group that has taken countless lives?
The very idea of it seems
questionable.
The man ignores Ezra and
takes a few steps until he’s standing in front of me. I reel back when he bends
forward, our faces now only a few inches apart. He looks me over, rubbing his
chin as he tilts his head.
“Hmm . . . she’s pretty
cute for a spy.”
“I’m not a spy,” I blurt
out in response.
My heart rate nearly
doubles as I take in the single skeptical expression worn by the three people
before me. For some reason, I look over at Ezra. He’s staring back at me with
that same remote distance in his eyes, except now he’s holding Richter’s coat.
“Then why did you have
this?” he asks.
I breathe in, silently
berating myself for stealing the damn thing in the first place. “It’s
complicated,” I whisper.
He places the coat on the
table beside me. “Okay . . . then how do you know my name?”
I swallow. I can’t tell him
the truth. Not now.
They’ll never believe me.
Not without seeing it.
“Also complicated,” I
breathe.
Ezra takes a heated step
forward, and I can see his hand reaching for what I assume must be his gun. The
woman steps between us, seemingly eager to defuse the situation.
“Look,” she says to me. “We
want to believe you, but you need to help us out a little. Just tell us something .”
I consider her for a
moment, all too aware that I have no other choice, except to tell them what
they want to know. If I don’t, they’ll probably kill me. If I do, well, they
may still kill me. But what alternative do I have? If I try to escape, all
that’s left for me to go back to is the DSD, and like hell do I plan to go back
there.
Besides, why would I have
bothered coming here at all if my intentions weren’t to help PHOENIX in some
way? Sure, I came here to find Ezra, but I should have known that wouldn’t be
enough.
I weigh my options.
“My name is Wynter Reeves,”
I finally answer, deciding my best bet is to go with the truth. “A couple of .
. . I . . . I don’t know how long it’s been . . . .” I stammer.
The realization is somewhat
horrifying, as if I’ve lost a chunk of my life that I’ll never get back. How
much time has passed? It feels like years since I sat my exam, but
realistically, it can’t have been more than a few months.
“Since what?” the woman
asks.
I meet her expectant gaze
and take a long deep breath, preparing myself for their inevitable reaction.
“Since I was taken by the
DSD,” I murmur.
All of their eyes land on
me at once.
“Come again?” the
black-haired man splutters. The tone of his voice seems to mirror what the
others are feeling.
“Jenner,” Ezra snaps.
The other man, Jenner,
abruptly goes silent. Still, in spite of the hush, I can sense them all
watching me. Waiting with bated breath for my story to continue.
I shake my head, suddenly
feeling flustered. “I was sitting my work placement exam.” I hesitate, feeling
uneasy. “By the time I got home, the Enforcers were already there.”
“What did they want with
you?” Ezra asks.
“I . . . I didn’t finish
the exam. I left in the middle.”
He looks away from me, and
out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman glance up at him. She seems
confused, as if something I’ve said simply doesn’t add up.
“That doesn’t make any
sense,” she says. “The DSD doesn’t deal with minor crimes.”
“Is blowing off the exam
even considered a punishable offense?” Jenner pipes in.
I watch as the three of
them debate amongst themselves, trying to determine why the DSD would show an
interest in me—in particular, why they would care if I finished my placement
exam. They don’t seem to feel that the test matters, even though it’s the
deciding factor in regards to our future. Well, it is for those of us still
implanted within society. Although I suppose, after all of this, that future no
longer includes me either.
After a long moment, I
attempt to set the record
The very idea of it seems
questionable.
The man ignores Ezra and
takes a few steps until he’s standing in front of me. I reel back when he bends
forward, our faces now only a few inches apart. He looks me over, rubbing his
chin as he tilts his head.
“Hmm . . . she’s pretty
cute for a spy.”
“I’m not a spy,” I blurt
out in response.
My heart rate nearly
doubles as I take in the single skeptical expression worn by the three people
before me. For some reason, I look over at Ezra. He’s staring back at me with
that same remote distance in his eyes, except now he’s holding Richter’s coat.
“Then why did you have
this?” he asks.
I breathe in, silently
berating myself for stealing the damn thing in the first place. “It’s
complicated,” I whisper.
He places the coat on the
table beside me. “Okay . . . then how do you know my name?”
I swallow. I can’t tell him
the truth. Not now.
They’ll never believe me.
Not without seeing it.
“Also complicated,” I
breathe.
Ezra takes a heated step
forward, and I can see his hand reaching for what I assume must be his gun. The
woman steps between us, seemingly eager to defuse the situation.
“Look,” she says to me. “We
want to believe you, but you need to help us out a little. Just tell us something .”
I consider her for a
moment, all too aware that I have no other choice, except to tell them what
they want to know. If I don’t, they’ll probably kill me. If I do, well, they
may still kill me. But what alternative do I have? If I try to escape, all
that’s left for me to go back to is the DSD, and like hell do I plan to go back
there.
Besides, why would I have
bothered coming here at all if my intentions weren’t to help PHOENIX in some
way? Sure, I came here to find Ezra, but I should have known that wouldn’t be
enough.
I weigh my options.
“My name is Wynter Reeves,”
I finally answer, deciding my best bet is to go with the truth. “A couple of .
. . I . . . I don’t know how long it’s been . . . .” I stammer.
The realization is somewhat
horrifying, as if I’ve lost a chunk of my life that I’ll never get back. How
much time has passed? It feels like years since I sat my exam, but
realistically, it can’t have been more than a few months.
“Since what?” the woman
asks.
I meet her expectant gaze
and take a long deep breath, preparing myself for their inevitable reaction.
“Since I was taken by the
DSD,” I murmur.
All of their eyes land on
me at once.
“Come again?” the
black-haired man splutters. The tone of his voice seems to mirror what the
others are feeling.
“Jenner,” Ezra snaps.
The other man, Jenner,
abruptly goes silent. Still, in spite of the hush, I can sense them all
watching me. Waiting with bated breath for my story to continue.
I shake my head, suddenly
feeling flustered. “I was sitting my work placement exam.” I hesitate, feeling
uneasy. “By the time I got home, the Enforcers were already there.”
“What did they want with
you?” Ezra asks.
“I . . . I didn’t finish
the exam. I left in the middle.”
He looks away from me, and
out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman glance up at him. She seems
confused, as if something I’ve said simply doesn’t add up.
“That doesn’t make any
sense,” she says. “The DSD doesn’t deal with minor crimes.”
“Is blowing off the exam
even considered a punishable offense?” Jenner pipes in.
I watch as the three of
them debate amongst themselves, trying to determine why the DSD would show an
interest in me—in particular, why they would care if I finished my placement
exam. They don’t seem to feel that the test matters, even though it’s the
deciding factor in regards to our future. Well, it is for those of us still
implanted within society. Although I suppose, after all of this, that future no
longer includes me either.
After a long moment, I
attempt to set the record
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