Follow Me Through Darkness (13 page)

That could mean so many different things. I choose not to think about it and hold the little pill in my hand. It looks like a polka dot that’s fallen off a shirt and landed in my palm. It doesn’t look real, and it doesn’t look like it can do what Xenith has said
.

It’s deceiving, as I’m learning most things are, but here it is. No second thoughts-there is no time for them
.

DEADLINE: 24D, 16H, 49M

EL PASO, TEXAS

TIME GOES SLOWLY IN THE RAIN.
Each step feels as if we’re not moving, since the landscape doesn’t change and the rain and wind pelts us as we move.

“There!” Thorne yells. He looks back at me and takes off in a jog. Ahead of us, I can see a portion of an abandoned building. It’s small, with crumbling bricks stacked tall and empty space every ten feet. It doesn’t look extremely stable, but hopefully it’s dry. In the distance behind it, there’s a huge metal barrier that’s longer and taller across than I can see in the rain. The border keeping out Mexico-or keeping in America.

I follow Thorne into one of the openings. It’s a small, simple room with a roof, floors, and walls that are mostly held together. We both strip off our wet outer layers and spread them across the dry space. The blue color of my pack looks black, but luckily nothing inside is very wet. My eyes catch sight of the cover of Xenith’s book; I’d forgotten it was in there. It’s not ruined. Good.

I peel the socks off my feet, and my toes are red. Blisters are starting to form, which is irritating with so much farther to walk. I look up in time to see Thorne pulling off his wet shirt, his muscles chiseled underneath. I forgot the way he could make my stomach do that flip-inside-itself thing. He shakes water from his hair and lays the shirt on the ground to dry. My eyes scan up his body, from his arms that are more muscular from all the work on the fisherboats to his chest and defined abs. It wasn’t that long ago when Thorne didn’t have abs like that. I feel my cheeks warm up, and then Thorne smiles, staring at me.

“Why, Cornelia Ambrose,” he says, “am I making you nervous?”

I laugh, but it gets caught in my throat. Right next to my common sense and my nerve. I toss my other sock toward my pile of wet clothes. “No. Why would you make me nervous?”

He shrugs, the smile still playing on his lips. And my stomach is still jumping around, trying to escape. I’m wringing the water out of my hair, staring out into the beyond, when he turns me and pulls me closer. My wet hair falls, forgotten. The surge of our connection pulses through me, and he’s so close to me I can feel the heat of his bare chest through my layer of clothing.

“I miss us,” he says. His voice is ragged, and he presses a chaste kiss to my forehead. “I came because I wanted to be with you. The fact that you left for my family only means I’m never leaving you.”

“Thorne-”

He puts a finger to my lips. “Nothing you can say will change my mind. I’m here. You’re not going alone, and besides, we are stronger together. I can help.”

I lean into his body, still pressed against mine. We stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, silent aside from the wind and the rain and the thunder that crashes around us. In his arms, everything else falls away. The mission, the danger behind us, is forgotten. The world is ours. I feel better now that he’s with me. Even though he’s one of the questions I have, he’s still Thorne.

His finger traces my cheek, and as he presses his lips against my cool neck, chills rush through me at the contrast of our skin. A cascade of longing passes through me-mine or his, I’m not sure-but he feels it too because his eyes focus on mine.

Our lips crash together. In seconds, we’re entwined. The scruff on his chin scratches my face, and my heart pounds as wildly as the rain on the roof above us. A gust of wind rushes through the open spaces, cool against the heat of our bodies.

His kiss is fierce, purposeful. His hands run through my hair, tangling in the strands. My branding burns and my head spins and the hours wrap around me, but with Thorne kissing me, none of it matters. Nothing except the feel of his lips on mine and the fire of our touch. Through our kiss, I can feel everything.

I can’t see what happened over the last few weeks, but I can feel the way he felt. The memory of them affecting him now. As if this kiss, this moment, was the only thing he’d been waiting to experience again, never certain that he would. Thorne’s confusion at the way I’d been acting after learning about the placement testing, about the branding and the Elders and his family. His pain when he believed I was dead, such a deep sickening pit in his stomach that it made him want to give up. The joy and frustration when Xenith told him the truth. The second he saw me again. Those feelings all plague him, and with his guard down and us completely open, they seep into me.

How could I just leave him behind? I was so determined to find the truth that I didn’t even think about what the truth would do to him. Even now. My freedom from our branding means his freedom, too. And even though I want it, I know he doesn’t. He never has.

Thorne pulls away from me again, his breath raw and jagged. He runs his finger over my cheek, eyes wide. “What is it?” he says. “Something just happened. I felt it. You feel guilty about something.”

I pull away from his arms, and I’m not sure what to say. I can’t be weak now. We’ve got too far to go, so I look out the holes in the walls at the rain.

“How long will it last?”

Thorne exhales, presses a kiss against my neck. “Hard to say. But get comfortable. We’ll wait it out.”

13 DAYS BEFORE ESCAPE

I’VE BEEN WAITING ALL DAY.
There aren’t many people on the beach now because of the sky. It’s still dark, preparing for an explosion. I look over the waves. They are harsh today-rapid. They seem to reflect the sky. I know they are two separate things, like Thorne and me, but they are so much alike. When one is reflected in the other, it’s hard to remember they’re different. How can things so different from each other be so similar? They were made to go together. They were made to be vast and infinite and mystifying. The way I used to believe we were
.

I’m sure Thorne’s out there right now, swaying and tossing on the ocean. He’s probably pulling in a net of fish or cursing because he hasn’t caught any. He’s baiting hooks and swabbing decks and joking with the old men. They like him, and he’s good at fishing, but it’s not the life he wants, either. He deserves more-we all do-and that’s why I have to do this
.

