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  Willow and Chase exchange looks, and again I wonder if they are communicating via Telepathy. Finally, Willow presses the heels of her palms into her eyes and releases an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But it will take some time to arrange.”

  My heart races, but I don’t yield any ground, afraid it might make Willow change her mind. “Fine.”

  Did she really just agree to take me to Pax, or was she just trying to shut me up? She agreed too easily. Maybe she is playing a game with me, but I don’t understand the rules yet.

  9

  The Protectorate releases our group into the general population. Everyone is welcome to move around The Shield freely. Willow encourages us to use our maps to explore and find a place to contribute. Enid hangs back with me as others filter out of the common room.

  “Madison,” I call as the girl heads toward the door.

  Madison says something to another girl, then jogs up to me. “What is it?”

  Paragon may have planted a spy in our group, I say, sending her a Telepathic message.

  Madison’s eyes widen and her jaw slackens as she glances from me to Enid and back again. Are you sure?

  No. But I need you to try and read everyone who came with us, see what you can find out. I bite my lip before continuing. And I need you to try and read the natives to this place, see if they are hiding something from us.

  Madison hesitates. Ugene, there are people here who are stronger than me.

  I nod. I understand. But I need you to try.

  I’ll do what I can, she says.

  Enid watches the two of us curiously, but my gaze shoots past both girls as someone approaches Willow, and the two dart out of the common room like there’s a fire with Chase on Willow’s heels as always.

  I drop a hand on Enid’s shoulder. “Get Miller to my quarters, will you? And make sure he isn’t alone.”

  “Why, what—?” Enid turns after me, but I don’t wait for her to finish before rushing out after Willow.

  Keeping up with Willow and Chase while not letting anyone notice I’m following them is more difficult than I expected. The tunnels are so long that I have to wait for them to turn a corner before entering the tunnel in their wake. Then I rush down the tunnel to reach the next intersection before they disappear again, while simultaneously appearing not to rush and gather attention. More than once, I tuck my hands casually into the pockets of my jacket and try to act like I’m just wandering aimlessly as someone steps out from a room or enter the tunnel headed my way.

  Unfortunately, this level of stealth means I can’t hear Willow or Chase’s conversation along the way. I’m too far behind to hear much more than distant voices carrying off the walls. I nearly lose them at one intersection, stepping out and checking both directions, then ducking out of sight when I spot them at the far end of the left junction talking to Doc. The tunnel is probably a good sixty feet long, and they speak in urgent whispers so I can’t hear any of the exchange.

  I hide around the corner, listening to make sure their voices continue as I fumble out my map. Where are we? The same level as the common room, but we turned down several intersections. I glance up from my study of the map to read the sign on the door next to me, then compare it to the map.

  Willow, Doc, and Chase are outside Medical. What’s going on there that would be so urgent?

  Silence fills the tunnels. They stopped talking. I dare to peek out. The tunnel is empty. Did they enter Medical?

  Just in case I run into one of them, I keep my map out as I round the corner, walking at a casual pace and keeping my eyes fixed on the map in my hand. If they catch me, I can try to claim I was just getting acquainted with The Shield’s layout.

  The closer I get to the medical bay, the commotion catches my attention from within. Before I go in to get a closer look, I peek around the corner to get a handle on where everyone is. Particularly Willow, Chase, and Doc.

  A handful of people young and old in scrubs rush around the medical bay as Dr. Lydia barks out orders. Five of the beds are newly occupied and medical tools rest on steel trays colored with fresh blood. One of the patients—a guy I can’t really see too well from my hiding place—begins seizing.

  “Hold him down!” Dr. Lydia barks.

  Chase appears beside the seizing patient and pins his shoulders to the table as Doc injects something in the patient’s arm. A moment later, the seizing stops. He goes limp. But the twisting in my gut starts. That seizure reminded me of Miller thrashing on the Paragon floor after they shot him.

  “I can’t heal her,” one of the women in scrubs calls out to Dr. Lydia.

