Left.
Right. Straight. Left.
The commands keep my feet moving safely down the hall. This compound is vast. Enormous. My bedroom was so ordinary that the truth of this facility is jarring. An open framework reveals many dozens of floors, hallways and staircases intertwining like overpasses and freeways. The ceiling seems miles away, high and arched and intricate. Exposed steel beams meet clean white walkways centered around an open, interior courtyard. I had no idea I was so high up. And, somehow, for such a huge building, I haven’t yet been spotted.
Things are growing more eerie by the minute.
I encounter no one as I go; I’m ordered to run, detour, or hide just in time to avoid passersby. It’s uncanny. Still, I’ve been walking for at least twenty minutes, and I don’t seem to be getting closer to anything. I have no idea where I am in the scheme of things, and there are no windows nearby. The whole facility feels like a gilded prison.
A long stretch of silence between myself and my imaginary friend starts making me nervous. I think this voice might be Emmaline’s, but she still hasn’t confirmed it. And though I want to say something, I feel silly speaking out loud. So I speak only inside my mind when I say:
Emmaline? Are you there?
No response.
My nervousness reaches its peak and I stop walking.
Where are you taking me?
This time, the answer comes quickly:
Escape
Are we getting closer? I ask.
Yes
I take a deep breath and forge ahead, but I feel a creeping dread infiltrate my senses. The longer I walk—down hallways and infinite staircases—the closer I seem to be getting to something—something that fills me with fear. I can’t explain it.
It’s clear I’m going underground.
The lights are growing dimmer as I go. The halls are beginning to narrow. The windows and staircases are beginning to disappear. And I know I’m only getting closer to the bowels of the building when the walls change. Gone are the smooth, finished white walls of the upper floors. Here, everything is unfinished cement. It smells cold and wet. Earthy. The lights buzz and hum, occasionally snapping.
Fear continues to pulse up my spine.
I shuffle down a slight slope, my shoes slipping a little as I go. My lungs squeeze. My heartbeat feels loud, too loud, and a strange sensation begins to fill my arms and legs. Feeling. Too much feeling. It makes my skin crawl, makes my bones itch. I feel suddenly restless and anxious. And just as I’m about to lose hope in this crazy, meandering escape route—
Here
I stop.
I’m standing in front of a massive stone door. My heart is racing in my throat. I hesitate, fear beginning to fissure my certainty.
Open
“Who are you?” I ask again, this time speaking out loud. “This doesn’t look like an escape route.”
Open
I squeeze my eyes shut; fill my lungs with air.
I came all this way, I tell myself. I have no other options at the moment. I may as well see it through.
But when I open the door I realize it’s only the first of several. Wherever I’m headed is protected by multiple layers of security. The mechanisms required to open each door are baffling—there are no knobs or handles, no
traditional hinges—but all I have to do is touch the door for it to swing open.
It’s too easy.
Finally, I’m standing in front of a steel wall. There’s nothing here to indicate there might be a room beyond.
Touch
Tentatively, I touch my fingers to the metal.
More
I press my whole hand firmly against the door, and within seconds, the wall melts away. I look around nervously and step forward.
Immediately, I know I’ve been led astray.
I feel sick as I look around, sick and terrified. This place is so far from an escape I almost can’t believe I fell for it. I’m in a laboratory.
Another laboratory.
Panic collapses something inside me, bones and organs knocking together, blood rushing to my head. I run for the door and it seals shut, the steel wall forming easily, as if from air.
I pull in a few sharp breaths, begging myself to stay calm.
“Show yourself,” I shout. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”
Help
My heart shudders to a stop. I feel my fear expand and contract.
Dying
Goosebumps rise along my skin. My breath catches; my fists clench. I take a step farther into the room, and then a few more. I’m still wary, worried this is all yet another part of the trick—
Then I see it.
A glass cylinder as tall and wide as the wall, filled to the hilt with water. There’s a creature floating inside of it. Something greater than fear is driving me forward, greater than curiosity, greater than wonder.
Feeling washes over me. Memories crash into me.
A spindly arm reaches through the murky water, shaky fingers forming a loose fist that pounds, weakly, against the glass.
At first, all I see is her hand.
But the closer I get, the more clearly I’m able to see what they’ve done to her. And I can’t hide my horror.
