orders were different
.
This time, The Society told him not to fade. No poison, no guns, no “accidental” drownings
.
This time, his orders said to make it messy
.
With hard-won, painful effort, Nix banished the memory of his seventh kill, the blood. He focused on one thing and one thing alone.
At the end of this road and past the gates, through twisted hallways and beyond the security checkpoints—that was where he’d find Ione. The Sensors. The scientists.
The people who’d sent him after Claire.
11
Situation: You wake up in the woods with no memory. No name. No idea how you got here. There’s a white index card beside you on the ground, telling you that you have until nightfall to find your way to civilization—if you want to get out of this forest alive.
As far as Situations went, it was closer to a horror movie than a daydream, but that was nothing new. Claire had imagined her way out of worse. The only difference was that this time, it was real. Not the amnesia, or the index card, or the imminent threat of death—but the problem.
She was alone in the woods. She had no idea how Nix had brought her here, no idea which direction to walk to find the closest town—or how far she’d have to go. Theday before, she’d stalled. She’d given up. She’d wallowed in the fact that he left her—but Claire was done with wallowing now.
Done with hoping things would get better.
Done with being sad that they weren’t.
Now Claire was
angry
. She’d spent so long trying to be so sweet, trying not to make trouble, waiting for something to happen—but
something
was never going to happen. Anything she wanted out of life, she’d have to take.
Starting with fighting her way out of these woods. Slipping back into the Situation, she imagined
stalking back to the cabin. To the weapons stash under the porch. Her hand closes around the hilt of a knife. She would have preferred a bow and arrow, but beggars can’t be choosers, and she only has until nightfall
.
Claire mimicked the actions in reality. Gone was the horror she’d felt at Nix’s weapons the day before.
This
was survival. This was taking care of herself, because no one else was ever going to do it for her. This was Claire making life happen instead of waiting for it to come to her.
She wanted out of this forest.
She wanted to live.
And she wanted to forget that last night—
painfully, impossibly perfect
—had ever happened.
Less than shadow. Less than air
.
Nix slipped past the security checkpoints. Past the metal detectors and the Sensors and every safeguard The Society had put in place to make the institute impenetrable to anyone who mattered.
Unfortunately for The Society, Nix
didn’t
matter—and faded, nothing was
impenetrable
to him.
As Nix made his way farther and farther through the labyrinthine corridors, he was overcome with a sickening sense of déjà vu. How many times had he walked these hallways? How many times had he overheard the Sensors’ conversations, used their words to figure out what it would be like to be Normal? To hear what they said when they were talking to each other and not to him.
The only way you can make a difference in this world is to kill
.
Nix had told himself that he was coming back here to protect Claire, to find out why The Society wanted her dead. But now that he was here, the memories were too close to the surface: the training, the lessons, the
experiments
—and all he could think, over and over again, was a number.
Eleven
.
The fissure of doubt that had started that morning—with number Three—spread through Nix’s body, through the rest of his memories, the men and women he’d killed. He’d thought they were Nulls. He’d seen what true Nulls could do: seen the teenage girl that One kept chained inhis basement; seen the cigarette burns on Six’s child’s arms. Nix had seen the bodies and the horrors, and he’d known that Nulls were monsters—but what if his targets hadn’t all been
.
This time, The Society told him not to fade. No poison, no guns, no “accidental” drownings
.
This time, his orders said to make it messy
.
With hard-won, painful effort, Nix banished the memory of his seventh kill, the blood. He focused on one thing and one thing alone.
At the end of this road and past the gates, through twisted hallways and beyond the security checkpoints—that was where he’d find Ione. The Sensors. The scientists.
The people who’d sent him after Claire.
11
Situation: You wake up in the woods with no memory. No name. No idea how you got here. There’s a white index card beside you on the ground, telling you that you have until nightfall to find your way to civilization—if you want to get out of this forest alive.
As far as Situations went, it was closer to a horror movie than a daydream, but that was nothing new. Claire had imagined her way out of worse. The only difference was that this time, it was real. Not the amnesia, or the index card, or the imminent threat of death—but the problem.
She was alone in the woods. She had no idea how Nix had brought her here, no idea which direction to walk to find the closest town—or how far she’d have to go. Theday before, she’d stalled. She’d given up. She’d wallowed in the fact that he left her—but Claire was done with wallowing now.
Done with hoping things would get better.
Done with being sad that they weren’t.
Now Claire was
angry
. She’d spent so long trying to be so sweet, trying not to make trouble, waiting for something to happen—but
something
was never going to happen. Anything she wanted out of life, she’d have to take.
Starting with fighting her way out of these woods. Slipping back into the Situation, she imagined
stalking back to the cabin. To the weapons stash under the porch. Her hand closes around the hilt of a knife. She would have preferred a bow and arrow, but beggars can’t be choosers, and she only has until nightfall
.
Claire mimicked the actions in reality. Gone was the horror she’d felt at Nix’s weapons the day before.
This
was survival. This was taking care of herself, because no one else was ever going to do it for her. This was Claire making life happen instead of waiting for it to come to her.
She wanted out of this forest.
She wanted to live.
And she wanted to forget that last night—
painfully, impossibly perfect
—had ever happened.
Less than shadow. Less than air
.
Nix slipped past the security checkpoints. Past the metal detectors and the Sensors and every safeguard The Society had put in place to make the institute impenetrable to anyone who mattered.
Unfortunately for The Society, Nix
didn’t
matter—and faded, nothing was
impenetrable
to him.
As Nix made his way farther and farther through the labyrinthine corridors, he was overcome with a sickening sense of déjà vu. How many times had he walked these hallways? How many times had he overheard the Sensors’ conversations, used their words to figure out what it would be like to be Normal? To hear what they said when they were talking to each other and not to him.
The only way you can make a difference in this world is to kill
.
Nix had told himself that he was coming back here to protect Claire, to find out why The Society wanted her dead. But now that he was here, the memories were too close to the surface: the training, the lessons, the
experiments
—and all he could think, over and over again, was a number.
Eleven
.
The fissure of doubt that had started that morning—with number Three—spread through Nix’s body, through the rest of his memories, the men and women he’d killed. He’d thought they were Nulls. He’d seen what true Nulls could do: seen the teenage girl that One kept chained inhis basement; seen the cigarette burns on Six’s child’s arms. Nix had seen the bodies and the horrors, and he’d known that Nulls were monsters—but what if his targets hadn’t all been
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