back, putting them into my pack as I stand like an idiot. Seeing that I’m being useless and silly, he bends at my hip and I feel him tugging my skirts. I wince as I hear the tearing noise of him splitting my beautiful dress from hem to seam.

  Four times, like Violet did with hers.

  And then he’s winding the strips around my thighs, his fingers passing in and out like butterfly wings. My legs go from shaking to jelly and I have to hold the wall to keep myself upright.

  When he’s done, he stands in front of me, stares at me, and frowns. After a thought, he unbuttons his jacket and slides it off his shoulders.

  I blink at him, confused.

  “Put it on.”

  I do as I’m told. It’s big on me, stiff in the shoulder from all the dried blood. It smells like him and the weight of it makes me feel like I’m being held. My fingers fumble on the buttons and he steps into my space to help, his knuckles grazing my hitching chest. The warm certainty of his presence disappears for an instant as he bends to retrieve the rope and then he’s back, tying it under my arms.

  When he finishes with the knot, he just sort of goes still, his body close to mine and me wavering against the solid weight of him. His fingers slide from the knot, inch up, flutter along my clavicle, against my neck. One hand slips back behind my neck and into my hair, tugging just slightly, as the other tips up my jaw.

  His breath is warm and minty as he breathes something that seems like relief, and if it’s possible, something about him—his expression, his body—eases me. He stares down, his eyes clear and true, and that melts me into his body and his touch.

  And then he’s kissing me again. And I’m kissing him. It’s just like it was in the aerovator during our escape. That heat, that familiarity. That instant awakening and settling inside of me—like a flock of birds and a lazy pool of molten heat exploding through my veins and muscles at the same time. That feeling like it’s perfect and sound. It’s everything I ever wanted of a kiss from Quentin Cyr before…before…Gus.

  I shove at him, step away from him, gasping. “What are you doing?” I demand. “You can’t keep kissing me, you’re-you’re in love with someone. I heard you tell Carsai.”

  Unapologetic, he grins at me. “Hmm, that’s something to think about, isn’t it?”

  “You’re a cad.”

  He shrugs. “You’re not scared anymore, though, are you?”

  Heaving in confusion, glaring in heat, I growl as I have to admit that no, I’m not scared anymore.

  “I’m not sorry,” he says, voice quiet. “I like kissing you.”

  Gritting my teeth, I march over to the ropes and pass them around myself as I saw Violet and Bastian do before. I shore up my grip on both ends of the rope and I don’t look down. To look down would be to see where I’m going and right now, I don’t want to.

  “Hey,” Quentin calls to me from where he’s standing, lifting the security rope around him as he backs his weight against it. I feel it tug a little against my chest, like he’s drawing me back to him.

  I pause, look at him even though I don’t want to make eye contact.

  “Go easy,” he says, voice like honey. “Just breathe.”

  Something nags the back of my mind, like I’ve heard those words in that tone before, but I can’t remember where. Holding with all my might, I lean backward.

  Going over is hard, it’s fighting every instinct I have to catch myself from falling. To remain upright when all I want to do is ball up. The rope bites at me, against the back of my ribs, against my legs, against my wrist and my arm. The dress wrapped around my legs and Quentin’s jacket help to ease the burn as it slides and catches…slides and catches…as I give myself a little slack and squat back into it. What’s left of my thighs burns
, the knee of my injured leg creaks. “Please hold,” I whisper-pant. “Please hold.” My feet scuff against jagged rock, and I hope I’m not cutting the delicate coating on them. I feel dizzy, shaky. My arms and abs scream, and I find myself thankful to Meems for training me for this moment, for making me exercise even though it never seemed like it would matter.

  I force myself to school my breathing, keep my head despite the shaking, despite my pulse pounding in my throat. Bit by bit. Foot by foot. I make my movements mechanical, methodical. Like an android’s. I think of other things than the distance growing between me and the top. A design for a new ball gown. Blue with a sweetheart bodice and a portrait neckline, opaque sleeves with pearl buttons. Layers and layers and layers of gauzy skirts. Pearly slippers, a white feather hairpiece, glistening diamondesque and pearl jewelry to match. Maybe a fan. Yes, a carved one, with—

  I feel hands touching my back and I ease down, and then there’s a big grin spreading across my face as my legs finally give out and I pool to the floor. I did it. I made it. “That—” I whimper as Violet unties the security rope from my chest. “That wasn’t so hard.”

