over my mouth. I pressed my lips tighter together to keep it from seeping in. Blood in your mouth is just not something you ever
get used to.
I turned, putting the closed restaurant’s doors at my back so I could watch both ways, and fumbled for tissues in my pocket. Emerson had reluctantly given me another injection this
morning. So the nosebleed thing was, theoretically, supposed to be getting better, but not so far.
Ariane rounded the corner then, from the portion of hallway that led from the main lobby, her feet moving silently on the carpet. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she had on a
T-shirt and jeans, similar to what she’d always worn to school.
If I ignored the fact that she wasn’t carrying her tattered green canvas bag and that we were alone in the hallway instead of being jostled this way and that, we could have been at Ashe
High. Maybe even on that day we first talked and struck a deal to get back at Rachel.
Ariane met my gaze warily, her eyes that beautiful, uninterrupted darkness that had once seemed strange to me. The buzz of thoughts in my head grew louder, adding hers to the noise. I
couldn’t pick anything out, though.
“Hey,” I said, my voice cracking. I’d been imagining this moment for weeks now, but the reality of it fell painfully short.
Ariane wasn’t smiling, didn’t seem pleased to see me. If anything, she looked alert, cautious, her breathing short and fast as if she were preparing for fight or flight.
It reminded me so much of that first day, the first time we’d talked. I took two long steps toward her, intent on closing the distance between us. But then she jerked to a stop, holding
her hand up, palm out. “No,” she said sharply, and I could feel the light but insistent pressure of power against my skin from the neck down, holding me in place.
She’d never done that before, ever.
She didn’t trust me.
I froze, making no effort to move against her containment. Had she come here just to say that to me? To tell me in her cool, unemotional way that I should leave her alone, that “it would
be better if we didn’t do this”? That was another possibility I’d imagined.
“Ariane,” I began.
She shook her head, a curt movement that screamed rejection. Her gaze searched my face, as if an answer might be written there. Or like she was trying to memorize it before leaving forever.
“Don’t,” I said. “Please.” I
needed
her to give me this chance. Everything would be totally fucked if she just walked away.
She tilted her head to the side and frowned. “Are you…still you?” she asked finally.
Her question took me aback. “Who else would I be?” I asked.
“That’s not an answer,” she said.
I stared at her. “I’m still me,” I said slowly, feeling faintly ridiculous. “I’m still Zane.”
“You would say that no matter what,” she murmured. Then, raising her voice, she asked, “Why can’t I hear you anymore? Yesterday I caught that one thought at the end, one
you intended for me to receive, but that was all.”
“I can barely hear myself sometimes,” I said. “It’s static and noise. I have to concentrate to push through it. It’s a side effect of my treatment.”
She nodded, but not like she believed me, more as if she was simply giving herself time to think and/or me time to incriminate myself on some matter that I didn’t even understand.
“St. John found me and saved my life,” I said. “His virus—he calls it NuStasis—it amped up my healing and—”
“I know what it does,” she said. “I just don’t know how far it goes.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” I said quickly. “I’m not brainwashed or anything. I just have access to new areas in my brain.” For now. Some of the time.
“Then why are you here?” she asked.
I hesitated. “At the trials or in this hallway?” I asked, stalling. Justine had been very explicit in what I could and could not reveal. In short, nothing.
Ariane
get used to.
I turned, putting the closed restaurant’s doors at my back so I could watch both ways, and fumbled for tissues in my pocket. Emerson had reluctantly given me another injection this
morning. So the nosebleed thing was, theoretically, supposed to be getting better, but not so far.
Ariane rounded the corner then, from the portion of hallway that led from the main lobby, her feet moving silently on the carpet. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she had on a
T-shirt and jeans, similar to what she’d always worn to school.
If I ignored the fact that she wasn’t carrying her tattered green canvas bag and that we were alone in the hallway instead of being jostled this way and that, we could have been at Ashe
High. Maybe even on that day we first talked and struck a deal to get back at Rachel.
Ariane met my gaze warily, her eyes that beautiful, uninterrupted darkness that had once seemed strange to me. The buzz of thoughts in my head grew louder, adding hers to the noise. I
couldn’t pick anything out, though.
“Hey,” I said, my voice cracking. I’d been imagining this moment for weeks now, but the reality of it fell painfully short.
Ariane wasn’t smiling, didn’t seem pleased to see me. If anything, she looked alert, cautious, her breathing short and fast as if she were preparing for fight or flight.
It reminded me so much of that first day, the first time we’d talked. I took two long steps toward her, intent on closing the distance between us. But then she jerked to a stop, holding
her hand up, palm out. “No,” she said sharply, and I could feel the light but insistent pressure of power against my skin from the neck down, holding me in place.
She’d never done that before, ever.
She didn’t trust me.
I froze, making no effort to move against her containment. Had she come here just to say that to me? To tell me in her cool, unemotional way that I should leave her alone, that “it would
be better if we didn’t do this”? That was another possibility I’d imagined.
“Ariane,” I began.
She shook her head, a curt movement that screamed rejection. Her gaze searched my face, as if an answer might be written there. Or like she was trying to memorize it before leaving forever.
“Don’t,” I said. “Please.” I
needed
her to give me this chance. Everything would be totally fucked if she just walked away.
She tilted her head to the side and frowned. “Are you…still you?” she asked finally.
Her question took me aback. “Who else would I be?” I asked.
“That’s not an answer,” she said.
I stared at her. “I’m still me,” I said slowly, feeling faintly ridiculous. “I’m still Zane.”
“You would say that no matter what,” she murmured. Then, raising her voice, she asked, “Why can’t I hear you anymore? Yesterday I caught that one thought at the end, one
you intended for me to receive, but that was all.”
“I can barely hear myself sometimes,” I said. “It’s static and noise. I have to concentrate to push through it. It’s a side effect of my treatment.”
She nodded, but not like she believed me, more as if she was simply giving herself time to think and/or me time to incriminate myself on some matter that I didn’t even understand.
“St. John found me and saved my life,” I said. “His virus—he calls it NuStasis—it amped up my healing and—”
“I know what it does,” she said. “I just don’t know how far it goes.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” I said quickly. “I’m not brainwashed or anything. I just have access to new areas in my brain.” For now. Some of the time.
“Then why are you here?” she asked.
I hesitated. “At the trials or in this hallway?” I asked, stalling. Justine had been very explicit in what I could and could not reveal. In short, nothing.
Ariane
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