My chest pulls at her words. The others. The others, who are all dead. Of course she isn’t happy to see me. Me gone would mean everything is all right. Tabatha, one of their own, would be all right. No one would be dead.
Junie and I are the first to the showers the following morning. Only a few of the scouts are up, working out in the training area. Fists pound punching bags and shoes rain down on treadmills. Junie slides me a look as we enter the women’s locker room. “I should be working out with them, but after yesterday I’m not in the mood, you know?”
“Yeah.” I nod, understanding. It feels strange to simply continue on like nothing happened. Like all those lives weren’t lost.
Beneath the showerhead, I bend my neck and let the spray beat into my tired muscles. I’m not sure how long I stand there, letting the water relax me as thoughts burn through my mind. Maybe I should just ask for a map and supplies and head out on my own. It couldn’t be worse than the last two times I set out to get across the border.
By the time I emerge from the comforting spray, Junie’s gone. A couple of other women enter, hesitating when they see me. I nod hello, and they nod back warily. Grabbing my fresh clothes, I move into one of the bathroom stalls to dress and escape their stares. The instant I’m behind the flimsy door, they erupt in whispers.
Rolling my eyes, I leave the bathroom. A few more people are up and eating breakfast now. I lock my jaw as I walk past the training area. Ruben is there. He presses weights, his face flushed with exertion, a vein popping in his forehead. He starts lifting faster and harder when he sees me. I look straight ahead. Sociopath. I wonder if he’s ever acted on those impulses or if he is just a socially inept jerk.
Turning down the hall to Junie’s room, I spot Caden there in front of the door. He turns when he sees me, one hand lifted midair to knock. “Hey. You’re up.”
His hair is damp from a recent shower himself. The dark locks gleam black.
“Yeah.” I tuck a strand of wet hair behind my ear. It’s a self-conscious gesture—the kind of thing I would have done before when Zac first started paying attention to me—and I’m not sure where it comes from now, since that girl doesn’t exist anymore. Caden’s eyes follow the gesture, and I can’t help it. My gaze drops to his mouth, marveling that those lips kissed me not so very long ago. I never thought I would see him again after that kiss, but here we are.
I snap my eyes back to his as I stop before him. “Did you need something?”
He gives a brief nod that’s a little curt for him. His usual smiling optimism has fled him. I guess what happened to Tabatha and the others and the knowledge that a spy hides among us has finally chipped away the last of that. Understandably, but for some reason, this depresses me a little. “Have you eaten?” he asks.
“No.”
He gestures back the way I came. We walk side by side down the narrow hall. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Good.” I rotate it in a small circle, testing it for myself.
As we enter the main room, his hand drops to the small of my back, guiding me toward the breakfast line. I pick up an apple and fill a bowl with cereal, trying to pretend that I don’t feel dozens of people watching us.
We sit at a table, just the two of us. We don’t say anything for several moments, eating in silence. My spoon clinks against my bowl. “Why do they always stare at me?” Dozens of carriers have passed through here. It can’t be that. Is it because of Hoyt?
“Do you really need me to answer that?”
I shrug.
“Why should it bother you? We’ve always been watched.” He taps his neck and then motions to mine. “Nothing new, right?”
I frown. “Before this my biggest worry was how to spend more time with my boyfriend without offending my best friend.”
“Maybe you didn’t realize it, but they were watching you . . . or they would have never found out you have HTS. Right? Everyone has always been watched.”
I shrug again and look over those scattered among the tables, eating their breakfasts. “They blame me. For what happened with Tabatha and the others,” I murmur. “That’s why they’re staring at me. They all died, but I’m alive. They don’t trust me and they blame me.”
“Davy, that’s not logical—”
“Fear never is, is it?” My fingers tighten around my apple. “Wainwright, HTS testing . . . it was all made possible because of fear. Fear doesn’t have to be logical. It’s still one great motivator, though.”
He inhales and exhales, holding my gaze for a long moment. “You’re right. They’re scared,” he returns. “That’s why they stare at you.”
“They’re scared of me?” I hadn’t meant that they were scared of me. I was being more general. I meant they were afraid of everything going on out there. They were afraid of being caught. Of dying. It still strikes me as crazy that anyone could fear me. Even if I have taken lives. I’m Davy. Former music prodigy who frequently complained of cramps to get out of gym class.
He nods once.
“And you’re not afraid of me? Why not? Everyone else is, but you’re sitting here with me. You want me to stay here.” At least he did before.
He lifts his gaze from his food. He smiles like he used to before I left this place. Like I amuse him. “No. I’m not scared of you.” The warmth in his amber eyes makes my stomach feel fluttery, and I look back out at the room again. “They’re just not used to living with fear yet.”