She inches closer to the glass and I catch sight of her face. She no longer has a face, not really. Her mouth has been permanently sealed around a regulator, skin spiderwebbing over silicone. Her hair is a couple feet long, dark and wild and floating around her head like wispy tentacles. Her nose has melted backward into her skull and her eyes are permanently closed, long dark lashes the only indication they ever used to open. Her hands and feet are webbed. She has no fingernails. Her arms and legs are mostly bone and sagging, wrinkled skin.
“Emmaline,” I whisper.
Dying
The tears come hot and fast, hitting me without warning, breaking me from within.
“What did they do to you?” I say, my voice ragged. “How could they do this to you?”
A dull, metallic sound. Twice.
Emmaline is floating closer. She presses her webbed fingers against the barrier between us and I reach up, hastily wiping my eyes before I meet her there. I press my palm to the glass and somehow, impossibly, I feel her take my hand. Soft. Warm. Strong.
And then, with a gasp—
Feeling pulses through me, wave after wave of feeling, emotions as infinite as time. Memories, desires, long-extinguished hopes and dreams. The force of everything sends my head spinning; I slump forward and grit my teeth, steadying myself by pressing my forehead against the barrier between us. Images fill my mind like stilted frames from an old movie.
Emmaline’s life.
She wants me to know. I feel like I’m being pulled into her, like she’s reeling me into her own body, immersing me in her mind. Her memories.
I see her younger, much younger, eight or nine years old. She was spirited, furious. Difficult to control. Her mind was stronger than she could handle and she didn’t know how to feel about her powers. She felt cursed, strangled by them. But unlike me, she was kept at home, here, in this exact laboratory, forced to undergo test after test administered by her own parents. I feel her rage pierce through me.
For the first time, I realize I had the luxury of forgetting. She didn’t.
Max and Evie—and even Anderson—tried to wipe Emmaline’s memory multiple times, but each time, Emmaline’s body prevailed. Her mind was so strong that she was able to convince her brain to reverse the chemistry meant to dissolve her memories. No matter what Max and Evie tried, Emmaline
could never forget them.
Instead, she watched as her own parents turned on her. Turned her inside out.
Emmaline is telling me everything without saying a word. She can’t speak. She’s lost four of her five senses.
She went blind first.
She lost her sense of smell and sensation a year later, both at the same time. Finally, she lost the ability to speak. Her tongue and teeth disintegrated. Her vocal cords eroded. Her mouth sealed permanently shut.
She can only hear now. But poorly.
I see the scenes change, see her grow a little older, a little more broken. I see the fire go out of her eyes. And then, when she realizes what they have planned for her— The entire reason they wanted her, so desperately—
Violent horror takes my breath away.
I fall, kneecaps knocking the floor. The force of her feelings rips me open. Sobs break my back, shudder through my bones. I feel everything. Her pain, her endless pain.
Her inability to end her own suffering. She wants this to end.
End, she says, the word sharp and explosive.
With some effort, I manage to lift my head to look at her. “Was it you this whole time?” I whisper. “Did you give me back my memories?”
Yes
“How? Why?” She shows me.
I feel my spine straighten as the vision moves through me. I see Evie and Max, hear their warped conversations from inside the glass prison. They’ve been trying to make Emmaline stronger over the years, trying to find ways to enhance Emmaline’s telekinetic abilities. They wanted her skills to evolve. They wanted her to be able to perform mind control.
Mind control of the masses.
It backfired.
The more they experimented on her—the further they pushed her—the stronger and weaker she became. Her mind was able to handle the physical manipulations, but her heart couldn’t take it. Even as they built her up, they were breaking her down.
She’d lost the will to live. To fight.
She no longer had complete control over her own body; even her powers were now regulated through Max and Evie. She’d become a puppet. And the more listless she became, the more they misunderstood. Max and Evie thought Emmaline was growing compliant.
Instead, she was deteriorating. And then—
Another scene. Emmaline hears an argument. Max and Evie are discussing me. Emmaline hasn’t heard them mention me in years; she had no idea I was still alive. She hears that I’ve been fighting back. That I’ve been resisting, that I tried to kill a supreme commander.
Emmaline feels hope for the first time in years.
I clap my hands over my mouth. Take a step back.
Emmaline has no eyes, but I feel her staring at me. Watching me for a reaction. I feel unsteady, alert but overcome.
I finally understand.
Emmaline has been using her last gasp of strength to contact me—and not just me, but all the other children of the supreme commanders.
She shows me, inside my own mind, how she’s taken advantage of Max and Evie’s latest effort to expand her capabilities. She’d never been able to reach out to people individually before, but Max and Evie got greedy. In Emmaline they laid the foundation for their own demise.