  “Someone go find that Rosie girl,” Dr. Lydia barks. “Tell her if she doesn’t come help, this girl will die.”

  I slip into the medical bay and hide behind one of the curtains. No one notices me enter in all the chaos. Just as I dip out of sight, someone in scrubs hands something to Willow and I strain to hear their conversation over the commotion from the doctors and nurses—or whatever they call themselves here. Another woman in clean scrubs runs out of the medical bay, presumably to find Rosie.

  “Jayme said it might be damaged,” Scrubs Guy tells Willow.

  “Well hopefully something from it is salvageable or this mission was for nothing.” Willow’s voice is a combination of concern and irritation.

  The smell of antiseptic, blood, and urine is overpowering. I struggle to keep from gagging and giving myself away. Swallowing bile, I close my eyes for a moment.

  “Not completely for nothing,” Scrubs Guy says to Willow.

  “Is that—?”

  “He says it is.”

  I peer out from behind the curtain just in time to see Willow tuck something under her shirt at the small of her back. I can’t make out what it was.

  Dr. Lydia’s voice is closer to where I’m hiding, and I can’t hear anything more of Willow’s conversation over Dr. Lydia’s admonishing tone. “Jayme, I told you to stop overexerting yourself. You push your Power too far.”

  “I had no choice, Lydia,” the patient, presumably this Jayme person, says. His voice chafes at my memory. “The Directorate was on top of us. If I hadn’t, she wouldn’t have made it back here. None of us would have.”

  Where do I know that voice from?

  “I’m putting you on the Reserve list,” Dr. Lydia says.

  Something like cloth rustles from the other side of the curtain. “Please. I can’t stay here. I have to keep going out there.”

  “You’re killing yourself.”

  “I know what I’m about.” The familiar voice flashes me back to a memory from the final Survival test when we were trying to escape the simulated Paragon Tower. I’ll kill you all! My heart jumps into my throat.

  Caution aside, I step out from my hiding place so I can get a clear look at the guy. His red hair isn’t a mess, and he sits up confidently on the edge of the cot, back straight, but there’s no doubt in my mind.

  “Murphy.” The name is barely a whisper from my lips, and my feet shuffle toward the bed almost of their own accord. I could never forget the feral way he screamed and leaped at me in that office in the simulation.

  My sudden appearance attracts attention.

  “Ugene, what are you doing here?” Willow asks from across the medical bay.

  I ignore her.

  “You…you’re Murphy,” I say.

  He looks at me like I’m crazy, head cocked slightly to the side, but there’s no mistaking those green eyes, no longer wild with rage, but curious. He leans forward. “Who are you?”

  “Miller…I…” It’s him. It’s really Murphy.

  At the mention of Miller’s name, Murphy’s eyes widen, and he sinks back, staring at me. I realize he’s waiting for me to say more.

  “Ugene!” Willow marches over, but I don’t care. Murphy, or Jayme, as Dr. Lydia called him, is the reason Miller betrayed us in Paragon. And here he is. Right in front of me.

  I lick my lips, excited. “Okay, we were together at Paragon. I’m Ugene.
Miller was my mentor.”

  Murphy’s eyes narrow slightly. “Is he okay?” His gaze flits around the room. “Where is he?”

  “He jumped in front of a bullet for me when we escaped.”

  Murphy sucks in a sharp breath and his shoulders slump.

  “He’s fine,” Dr. Lydia says, making a few notes on the tablet. “Unlike you, if you don’t quit overusing your Power.”

  Murphy waves her off.

  “He’s not fine,” I say sharply. “The bullet had something in it that removed his Powers.”

  Willow steps in front of me, taking my arm and pulling me away from the bed toward the exit. “You don’t need to be in here right now.”

  I resist, pulling back and shaking her off, which isn’t easy. Her grip is oddly strong.

  “Where is he?” Murphy asks again, slipping off the edge of the cot, towering several inches over me.

