Clare closed her eyes. That can’t be possible. Her heart thundered. The sick, squirming uneasiness that had kept her from sleeping redoubled until she felt like insects were crawling underneath her skin.
Oh no, no, no…
The man she’d known as Peter carried an ID tag that didn’t belong to him. He’d borrowed it from one of his neighbour’s desks. She’d been so wrapped up in the stress and hope of reaching the tower, it hadn’t occurred to her to question why Peter hadn’t been using his own badge. Her subconscious had picked up on it, though. It had picked up on a lot of things.
Peter had given her Ezra’s room. A coffee mug sat on the sill. If it had been there since the stillness, the coffee would have long evaporated. But it was still half full. Because it had been sipped from just that morning.
Peter’s desk held a binder of notes on the bionic eye—not because he was lamenting his lost project, but because he needed to learn about it to make his backstory credible.
Stupid. Stupid. There were so many clues. So many slips. How could you have overlooked them all?
She opened her eyes. Her vision had blurred. She looked down at Peter, the real Peter, the one who had befriended Ezra and had been present to witness the disastrous results of his companion’s trial.
In those earliest hours of the stillness, as Ezra listened to humanity dismantle itself on the back of his mistake, he would have faced a choice. He hadn’t wanted to die. But to live would make him the most hated man in the world. No survivor would have welcomed him into their home. Most would have wanted to see him dead.
He could have fled the city, adopted a new name, and buried his secret. Only one person knew he was responsible for the thanites. That person was in the same room as him, and Ezra had access to a gun. Perhaps that was the moment he’d killed Peter, likely in a desperate bid to hide his crimes.
But leaving the tower would mean abandoning his research and living in a world overrun with hollows, scrambling to find food and shelter just like every other survivor.
Ezra was smart. Through the panic, a solution would have presented itself. With Peter gone and the city fallen, everyone who had known his real identity was dead. He would stay in the tower and continue working—because he thought he knew how to fix his mistake. He wouldn’t be known as the man who destroyed humanity. He would be the one who saved it.
Peter afforded an easy identity to adopt. They were friends; he knew a little about Peter’s research and Peter’s life that he could use to make his story more plausible. He could recount the experience through Peter’s eyes, acting as an innocent bystander. As Peter, he was blameless for the stillness. But he still had the skills to understand the thanites—and disable them. He would be hailed as a hero. Humanity’s saviour. The identity he’d yearned for when he first conceived the miracle cure.
Clare shook. She backed away from the body and felt behind herself to open the airtight door. As she moved back into the labs and the door slid closed, the reek of rotting flesh faded and breathing became easier.
We can’t stay here. Clare kept her head down as she moved through the empty work spaces. She hated herself for bringing Dorran to the tower. She hated herself for believing Ezra’s lies. And she felt sick to her stomach as she tried to imagine the very few options they had to leave.
Clare stopped at the metal doors, her breathing ragged, and fumbled for her ID tag. In the distance, the lab’s resident hollow moaned and slammed a fist against its glass prison. The door’s panel beeped as Clare held the ID up to it. She paused just long enough to scan the lab, searching for any way she might have disturbed it or left a trace of her presence, then she switched off the lights and stepped into the stairwell’s landing.
As the door shut behind her, Clare tried to slow her breathing. She needed to get back to Dorran. Leaving him alone had been a mistake. As she blindly felt her way towards the stairs, her mind ran through a hundred awful possibilities. Ezra knew the tower. He controlled it. He would know where the weapons were hidden, including the gun he’d used to shoot his best friend. He controlled the lights and radio that would allow them to leave. And he controlled the thanites.
It’s okay. He doesn’t know what you know.
Clare’s feet slipped from step to step, moving as silently as she could. Her heart seemed too loud. She prayed the noise was only in her ears, not echoing through the stairwell like it seemed.
She turned the corner, and her steps quickened as she approached the hall connecting the offices and bedrooms. She just needed to get back to Dorran. No matter how bad the situation, they could get through it as long as they were together.
Clare stumbled to a halt three steps from the hall. The red lights from the exit sign washed across the space. A figure stood in the hallway, silhouetted but familiar. Ezra stared up at Clare. She couldn’t see much of him except for the blood-red light shining off his eyes.
Clare froze. Every atom in her body felt like it was recoiling. Her mouth opened, a reflex more than a choice.
Ezra tilted his head, and the red glow brushed over his cheek and lips. “Where have you been?”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ezra’s words sent chills running across Clare’s back. They were spoken lightly, with almost a sing-song cadence, but with no genuine friendliness in them.
She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff, fighting to keep her balance. She had to speak but didn’t know if she was physically capable. Ezra watched her, head tilted, red-washed eyes unblinking. She couldn’t see his hands.
There’s a gun somewhere. The gun that killed Peter.
“I… I was hungry.” Her voice wavered. She didn’t know how well he could see her in the stairwell, but she didn’t dare step any closer. The perspiration and shaking lips would give her away.
“Ah.” Ezra’s face tilted in the opposite direction, hiding his expression again. The silence was so complete that she could hear his breathing, featherlight. There was no trace of kindness in his voice. “But there was food in the office.”
“I…” Her voice threatened to break. She swallowed. “I wanted an apple. I thought there might be some in another floor’s vending machine.”
Ezra didn’t move. Clare wished she could see his face. The silence terrified her, and she rushed on, desperate. “I miss fresh food so much. It’s been weeks since I’d had any. I know I shouldn’t have left my room, but I couldn’t sleep, and I thought… if I could just have one more apple…”
“Did you find one?”
The words were a whisper. Clare’s stomach tightened. Her nerves were prickling, on fire, her subconscious screaming at her to run, that something bad was coming, that she was in a cage with a tiger. “I… I…”
A click made her flinch. One of the bedroom doors opened, and bright white light washed across Ezra. Finally, she could see his face. The harsh lines around his mouth. The way his bronze hair had been combed back. The tightness in his features.
Dorran stood in the open doorway. His expression was unreadable as his dark eyes moved from Ezra to Clare. “Is everything all right?”
“Hah.” Ezra’s pale face twitched, and a crooked smile grew. “Of course it is. Your companion decided to go for a midnight roam. You should keep a better eye on her.”