Emmaline thinks we’re the last hope for the world. She wants us to stand up, fight, save humanity. She’s been slowly returning our minds to us, giving back what our parents once stole. She wants us to see the truth.
Help, she says.
“I will,” I whisper. “I promise I will. But first I’m going to get you out of here.”
Rage, hot and violent, sends me reeling. Emmaline’s anger is sharp and terrifying, and a resounding
NO
fills my brain.
I go still. Confused.
“What do you mean?” I say. “I have to help you get out of here. We’ll escape together. I have friends—healers—who can restore y—”
NO
And then, in a flash—
She fills my mind with an image so dark I think I might be sick.
“No,” I say, my voice shaking. “I won’t do it. I’m not going to kill you.”
Anger, hot, ferocious anger, attacks my mind. Image after image assaults me, her failed suicide attempts, her inability to turn her own powers against herself, the infinite fail-safes Max and Evie put in place to make sure Emmaline couldn’t take her own life, and that she couldn’t harm theirs—
“Emmaline, please—”
HELP
“There has to be another way,” I say desperately. “This can’t be it. You don’t have to die. We can get through this together.”
She bangs her open palm against the glass. Tremors rock her emaciated body.
Already dying
I step forward, press my hands to her prison. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” I say, the words broken. “There has to be another way. Please. I want my sister back. I want you to live.”
More anger, hot and wild, begins to bloom in my mind and then— a spike of fear.
Emmaline goes rigid in her tank.
Coming
I look around, steeling myself. Adrenaline spikes in my veins.
Wait
Emmaline has wrapped her arms around her body, her face pinched in concentration. I can still feel her with an immediacy so intimate it feels almost like her thoughts are my own.
And then, unexpectedly— My shackles pop open.
I spin around as they fall to the floor with a rich clatter. I rub at my aching wrists, my ankles. “How did you—?”
Coming
I nod.
“Whatever happens today,” I whisper, “I’m coming back for you. This isn’t over. Do you hear me? Emmaline, I won’t let you die here.”
For the first time, Emmaline seems to relax.
Something warm and sweet fills my head, affection so unexpected it pricks my eyes.
I fight back the emotion. Footsteps.
Fear has fled my body. I feel unusually calm. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. There’s strength in my bones, strength in my mind. And now that the cuffs are off, my powers are back on and a familiar feeling is surging through me; it’s like being joined by an old friend.
I meet Evie’s eyes as she walks through the door.
She’s already pointing a gun at me. Not a gun—something that looks like a gun. I don’t know what’s in it.
“What are you doing here?” she says, her voice only slightly hysterical. “What have you done?”
I shake my head.
I can’t look at her face anymore without feeling blind rage. I can’t even think her name without feeling a violent, potent, animalistic need to murder her with my bare hands. Evie Sommers is the worst kind of human being. A traitor to humanity. An unadulterated sociopath.
“What have you done?” she says again, this time betraying her fear. Her panic. The gun trembles in her fist. Her eyes are wide, crazed, darting from me to Emmaline, still trapped in the tank behind me.
And then—
I see it. I see the moment she realizes I’m not wearing my manacles. Evie goes pale.
“I haven’t done anything,” I say softly. “Not yet.” Her gun falls, with a clatter, to the floor.
Unlike Paris, my mother isn’t stupid. She knows there’s no point trying to shoot me. She created me. She knows what I’m capable of. And she knows— I can see it in her eyes—she knows I’m about to kill her, and she knows there’s nothing she can do to stop it.
Still, she tries.
“Ella,” she says, her voice unsteady. “Everything we did—everything we’ve ever done—was to try to help you. We were trying to save the world. You have to understand.”
I take a step forward. “I do understand.”
“I just wanted to make the world a better place,” she says. “Don’t you want to make the world a better place?”
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
She almost smiles. A small, broken breath escapes her body. Relief.
I take two swift, running steps and punch her through the chest, ribs breaking under my knuckles. Her eyes widen and she chokes, staring at me in stunned, paralyzed silence. She coughs and blood spatters, hot and thick, across my face. I turn away, spitting her blood out of my mouth, and by the time I look back, she’s dead.
With one last tug, I rip her heart out of her body.
Evie falls to the floor with a heavy thud, her eyes cold and glassy. I’m still holding my mother’s heart, watching it die in my hands, when a familiar voice calls out to me.
Thank you Thank you Thank you