  “Jayme, sit down.” Dr. Lydia crosses her arms and cuts off his path. “You need to rest.”

  Murphy ignores her and easily sidesteps.

  “My quarters,” I say.

  Murphy grabs a fleece-lined denim jacket off the cot and bolts toward the door before Dr. Lydia or Willow can stop him. I jog to catch up. Murphy exudes confidence as he makes long strides down the hallway, shoulders squared, and the jacket clenched tight in his fist. I can’t help but admire his sudden determination.

  “Who are you, then?” Murphy asks, turning left at a fork in the tunnel.

  Wait. I thought I already told him. “As I said before, my name’s Ugene. Miller and I are…friends.”

  We take a sharp right and descend a set of stone steps. At the bottom, Murphy casts a sidelong, furtive glance at me. He’s sizing me up, though I’m not sure why.

  “So, you both came with that big Paragon group?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” He knew about the group already. How could he not have known about Miller?

  Unless Willow didn’t tell him. But why would she keep it from him?

  Murphy’s jaw clenches and the muscles in his neck become more distinguishable.

  “He took a bullet for you, huh?” Murphy asks as we round a corner. He won’t look at me for some reason. “Why?”

  I open my mouth, but no explanation comes out. I don’t really know why.

  My lack of answers seems to irritate Murphy. He clenches his jacket tighter, making the muscles in his shoulders tense.

  “I wasn’t sure we would find you,” I say. “Miller told me all about you, Murphy.”

  “Jayme.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Jayme. Not Murphy.”

  I frown. Why would he not be Murphy? Miller never called him Jayme. But then again, everyone else did. Willow. Dr. Lydia. Maybe Murphy was just for Miller, like a pet name or something.

  Jayme casts that critical glare at me again, and I’m not sure why. “Then you two were… close?”

  “Sure. We spent a lot of time together.”

  His pace slows gradually until he comes to a full stop, turning to face me. He looks almost hurt. “What does that mean?”

  Oh. Now I get it. He thinks Miller and I are a thing.

  “It’s not like that at all,” I say quickly, maybe too quickly. “We’re just friends.”

  Jayme shrugs and turns forward to continue, his stride growing in length like he wants to lose me. Maybe he does.

  “As I said, he talked about you all the time.”

  We enter the silo and I nod toward where my quarters are. Jayme’s stride only slows slightly.

  “Like what?” Jayme asks.

  “That he loves you, for starters,” I say, “and that he would walk through fire for you.”

  Jayme’s expression softens. “He said that?”

  “Well, not exactly in those words, but it was pretty clearly implied.”

  To say the least. Miller turned the rest of us in to Paragon just so he could get information about Jayme. If he hadn’t chosen to stay with me in the lobby, if he hadn’t taken that bullet for me, I’m not sure I would have the heart to forgive him.

  Did the fact that Jayme is here play into Miller’s decision to stay with me? If Miller is the spy, Paragon might have told him Jayme was here, which would motivate Miller to make a deal. He did it before. Maybe this is all part of Paragon’s plan.

  As I struggle with this line of thought, Jayme steps through the open door to my quarters. Should I follow?

  Yes. I need to see how Miller reacts to seeing Jayme. I need to exonerate him.

  Enid paces the doorway to my quarters, watching up the gangway. As soon as she sees me, her shoulders sag with relief. “What is going on?” she asks, glancing curiously at Jayme.

  “Thanks for watching him,” I say.

  Miller sits upright on the edge of my bed, shoulders sloped downward with his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He’s staring at nothing. It’s like nothing else exists but the wall.

  Jayme freezes, the tension in his shoulder’s sagging away as he takes in the state of Miller. I give Jayme a moment, but he just stands there. Biting my lip, I step forward just enough to see the tears welling in Jayme’s eyes. Maybe I can act as a buffer here.

  I give Jayme a pat on the shoulder and approach Miller, pulling a chair over from the table and taking the seat across from him so I fill his line of sight.

