Her hand is no longer cold and limp inside of mine. Instead, she intertwines our fingers.
Sasha brings over her tray of sterilized instruments.
“You want to stay for this, too?” she says.
“Yes.” I nod. “Blood doesn’t bother me.”
Cat’s breathing is slow and steady as she drifts off, heedless of the doctor’s needle and thread stitching her skin.
Sasha’s hands are wonderfully capable. Everything about her is calming, from her gentle voice to her clear blue eyes. She wears her blonde hair in a long plait down the back of her white lab coat.
“What did Snow say about me?” I ask her, unable to stifle my curiosity.
“He said he was very proud of your progress,” Sasha tells me.
For some reason, this makes my throat feel thick.
“That’s good,” I say after a moment. “He’s an excellent coach.”
“The best,” Sasha says proudly. “He trained our son Zane, and he’s sure to become a champion as well.”
“Where is he now?” I ask.
“In New York with our daughter Faye. They share an apartment together. She’s in med school.”
“Both of them follow in your footsteps,” I say.
Sasha nods. “We didn’t expect it—they could have done anything; it didn’t matter to us.”
I think about that.
My father has very clear instructions for what he expects from me. He won’t accept anything else.
Yet Snow and Sasha’s children choose to emulate them willingly. Because they look at their parents and they see a life worth imitating.
So do I.
Only when I look at Snow—not at my own father.
“She’s probably going to sleep for a couple of hours,” Sasha tells me, nodding toward Cat’s peaceful figure beneath the thick infirmary blankets.
“I don’t care,” I say. “I want to stay.”
12
The Spy
I walk across campus to the library. It’s late enough that I know nobody else will be there. Not on a Friday, and especially not on a night when there’s at least two parties planned to celebrate the Seniors winning the first round of the Quartum Bellum.
I want to speak to Miss Robin.
It’s so ridiculous calling her that. But she insists. In fact, she gets furious if I ever slip and call her what she really is to me. She says we have to convince even our own selves of these identities. That’s the only way to be sure that we won’t slip up. One mistake could be fatal. It could undo two long years of work.
Sometimes I start to believe my own lies.
My old life seems like a dream, like it happened to someone else.
And this new life . . .
Sometimes I enjoy it. I want to believe it’s real. The part I play is so much easier than the truth.
It’s so lonely wearing this mask.
That’s why I have to go see her. Because she’s the only one who knows. The only time I can be myself is with her, even if she uses this name, and I have to use hers.
The Library Tower is a dark silhouette against the purple sky, shaped like a chess rook. Miss Robin’s apartments are at the top. I’ve seen them, of course. It’s a scrupulously neat space, plain and unadorned. She’s never cared for knick-knacks or sentimental things.
She does love art, however, and history, which has helped her play her role so well.
She’s thrown herself into her work here with a passion that only a true connoisseur could muster.
I expect to find her poring over papers and documents as usual. No one is as tenacious or as tireless as her. I’ve never seen her falter. Never seen her give up.
I pull open the metal-strapped door and enter the dim spiraling space, treading the slanted floor that always makes me feel slightly off balance, as if the library is a parallel dimension, part of another world.
I hear a soft, gasping sound, distant and muffled.
For a moment I’m confused, because while I know what it sounds like, I don’t think it can actually be true.
Already my feet are sprinting up the ramp and I’m looking around wildly, trying to find her.
She isn’t at her desk. I have to run all the way up to the topmost level, to the last and most distant table. Then I find her slumped over a pile of books, her head on her arms.
Her shoulders shake with near-silent sobs.
I sit down next to her, putting my arm around her.
She knows it’s me without even looking.
She turns toward me, letting me encircle her in my arms, letting me hug her, though I’m not supposed to.
“I can’t find it,” she sobs. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her cry.
It scares me.
She never breaks. She never gives up.
She’s the bedrock in my life. If that rock is splitting apart . . .
“If I can’t find it—”
“You WILL find it,” I tell her, hugging her with all my might.
“If I can’t—”
“You WILL. When have you ever failed to do something?”
She laughs, the tears still gleaming on her cheeks.
“There was one time.”
“Yeah, well there won’t be another. You won’t fail. You can’t.”
She lets out a long sigh, leaning heavily against me. She looks exhausted.
“It’s been so long. What if it’s all for nothing?”
I hold her by both shoulders so I can look her in the eye.
“Then we kill them all,” I say.
13
Dean
Cat stays overnight in the infirmary.
I was only able to sit beside her for an hour before Professor Howell came and hollered at me for not reporting back to him, then booted me out of the infirmary and sent me out to the field to clean up the mess left from the competition.
Due to the interruption of the Sophomore tower delaying our team, the Seniors retrieved their flag first, and the Freshmen second. It doesn’t matter—we still beat the Sophomores and secured our place in the next round.
By all accounts, Lola Fischer threw a tantrum over her elimination, blaming Cat for their loss.
I’d like to fucking strangle her for sending Cat up there in the first place.
By the time I help the grounds crew haul off every last scrap of lumber, it’s fully dark and too late to try to visit Cat again.
When I return to the infirmary in the morning, Sasha tells me that Cat left early so she could clean up and attend class as normal.
I track Cat down between first and second period.
She looks relatively revived, other than the scrapes and bruises all down her arms, and the bandage on her forehead. Her uniform is nicely pressed, and I can’t help but notice her leather collar peeking out from the neck of her blouse. The sight gives me a Pavlovian thrill.
“Why didn’t you come find me?” I demand. “I was worried about you.”
Cat smiles. “I figured we’d see each other tonight.”
“You want to meet me in the Bell Tower?” I say, in an undertone because I don’t want the passing students to overhear. “I thought you’d take a few days off.”