doing so well with his sense. It’s too overwhelming for him. It’s eating him up. He can’t eat or sleep.”
Meke pressed her lips together, turning them into an invisible line. Her insides felt rubbed raw at the thought of Cecil flailing under the burden of this thing , as Meke stood tall. It made her wonder what would happen to her. Meke felt fine, but would she always?
A thought slithered into her: maybe you would be better off staying here and staying safe . Meke didn’t know what would happen to her, if she’d simply fall apart like Cecil. Meke squeezed her fists. That wasn’t right—she needed to be something better than a trembling, crouching thing in a corner as she had been at ten. She would stand tall and proud and people would see it.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter. Sterling has decided,” Arya said. “He wants to gain your trust, you know. He gave in entirely too easily.”
Meke blinked. The idea that Sterling cared about what she thought did her credit, but Meke didn’t understand it. Meke wondered why he bothered.
“Well,” Arya inhaled deeply, expanding her chest, “it’s done. Good luck with the training. But—well, keep yourself safe.”
Meke watched Arya’s small body turn the corridor, walk down the hall and through the Nerve Center. It felt good to have someone want her safe, warm even. Meke almost hated herself for that pinched, worried look on Arya’s face. I’m doing the right thing, Meke almost convinced herself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MEKE’S HEAD spun as a rough hand nudged her out of peaceful sleep. Her eyelids protested, seemingly stuck in their old position. Her arms felt heavy and sluggish. This time, it was no mere nudge. Two large hands jostled her out of her drowsiness. Her eyelids flew open.
Trove stood at the foot of her bed, face blank. He threw some black clothing on her bed. Heat flushed Meke’s cheeks. She felt lazy already. It was far earlier than she usually rose. Idleness bred late rising times.
Trove raised his two fingers and his lips formed the shape, “Two minutes, training room.”
Meke sighed and nodded. As he left, Meke scrambled out of the bed. She put on her clothes as quickly as she could. She had to laugh. Down to the hand motions, it was like she was back in the institution. Now, however, she would do something real. The Zero on her hands would fade into insignificance.
Smiling, Meke jogged to the training room. She barely noticed people’s glances. Meke was early. When she arrived, she was surprised to see Gladys there, standing next to Trove. Gladys smiled anxiously when she saw Meke. Her cheeks, usually pink, were now grayish-white.
“What are you doing here?” Meke asked.
“I’ll translate for Trove. They needed someone, so I offered,”
Meke nodded. She needed to communicate with Trove somehow. Hand signals wouldn’t suffice for this. A small part of her said that Gladys wasn’t good enough. Conversations lagged and halted because of Gladys’ unskilled hands. Meke sighed. She couldn’t do any better. Gladys stood there, fidgeting and trembling.
“Are you all right?” Meke asked.
Gladys bobbed her head. “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine. I’m good. No, great.”
Meke squinted at the woman whose face remained slightly gray. If Gladys wanted to do this, Meke wouldn’t stop her. Meke patted Gladys’ soft shoulders, hoping the woman’s strange anxiety would fade soon. Meke could feel every single tremor coursing through her body.
Trove stood to the side, his arms crossed, his mouth set in a hard line. Gone was the relaxed man that Meke had seen. Now he was a tense, angry man. No wonder Gladys was nervous, even Meke herself felt a bit shaky at the sight of him.
Trove threw a staff, and out of mindless reflex, Meke caught it in the air, but not before flinching. The staff was about her height. The weight surprised her; she had to grip it so it wouldn’t fall.
“You’ll start with the staff,”
Meke pressed her lips together, turning them into an invisible line. Her insides felt rubbed raw at the thought of Cecil flailing under the burden of this thing , as Meke stood tall. It made her wonder what would happen to her. Meke felt fine, but would she always?
A thought slithered into her: maybe you would be better off staying here and staying safe . Meke didn’t know what would happen to her, if she’d simply fall apart like Cecil. Meke squeezed her fists. That wasn’t right—she needed to be something better than a trembling, crouching thing in a corner as she had been at ten. She would stand tall and proud and people would see it.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter. Sterling has decided,” Arya said. “He wants to gain your trust, you know. He gave in entirely too easily.”
Meke blinked. The idea that Sterling cared about what she thought did her credit, but Meke didn’t understand it. Meke wondered why he bothered.
“Well,” Arya inhaled deeply, expanding her chest, “it’s done. Good luck with the training. But—well, keep yourself safe.”
Meke watched Arya’s small body turn the corridor, walk down the hall and through the Nerve Center. It felt good to have someone want her safe, warm even. Meke almost hated herself for that pinched, worried look on Arya’s face. I’m doing the right thing, Meke almost convinced herself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MEKE’S HEAD spun as a rough hand nudged her out of peaceful sleep. Her eyelids protested, seemingly stuck in their old position. Her arms felt heavy and sluggish. This time, it was no mere nudge. Two large hands jostled her out of her drowsiness. Her eyelids flew open.
Trove stood at the foot of her bed, face blank. He threw some black clothing on her bed. Heat flushed Meke’s cheeks. She felt lazy already. It was far earlier than she usually rose. Idleness bred late rising times.
Trove raised his two fingers and his lips formed the shape, “Two minutes, training room.”
Meke sighed and nodded. As he left, Meke scrambled out of the bed. She put on her clothes as quickly as she could. She had to laugh. Down to the hand motions, it was like she was back in the institution. Now, however, she would do something real. The Zero on her hands would fade into insignificance.
Smiling, Meke jogged to the training room. She barely noticed people’s glances. Meke was early. When she arrived, she was surprised to see Gladys there, standing next to Trove. Gladys smiled anxiously when she saw Meke. Her cheeks, usually pink, were now grayish-white.
“What are you doing here?” Meke asked.
“I’ll translate for Trove. They needed someone, so I offered,”
Meke nodded. She needed to communicate with Trove somehow. Hand signals wouldn’t suffice for this. A small part of her said that Gladys wasn’t good enough. Conversations lagged and halted because of Gladys’ unskilled hands. Meke sighed. She couldn’t do any better. Gladys stood there, fidgeting and trembling.
“Are you all right?” Meke asked.
Gladys bobbed her head. “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine. I’m good. No, great.”
Meke squinted at the woman whose face remained slightly gray. If Gladys wanted to do this, Meke wouldn’t stop her. Meke patted Gladys’ soft shoulders, hoping the woman’s strange anxiety would fade soon. Meke could feel every single tremor coursing through her body.
Trove stood to the side, his arms crossed, his mouth set in a hard line. Gone was the relaxed man that Meke had seen. Now he was a tense, angry man. No wonder Gladys was nervous, even Meke herself felt a bit shaky at the sight of him.
Trove threw a staff, and out of mindless reflex, Meke caught it in the air, but not before flinching. The staff was about her height. The weight surprised her; she had to grip it so it wouldn’t fall.
“You’ll start with the staff,”
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