I walk along the shore for a minute because I want to enjoy it, but the little pill is a boulder. I need to take it. I need to toss it in my mouth and swallow it. I need to, but I can’t. Dying is a scary thing, and I literally hold my life in my own hands
.

I close my eyes for one last moment. The waves splash on the sand and make a sound as they fold over each other. Over and over. The sand swishes away with the tide. I hum along with it, like the forbidden song my mother and Sara used to sing as children, a song about love that Sara taught to me
.

The freezing water is up to my shins. I don’t feel like I’m moving at all. The waves are wild, quickening in speed and intensity. I try to find the melody, but it’s too lost in the waves. I move in deeper until the water’s at my waist, beating and thrashing against me, warning me, telling me to go back. I don’t go back. I keep my eyes closed and feel the waves move around me, pulling me forward and pushing me away. The sky is dark, the wind fierce. The waves respond to the movement, and I dive into them just as the rain falls
.

My eyes burn, and I spit out the taste of salt. A wave is coming toward me, a wall of dark blue. I try to shove myself up, back to the surface, to the air, but my foot is wrapped in the seaweed, pulling me down. I gasp in one more breath before I’m swept over by water
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Suddenly, I don’t want to die like this. I want out, but I can’t find the surface. I try to reach up, to get air, but I can’t and my breath is running out. There’s a sudden rush of panic-panic that isn’t mine-and I know Thorne can feel me, can feel this moment. I didn’t think of him, of what this would do to him, and I want him. I thrash my head and body, trying to free myself because, even though this was the plan, I no longer want it. My brain screams for oxygen, but it doesn’t come. There’s only more water
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Then it’s calm. The little pill must be working because my adrenaline fades. I feel calm, warm, peaceful
.

I look up, hoping to see the glimmer of the sun, but everything is darkness and the pounding of the rain feeding into the waves. I instinctively open my mouth and breathe in water as if it is air; my lungs are nothing but liquid now. I think I hear some voices, but maybe it’s the sound of the rain on the ocean
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My heart rate slows more, and I think of Thorne, of his touch, of his contagious hope, of his lips. My father flashes in my head next, a gentle man who left me notes every morning and spoke of Mother in a whisper. Now he’s an evil man with hatred that the Elders have created. I have to save him. Sara’s bright smile. Kai’s laugh. I can almost see my mother with her deep red hair falling over me. Maybe she’s waiting. I reach out to her, but she disappears into an endless void of dark water
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DEADLINE: 23D, 15H, 7M

EL PASO, TEXAS

WATER DRIPS ON MY HEAD
, and I shoot up from the ground, sticky with sweat. Thorne is staring down at me, completely redressed. The sun is bright outside again, but rain leaks from the roof.

“I tried to wake you,” he says. I meet his gaze. “You were dreaming.”

I bite my lip and pull my legs toward my chest. My shoulders are tense from the dream and the ground, and it’s a silly thing to worry about but I run my fingers through my hair on instinct and pull it back in a ponytail. I yank my socks up from the ground and pull the stiff fabric back over my feet.

“You kept yelling his name.” Thorne’s voice wavers a little. “Xenith’s. You were talking about dying.”

I feel his worry rush over me and pull at my stomach. When did I become the girl who makes him anxious?

I don’t look up at him as I tie my shoe. “It was nothing. Just a dream.”

“You don’t say someone’s name over and over in your sleep and have it mean nothing. Do you have feelings for him?”

I scoff at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know what happened between you two. You two have always been a little-”

“What?” I snap.

His gaze is as intense as fire, and he shakes his head. “You’ve always been quick to trust him and take his side.”

My trust for Xenith is different. He understands me in a way that others can’t because we both feel like outcasts. Me for being the director’s daughter and for my connection with Thorne. Xenith Taylor for breathing, asking questions, knowing whatever he does. I can’t feel Xenith’s emotions, can’t predict his moves, and there’s a security in that. An instinct. And if it’s wrong, then that’s on me. Being the only one making a decision instead of being told what to feel or what to want is exhilarating.

I meet Thorne’s eyes from across the room. “I promise I have no feelings for Xenith. You don’t have to worry.” I smile the best smile I can. Sunny days, presents, and kisses-I think about all the happiest, most reassuring things I can and push them through our connection. Thorne steps toward me like he wants to touch me. He can’t touch me until my emotions have calmed down. One touch and he’ll know I’m lying about how I feel.

“I can force it out of you,” he says.

“You wouldn’t do that.” He’s only done it to me once, after my father lost his grip on reality and bruised my arm. I wasn’t going to tell him, but he pushed through our connection, past the lie, until I told him. It was painful for both of us, like fingers poking in my brain, and we’ve sworn to never do it again.

Thorne shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t.” He sighs. “I want to believe you. Do you know how much I want that?”

“Trust me and you will be able to,” I say.

I feel his frustration rushing over me, swaying inside and building toward anger. He’s conflicted. “Then tell me whatever it is you’re hiding. I know there’s something you aren’t saying,” he says. I look away from him. “Something that has to do with Xenith.” I shake my head, tears forming behind my eyes. He reaches out and runs a hand across my cheek. “Tell me.”

There’s a silence around us. Thick and burnt. Suffocating. I can’t handle not saying it. Not if we have twenty-three more days. It’s just us out here. Just us and this secret.

“The branding affects everyone. I told you the Elders’ plan, but it’s also done something to us. Cecily said the branding caused her and her twin to share dreams, and I think it does that to every set of twins.”

I pause for a breath and then recount everything I learned to Thorne. The files I found outlining experimentation on twins and about the Elders having a plan for the branding and for me. The notes from Xenith’s mom when she realized we shared emotions.

“What do they want?” he asks.

“I don’t know that yet, but it’s not good. And if they’ve really been experimenting on me, on us, then it makes me wonder.”