  “That’s the easy part.” Violet grins. “Going up is the hard part.”

  Bastian and I both groan.

  “Quit your bellyaching and help me,” Violet scolds as she tosses us my end of the security rope so we can hold it for Quentin, who should be tying himself to his end.

  Finally it’s Quentin’s turn, but his descent is much smoother. He doesn’t seem bothered by his arm or the rope cutting into his bare forearm as his feet touch ground and he straightens, smooth breathed and stoic. “Haven’t done that in a while.”

  “Fun, right?” Violet demands. “We should do it again.”

  “I’ll pass,” Bastian huffs.

  “Unfortunately, I’ll have to agree with Bastian. We’ve got work to do.” Quentin turns and examines the vast cavern we’ve rappelled into. “Can’t see much in here.”

  “Ceiling’s high,” Violet notes. “Can tell by the echo.”

  “It’s damp, too,” I say, touching the rock. Not that I need to, I can feel it in the air, can hear the droplets hitting the floor.

  “Violet, you and Bastian will go this way. Ella and I will go that way.”

  “No,” I say, stepping up close to Bastian. “I’ll go with Bastian, you go with Violet.”

  Quentin narrows an eye at me, but he grins like he knows what I’m trying to do. “Okay, have it your way, Elle. We’ll meet back in three hours.” Without another word, they split away and disappear between two massive spires of rock.

  For a long time, I just stare, watching the blue and white of their light-sticks become dimmer and dimmer in the distance.

  “I’m sure it’s going to do us all a great amount of good that none of us have anything to keep the time on us,” Bastian mutters.

  “We’ll be all right,” I say, pulling my shoes out of my bag and putting them back on. It feels good to have three inches and solid ground under my feet. “Come on.”

  chapter ten

  Post-American Date: 7/5/232

  Longitudinal Timestamp: 8:02 a.m.

  Location: Disfavored Tunnel System

  Hobbling worse than ever, I take the lead in the direction opposite from where Quentin and Violet disappeared. We weave between strange columns and pools; the floor is mostly smooth here and there are strange stripes along the rock. “Look at all this water.”

  “And it could be drinkable.”

  I smirk at him. “Wanna test it?”

  “Mmm, no.” He reaches out and touches the tip of a pointed stone. “This place is weird.”

  “Natural cave,” I say. “I read about them.” I point. “Stalagmites. Stalactites.”

  “Fascinating,” Bastian mutters. “Wherever we are, it’s deep. And lonely.”

  “Yeah,” I say quietly as I walk beside him.

  A long few minutes pass as we circumnavigate a massive pool, so still it perfectly reflects our upheld light-sticks. “You think the ocean looks like that?” he wonders.

  “No. I saw it once in Nexis. It’s bigger. Smells less, I dunno, earthy. It’s salt and there are these birds, gray and white. They make this weird noise.” I pause trying to think about how to emulate the sound of a seagull.

  “You sound like Uncle Warren.”

  My heart tugs and I impulsively check to make sure the chips are still there. “Is that bad?”

  “No,” he says. “Uncle Warren was good. Not like… Not like…”

  I touch his arm, willing him not to say it.

  Sighing, he lowers his light-stick between us, illuminating the path. “I didn’t think I’d miss my dad…but…”

  Trying to ignore the lump in my throat, I let my fingers slide down his arm and grasp his hand. “I understand.”

  He nods. “Uncle Warren. Aunt Cleo.”

  “Meems.”

  “Meems,” he agrees. “You must miss her a lot.”

  “Yes. And Dad. I miss Delia, too,” I admit.

  He glances at me. “Yeah?”

  I shrug. “Seeing her again after all that time brought all this hope back. She’d been dead, but then she was alive. Yet, I lost her almost as quickly. She didn’t embrace our friendship, in fact, I made things worse. And now I feel like my hope has been snatched away again. I feel like I did when Uncle Simon first cut me off from her.”

