Echoes of Us by Kat Zhang Page B

fourth.
    “Oh—”
    It was the only warning we got—Bridget’s startled cry—before Viola fell.
    I reached out and grabbed her just before she hit the ground.
    It was the first time we’d ever touched her, and her shoulders were frail in our hands. She didn’t make eye contact.
    I’d dropped our ring.
    Panic shot ice under our skin, blasted frost in our lungs. I let go of Viola, who’d wavered back onto her feet, and spun around.
     I cried.
    Addie’s silent delirium was answer enough. A burst of heat replaced the first flush of cold, ravaging our thoughts. Our eyes raked the floor. It couldn’t have gone far. But there were so many pairs of feet—
    The caretaker behind us had noticed the holdup. She approached—
    Bridget darted from our side. Snatched something bright off the floor.
    “Keep moving, girls,” the caretaker said. “You’re clogging up the hallway.”
    We kept moving. Even Viola, with her clouded eyes.
    “Here,” Bridget whispered when she’d caught up with us. Her hand bumped against ours, transferring the ring from her fingers to ours with a touch.
    I gave our thank - you with a glance. I didn’t dare open our hand until we were shepherded into our new ward. There were fewer girls this time. Only about fifteen. Just a trick of the numbering system? Or had Hahns really lost that many girls in the weeks since the last rotation? How many other girls had been stolen in the night like Hannah? Or taken away today?
    This ward looked almost identical to the last. The only differences lay in the unique wear and tear of the walls—the murals of bleak destruction, boredom, and the erosion of time. A caretaker stood with a pair of heavy scissors, snapping the hospital bracelets from wrists. Some of the girls were already headed toward beds, studying the chains of braided string wrapped around the metal bars. Laying claim.
    Ruth hesitated, then left our side to do the same. Only Bridget remained. But she didn’t follow us when we hurried to the bathroom. There, hidden inside a stall, I finally opened our hand.
    The ring looked normal. At first.
    Then I noticed the crack along the side of the gemstone. When I gingerly pressed down on it, it didn’t click into place the way it had before. Instead, it ground against the band in a way that frightened me so much I didn’t try it again—what if the stone popped off entirely?
     There was a hollowness to Addie’s voice.
    I didn’t reply.
    There was nothing to say.

FIFTEEN
    W e couldn’t be positive the camera embedded in the ring was broken. No more than we could know if everything we’d filmed over the past few weeks had been erased.
    If it was all gone . . .
    This rotation was supposed to grant us our freedom. Instead, it might become the reason for an extended sentence.
     I said.
    Addie took the better part of the morning to braid together a rope that would reach the ground, then jimmied the window lock open. The blast of frigid air made us shiver. She knotted the end of our string around the ring, our fingers growing numb in the chill.
    We peered out onto the grounds below us. The snow was so thick that even the bushes growing snug against the institution walls were half-buried under a white coat.
    We’ll send someone , Marion had said. Get the ring out the window, and someone will come pick it up.
    Hahns had increased background checks on all their caretakers after Peter’s last breakout attempt. They were less strict, though, with the people who trimmed the lawns. Picked up the trash. Shoveled the snow.
    Addie set the ring on the sill and pushed it over the edge. It hung against the side of the building, a glimmering thing in the morning light.
     I said.
    Addie unraveled the string from around our wrist. Lowered the ring, bit by bit, until it disappeared into the bushes. She tied our