guilt.”
There’s a beat, a simple skipping of my heartbeat. Then, Moon laughs. “Just a joke, Vika. You don’t have to look so alarmed.”
“Right.” I hold my smile in place. “You’re funny.”
At precisely ten till the hour, I make a show of yawning and wiping my eyes. At five till, I tell Moon I have to visit the washroom to splash water on my face. “I can’t seem to wake up,” I say ruefully, but she barely glances at me.
I wonder briefly as I make my way to the basement whether I am really doing this. But then a comfortable blanket of numb white nothing drifts down over me, and my mind quiets.
I walk down the winding steps all the way to the bottom, where sounds echo and the air is degrees colder. The records room is all the way at the end of a twisting hallway. I get there at one minute past the hour. Celeste isn’t there yet, so I lean against the wall and wait. If anyone approaches, I have a sheet from work I can consult to make it look as though I have every right to be here.
10:02.
10:03.
At 10:05, I begin to fret. Where is she? Has she been delayed? Informed upon? Are the Escorts even now heading down the stairs, looking for the other terrorist within their ranks?
But at 10:07, the unsmiling Celeste walks rapidly toward me. Her eyes widen when she spots me, and she comes to a stop in front of the records room. I nod at her, and she nods back. Slipping her key into the door, she opens it and steps in without a word. I follow.
She glances over her shoulder at me, and I close the door. Going over to the far corner of the room, Celeste begins to rummage through a box of musty files, using the small square window for light. I wait in silence.
Finally, she looks at me. “Is there something you need?”
I feel a pang of sympathy for her. It can’t be easy, coming down here without knowing who the person is at the other end of the arrangement. “It’s okay. I’m… the one. The one you’re supposed to meet.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Oh?”
“I’m not sure if Sh—” I stop as I catch sight of her identification badge, turned just the slightest bit toward me.
Her name is Luna Morgan. This is not Celeste. She is not my contact.
“Actually, I think I got the directions wrong,” I backtrack. Heavy drops of sweat gild my forehead. “I don’t think I was meant to come to this room after all. Excuse me.” I turn and force myself to walk out calmly, like someone who has just made an honest mistake.
When I reach the stairs, I run back to my office. Celeste, not Luna. Celeste must have been the girl who helped me the first time, the one who handed me the code list without checking with her boss. Of course.
But where is she now? The thought stops me cold. Have the Escorts gotten to her? Is the plan compromised?
I wait all day like I’m waiting for life-altering news from the doctor. I expect the Escorts to come get me, to haul me off like they did Naiad. But no one comes. Could it be Luna believed my lie?
I rush home from work, elbowing my way past throngs of workers heading home in the muggy twilight. When I burst into the apartment, Shale is pacing. He looks at me, his expression taut. “How did it go?”
Breathlessly, I shake my head and set my bag down. “It wasn’t Celeste. The girl who came to the records room… the one I thought you meant. She’s Luna Morgan. I haven’t seen Celeste in a week.”
Shale’s face is pale. “Do they know about the plan?”
“No. I managed to make up an excuse and leave. Who told you Celeste would be there?” I try to keep the anger out of my voice. It’s probably a mistake, but one that could’ve cost me or Ceres our lives.
“One of the Rads. He said he’d pass on the message to Celeste.” Shale’s hands are enraged fists.
“I saw Celeste on my first trip to the Code Agency, but when I went back a week or so later, Luna had replaced her. Do you think the Escorts got Celeste?” I go to the kitchen and get a glass of
There’s a beat, a simple skipping of my heartbeat. Then, Moon laughs. “Just a joke, Vika. You don’t have to look so alarmed.”
“Right.” I hold my smile in place. “You’re funny.”
At precisely ten till the hour, I make a show of yawning and wiping my eyes. At five till, I tell Moon I have to visit the washroom to splash water on my face. “I can’t seem to wake up,” I say ruefully, but she barely glances at me.
I wonder briefly as I make my way to the basement whether I am really doing this. But then a comfortable blanket of numb white nothing drifts down over me, and my mind quiets.
I walk down the winding steps all the way to the bottom, where sounds echo and the air is degrees colder. The records room is all the way at the end of a twisting hallway. I get there at one minute past the hour. Celeste isn’t there yet, so I lean against the wall and wait. If anyone approaches, I have a sheet from work I can consult to make it look as though I have every right to be here.
10:02.
10:03.
At 10:05, I begin to fret. Where is she? Has she been delayed? Informed upon? Are the Escorts even now heading down the stairs, looking for the other terrorist within their ranks?
But at 10:07, the unsmiling Celeste walks rapidly toward me. Her eyes widen when she spots me, and she comes to a stop in front of the records room. I nod at her, and she nods back. Slipping her key into the door, she opens it and steps in without a word. I follow.
She glances over her shoulder at me, and I close the door. Going over to the far corner of the room, Celeste begins to rummage through a box of musty files, using the small square window for light. I wait in silence.
Finally, she looks at me. “Is there something you need?”
I feel a pang of sympathy for her. It can’t be easy, coming down here without knowing who the person is at the other end of the arrangement. “It’s okay. I’m… the one. The one you’re supposed to meet.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Oh?”
“I’m not sure if Sh—” I stop as I catch sight of her identification badge, turned just the slightest bit toward me.
Her name is Luna Morgan. This is not Celeste. She is not my contact.
“Actually, I think I got the directions wrong,” I backtrack. Heavy drops of sweat gild my forehead. “I don’t think I was meant to come to this room after all. Excuse me.” I turn and force myself to walk out calmly, like someone who has just made an honest mistake.
When I reach the stairs, I run back to my office. Celeste, not Luna. Celeste must have been the girl who helped me the first time, the one who handed me the code list without checking with her boss. Of course.
But where is she now? The thought stops me cold. Have the Escorts gotten to her? Is the plan compromised?
I wait all day like I’m waiting for life-altering news from the doctor. I expect the Escorts to come get me, to haul me off like they did Naiad. But no one comes. Could it be Luna believed my lie?
I rush home from work, elbowing my way past throngs of workers heading home in the muggy twilight. When I burst into the apartment, Shale is pacing. He looks at me, his expression taut. “How did it go?”
Breathlessly, I shake my head and set my bag down. “It wasn’t Celeste. The girl who came to the records room… the one I thought you meant. She’s Luna Morgan. I haven’t seen Celeste in a week.”
Shale’s face is pale. “Do they know about the plan?”
“No. I managed to make up an excuse and leave. Who told you Celeste would be there?” I try to keep the anger out of my voice. It’s probably a mistake, but one that could’ve cost me or Ceres our lives.
“One of the Rads. He said he’d pass on the message to Celeste.” Shale’s hands are enraged fists.
“I saw Celeste on my first trip to the Code Agency, but when I went back a week or so later, Luna had replaced her. Do you think the Escorts got Celeste?” I go to the kitchen and get a glass of
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