  After a long time, he says, “I’m sorry for letting Simon do that to you.”

  I glance at him. “You didn’t know.”

  Bastian kicks at the loose stones near his feet, making them skitter into the water with a plop, plop. “I didn’t. But that’s no excuse. I should have.” He’s quiet for another long minute. “Ever since I saw you and realized who you were, I’ve been obsessing over it, turning things over and over in my mind, trying to put everything together. Sparks,” he whispers, “it’s like he was dropping a trail of candy for me to follow, and I never made the connection.” A harsh breath escapes him. “I think about how many times I went in and out of that house. It was like walking into some surreal nightmare because even though I wanted to be there for Sadie, I wanted to run away, too. I kept feeling like any moment you or Uncle Warren would walk around the corner. And you were right upstairs!” This last bit comes out as a breathy laugh, but there’s no humor behind it, only bitterness. He cups his face in his hands. “I’m so stupid.”

  I look away from him. “I suppose that makes two of us.” And I intend it to encompass all of the stupidity I feel. “How can people be so smart, yet so stupid?”

  He squints at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m a child prodigy. A brilliant Programmer. Yet, I can’t figure out the simplest things sometimes. Not my feelings or how to react to them. Not what other people were doing to me. From day one, I was manipulated into playing a key role in a rebellion I knew nothing about. I should have seen it, should have been able to protect myself and the people I love better.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with trusting the people who are supposed to love and protect you.”

  I shake my head. “I feel so used. Like a puppet.”

  Bastian gnaws his lip, his eyes hidden from me by his new hair. “I understand the feeling.”

  I give him a little nudge with my hip. “Do me a favor?”

  He looks down at me questioningly.

  “When Sadie has this baby, don’t do what our parents did, okay? Put the baby and its happiness before your own. Teach it to be better than what our parents did for us.”

  Swallowing, Bastian looks away. “I’m terrified of her having a baby, Ella. I had no idea she’d disabled the birth-control element on her chip. We aren’t even married yet.”

  My jaded mind believes the most plausible reason for Sadie to do such a thing likely involves Katrina and wanting to ensure a marriage to Bastian. Katrina wouldn’t want what happened to her and my father. Katrina wouldn’t want Sadie’s potential suitor to suddenly run off with another wom
an like my father did to her. She’d want her and Sadie’s newfound places among the Elite set in stone. She’d want Sadie to ensure Bastian wouldn’t leave her. I think of bringing that up, but decide it’s best to leave it unsaid. It would cause trouble between Bastian and Sadie, and I want them to be happy. Instead, I say, “You love her, don’t you?”

  Bastian examines the darkness for a long time. “Yeah. More than I thought I would.” He scoffs. “I always knew I’d end up in an arranged marriage. We all do, but for the longest time I operated under the idea that you and I would get married.”

  “What?” I ask, laughing despite myself.

  He gives a helpless shrug and blushes. “My father was the first one to mention it to me. And a Drexel marrying a Drexel would have kept all the assets within the family. He thought a lot about that sort of thing.”

  “But we’re cousins.”

  He gives me a sidelong glance. “Only by adoption.”

  “Still,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “You’re like my brother.”

  He looks away again. “I know. Doesn’t stop the cruel logic of the social climb. Things like cousins marrying cousins happens all the time in Evanescence, you know that. I got over the awkwardness of the idea a long time ago, had come to accept it as a very real possibility. It wasn’t until Nexis came out that you even had other prospects.”

  I hood my eyes, because he’s right.

  We come to a jumbled section where the columns become thick and we have to climb between them. On the other side is a break in the rock. “Go in?”

  “That’s the point, right?”

  He helps me slide through the crack and then he follows. It’s painfully close at first, making me feel like I’m slipping into a crack I won’t get out of and panic is just about to set in when it loosens and widens into a sharp incline.

  Bastian grunts as he squeezes through behind me. “In some ways, I’m glad you died. It made Simon give up on you, made him think of options where for a long time he simply hadn’t. And it gave me hope. I’d been resigned for so long.”