At first, we just step into a black hole. Although I can’t see anything, I listen closely to how our footsteps are echoing around the room and guess that there’s a low ceiling, probably only a few feet taller than the tunnel itself (ten, maybe eleven feet high), and when I put a hand along one wall I can tell it’s straight, not curved. A rectangular room.
“Here it is,” Day mutters. I hear him press and release something, and artificial light floods the space. “Let’s hope it’s empty.”
It’s not a large chamber, but it would be big enough to fit twenty or thirty people comfortably, even up to a hundred if they were crammed in. Against the back wall are two doors leading off into dark hallways. All the walls have monitors, thick and clunky along the edges, with clumsier design than the ones used in most Republic halls. I wonder if the Patriots installed these or if they’re old tech left over from when these tunnels were first built.
While Day wanders through the first hall at the back of the main room, his gun drawn, I check the second one. There are two smaller rooms here, with five sets of bunk beds in each one, and at the far end of the hall is a small door that leads back into the dark, endless tunnel. I’m willing to bet that the hall Day is in also has a tunnel entrance. As I wander from bunk to bunk, I run my hand along the wall where people had scrawled their names and initials. This way to salvation. J. D. Edward, one says. The only way out is death. Maria Márques, says another.
“All clear?” Day says from behind me.
I nod at him. “Clear. I think we’re safe for now.”
He sighs, lets his shoulders slump, then runs a hand wearily through his tangled hair. It’s only been a few days since the last time I saw him, but somehow it feels like so much longer. I walk over to him. His eyes wander across my face as if taking me in for the first time. He must have a million questions for me, but he just lifts a hand and pushes a lock of my hair into place. I’m not sure if I feel dizzy from illness or emotion. I’d almost forgotten how his touch makes me feel. I want to fall into the purity that is Day, soaking in his simple honesty, his heart that sits open and beating on his sleeve.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
I wrap my arms around him, and we hold each other tightly. I close my eyes, letting myself sink against Day’s body and the warmth of his breath on my neck. His hands brush through my hair and run down my back, holding on to me like he’s afraid to let go. He pulls away enough to meet my eyes. He leans forward as if to kiss me . . . but then, for some reason, he stops himself, and pulls me back into a hug. Holding him is comforting, but still.
Something has changed.
We make our way into the kitchen (two hundred twenty-five square feet, judging by the number of tiles on the square floor), dig up two cans of food and bottles of water, squeeze onto the counters, and settle in for a break. Day’s silent. I wait expectantly as we share a can of pasta drowning in tomato sauce, but he still doesn’t utter a word. He seems to be thinking. About the foiled plan? About Tess? Or perhaps he’s not thinking at all, but still stunned into silence. I stay quiet too. I would prefer not to put words in his mouth.
“I saw your warning signal from one of the security cam videos,” he finally says after seventeen minutes have passed. “I didn’t know exactly what you wanted me to do, but I got the general idea.”
I notice he doesn’t mention the kiss between Anden and me, even though I’m sure he saw it. “Thanks.” My vision darkens for a second and I blink rapidly to try to focus. Maybe I need more medicine. “I’m . . . sorry for forcing you into a tough spot. I’d tried to make the jeeps take a different route in Pierra, but it didn’t work out.”
“That was the whole delay when you collapsed, right? I was afraid you might’ve gotten hurt.”
I chew thoughtfully for a moment. Food should taste great right now, but I’m not hungry at all. I should tell him about Eden’s freedom right away, but Day’s tone—somehow like a thunderstorm on the horizon—holds me back. Had the Patriots been able to hear all of my conversations with Anden? If so, then Day might already know. “Razor’s lying to us about why he wants the Elector dead. I don’t know why yet—but the things he’s told us just don’t add up.” I pause, wondering if Razor has already been detained by Republic officials. If not now, then soon. The Republic should know by the end of today that Razor specifically instructed the jeep drivers to stay on course, leading Anden right into the trap.
Day shrugs and concentrates on the food. “Who knows what he and the Patriots are doing now?”
I wonder if he says this because he’s thinking about Tess. The way she’d looked at him before we escaped into the tunnel . . . I decide not to ask about what might have happened between them. Still, my imagination conjures up a vision of them on the couch together, so comfortable and relaxed like they’d been when we first met the Patriots in Vegas, Day resting his head in Tess’s lap. Tess leaning down to brush her lips over his. My stomach tightens in discomfort. But she didn’t come, I remind myself. What happened between them? I picture Tess arguing with Day about me.
“So,” he says in a monotone. “Tell me what you found out about the Elector that made you decide that we should betray the Patriots.”
He doesn’t know about Eden, after all. I put down my water and purse my lips. “The Elector freed your brother.”