  “Hey, Miller.”

  Nothing but a slow blink.

  “Good news,” I say, hoping he is actually listening. Miller’s state is almost catatonic. “I found Murphy.”

  Miller blinks a few times, and his eyes begin to focus on me. He releases a breath that makes his entire body shake. “Here?”

  I nod, offering him a reassuring smile. “Yes. Here.”

  No surprise breaks his blank expression, but Miller’s voice cracks as he speaks. “He can’t see me like this.”

  I bite my lip. “Well. Maybe pull yourself together a little bit then, because he’s waiting by the door.” I glance over at Jayme, waving him over.

  Miller swallows a lump in his throat and slowly turns his head toward the door. Upon seeing Jayme, he sucks in a shuddering breath. “Murph…” Miller’s never sounded so small or weak…or relieved.

  Jayme shuffles closer, draping his jacket over the back of a chair as he passes. Miller rises, his limbs shaking as he steadies himself.

  “Miller.” Jayme’s voice quivers, then a smile stretches across his face and he closes the distance in a few strides and pulls Miller into a tight hug.

  Miller shakes, buries his face in Jayme’s neck, and returns the hug.

  I slip away from the two of them toward the door.

  Miller pulls back and brushes red hair away from Jayme’s face, his hand lingering tenderly. “I’m sorry.”

  Jayme runs his fingers through Miller’s blond hair and leans their foreheads together.

  Even if this means Miller is a spy for Paragon, I can’t help feeling happy for the two of them. How far would I go if I could be with Bianca again?

  Sadly, I’ll never know.

  10

  Assimilation into life in The Shield proves easier for some than others. Many of my friends have found a place to contribute—the kitchen, janitorial room, laundry room, granary. The Shield exists like its own city underground with numerous opportunities.

  I expected Miller to improve after reuniting with Jayme, but he seems to slip further with each day that passes. Madison has warned me more than once that Miller’s mind is still broken in two. Sometimes his attitude is too sharp or too friendly, and other times he just doesn’t respond to conversations at all. More often than not, I catch him staring at nothing, his eyes glazed over. He’s become a husk of his former self, skin and bones and nothing more.

  With each day that passes, Jayme casts more and more angry glances in my direction when Miller isn’t looking—and sometimes when he is. The daggers in his eyes are deadly like he blames me for Miller’s condition. And he’s probably right to blame me. Miller n
ever says anything about the growing tension between Jayme and me. Maybe he doesn’t even notice.

  The Shield is massive, so much bigger than I imagined. Exploring the tunnels and rooms is a monumental task, which Enid has volunteered to help me with. Much like I did in Paragon, I spend my days observing the people and activity, making notes in my notebooks each night. My interest is in snippets of conversations that leak through doorways. Mostly gossip about other people. People simply go about their daily life here.

  Everyone wears ordinary clothes—jeans, T-shirts, hooded sweatshirts, and jackets. No tension fills the air around these people. No one dips their heads or shies away as our group approaches as they did at Paragon. They look up at me and smile. People are happy here, but I can’t help but wonder how many of them suffer from PTPD like Miller. No one else appears in as rough of condition as Miller, though.

  Today, I wander the halls with the map tucked safely in my jacket pocket, just in case. From the end of a corridor, a small group of people in desert camouflage uniforms heads my direction. Their gazes fall on me and the conversation stops. I peer over my shoulder as they round the corner and disappear, then stare straight ahead.

  Quickly, I inspect my map, unfolding it so I can see what’s behind the closed doors. Only one is unmarked. Folding the map back up, I glance up and down the hallway and shuffle toward the solid steel door. Beside the door, a hand scanner rests in the wall. I place my hand against it. A blue light scans my palm, then the activation light turns red. No sound emits from the device, but it’s clear that whatever is behind this door is something I’m not allowed to see, which only makes me want to see it more. If Miller still had his Power, I could get him to pop the lock. Maybe I can find someone else to do it.