Day’s fork stops in midair. “What?”
“Anden let him go—on the day after I gave you the signal. Eden is under federal protection in Denver. Anden hates what the Republic did to your family . . . and he wants to win back our trust—yours and mine.” I reach over for Day’s hand, but he snatches it away. My breath escapes me in a disappointed sigh. I wasn’t sure how he’d take this news, but a part of me hoped that he would just be . . . happy.
“Anden is completely opposed to the late Elector’s politics,” I go on. “He wants to stop the Trials, and the plague experiments.” I hesitate. Day is still staring at the can of pasta, fork in hand, but he’s not eating any longer. “He wants to make all these radical changes, but he needs to win the public’s favor first. He basically begged me for our help.”
Day’s expression quivers. “That’s it? That’s why you decided to throw the Patriots’ entire plan out the window?” he replies bitterly. “So the Elector can bribe me in exchange for my support? Sounds like a damn joke, if you ask me. How do you know he’s telling the truth, June? Did you actually get proof that he released Eden?”
I put my hand on his arm. This is exactly what I feared from Day, but he has every right to be suspicious. How can I explain the gut instinct I have about Anden’s personality, or the fact that I’d seen the honesty in his eyes? I know Anden released Day’s brother. I know it. But Day wasn’t there in the room. He doesn’t know Anden. He has no reason to trust him. “Anden is different. You have to believe me, Day. He released Eden, and not just because he wants us to do something for him.”
Day’s words are cold and distant. “I said, do you have any proof?”
I sigh, taking my hand off his arm. “No,” I admit. “I don’t.”
Day snaps out of his daze and digs his fork back into the can. He does it so hard that the fork’s handle bends. “He played you. You, of all people. The Republic is not going to change. Right now the new Elector’s young, stupid as hell, and full of it, and he just wants to make people take him seriously. He’ll say anything. Once things settle down, you’ll see his true colors. I guarantee it. He’s no different from his father—just another goddy rich trot with deep pockets and a mouthful of lies.”
It irritates me that Day thinks I’m so gullible. “Young and full of it?” I give Day a little shove, trying to lighten the mood. “Reminds me of someone.”
Once this would have made Day laugh, but now he just glares at me. “I saw a boy in Lamar,” he continues. “He was my brother’s age. For a minute, I thought he was Eden. He was being shipped around in a giant glass tube, like some sort of science experiment. I tried to get him out, but I couldn’t. The boy’s blood is being used as a bioweapon that they’re trying to launch into the Colonies.” Day throws his fork into the sink. “That’s what your pretty Elector’s doing to my brother. Now, you still think he released him?”
I reach over and put my hand over his. “Congress had sent Eden to the warfront before Anden was Elector. Anden just released him the other day. He’s—”
Day shrugs me off, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion. He readjusts the sleeves of his collar shirt back up to his elbows. “Why do you believe in this guy so much?”
“What do you mean?”
He gets angrier as he goes. “I mean, the only reason I didn’t smash your Elector’s car window and put a knife through his throat was because of you. Because I knew you must’ve had a good reason. But now it seems like you just take his words on faith. What happened to all that logic of yours?”
I don’t like the way he calls Anden my Elector, as if Day and I were still on opposing sides. “I’m telling you the truth,” I say quietly. “Besides, last time I checked, you’re not a murderer.”
Day turns away from me and mutters something under his breath that I can’t quite catch. I cross my arms. “Do you remember when I trusted you, even though everything I’d ever known told me that you were an enemy? I gave you the benefit of the doubt, and I sacrificed everything for what I believed. I can tell you right now that assassinating Anden will solve nothing. He’s the one person the Republic actually needs—someone inside the system with enough power to change things. How could you live with yourself after killing a person like that? Anden is good.”
“So what if he is?” Day says coldly. He’s gripping the countertop so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. “Good, bad—what does it matter? He’s the Elector.”
I narrow my eyes. “Do you really believe that?”
Day shakes his head and laughs mirthlessly. “The Patriots are trying to start a revolution. That’s what this country needs—not a new Elector, but no Elector. The Republic is broken beyond repair. Let the Colonies take over.”
“You don’t even know what the Colonies are like.”
“I know they’ve got to be better than this hellhole,” Day snaps.
I can tell that he’s not angry at just me, but he’s starting to sound childish and it rubs me the wrong way. “You know why I agreed to help the Patriots?” I put a hand on his upper arm, feeling the faint outline of a scar under the fabric. Day tenses up at my touch. “Because I wanted to help you. You think everything’s my fault, don’t you? It’s my fault that your brother’s being experimented on. It’s my fault that you had to leave the Patriots. It’s my fault that Tess refused to come.”