The photo vanishes and is replaced by a wall of images. Each one is similar to the one of the president; someone important, from athletes to movie stars, is standing in the limelight. But they aren’t the ones I focus on. I’m focusing on their partners, the monsters hidden in plain sight.
“I hope,” says Craike, “the knowledge that you are now a member of the world’s most covert and most powerful spy organization inspires you to make the right decisions when you enter the real world. You’re going to do good work out there, Caden, I can tell. I don’t mean just for us, but for the world: you’ll help us keep everyone safe from the tiny few who have real, terrifying power. If she picks you, that is.” He taps the screen once, and the hologram disappears. “Now, come on, it’s time to go.”
Leaving the Stalker in the room, we make our way into a long hallway lined with empty cells. We walk through a set of double doors to a small courtyard. The grass is plastic and neon green. There’s one palm tree and a small fountain filled with white-and-orange koi fish. Four huge decorative mirror shards, each easily double my height, have been stabbed into the grass.
In the shade of the tree, a bunch of rejected guys are standing, chatting. Their disappointment shows in the sag of their shoulders. We’re sort of friends—well, as close to friends as we can be given that one day we could become mortal enemies.
Still, their faces bring up some of the best memories I have: watching movies in the rec room with 105, lifting weights with 304, and goofing off in behavioral psych classes with 63.
I’ve lived with most of these guys since I was eleven, which is when I was moved from my foster home to the LIC. I might not be friends with all of them but they’re the closest thing to family I have. I spot 413 in the group. We aren’t friends but he came to the LIC the same week I did, so we’ll always have that binding us, even if I do find him kind of annoying.
In his defense, he did introduce me to Nicki Minaj, and he’ll always get points for that. Sure, he only showed me the “Anaconda” video because, well, Nicki and those dancers. But the song stuck in my head, and afterward I listened to it on repeat until I’d memorized each of the verses. Now she’s my favorite musician by a huge margin.
413 waves at me. Should I say goodbye to him? What do I say to someone I’m probably never going to see again? I can’t say what I want to say, which is: thanks for introducing me to Nicki, but I still think you’re a tool.
“If you’d like,” says Craike, “you can say goodbye to them.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I walk away from Craike and approach 413. He offers his hand.
“You made it?” he asks.
I nod as I shake his hand. This is … odd. He’s usually such a bro, and as such, I didn’t think he was capable of just a handshake. Usually he likes elaborate greetings with knuckle bumping and back tapping. Now, though, shaking his hand, he seems softer, and I’m worried that I’ve judged him too harshly.
“Yep, I did,” I say. “Looks like I’m getting out of here.”
He must hate me for leaving while he’s still stuck here. He must think I’m rubbing his face in it.
He pulls me into a hug. “Go crush it out there, man. And who knows, maybe in a couple years we’ll both be out and I can have you over for dinner or something. You know, like normal people.”
“Yeah, definitely.”
I force the statistical improbability of that happening out of my mind, then return to Craike.
“They hate you,” he says.
I nod. “They’re just scared. They’re almost eighteen so they know they have limited time, because everyone knows the adult Compound is more selective than ours. No one wants to stay at the LIC forever.” He narrows his eyes, which makes me blush. “I mean, no one wants to grow old without being assigned.”
We both know this doesn’t happen. Either you’re chosen while you’re desirable or you vanish, either to be incinerated or, in rare cases, mind-wiped and repurposed into some other role, like a parent or older brother or something. Being repurposed is far from ideal, though, as they say it strips you of all personality, leaving you a shell of the person you used to be. We both know that winning is the only way to live a life somewhat worth living.
“The fact that I was chosen,” I continue, “means they have one less shot at being assigned while they’re still young adults. Some of them already have their transfer forms. It makes sense that they’re afraid.”
“Fear is useless. If they want to get out they need to work hard. It’s the only way through.”
Easy for you to say.
At the end of another long, mirrored hallway is an elevator. Craike presses a plastic card onto the wall to the left of it. A square panel illuminates, showing a photo of Craike above the words ACCESS GRANTED. The sound of machines whirring fills the air.
He turns to me. “Did you enjoy your time at the LIC, Caden? Sometimes I can’t wait to get away from a place, only to leave and discover I was happier than I thought.”
I look down the pristine reflective hallway. Will I miss this place? No freaking way. But he’s staring at me, so I smile and say: “Sure, I mean, I’m sad about leaving my friends, but I’m excited to finally live the life I was born to live. To become the real me, you know?”
The doors slide apart. We walk inside. He taps his card onto a screen beside the buttons, then presses the button marked 1. The elevator rises.
“Caden, the only person a liar can’t fool is a better liar. And boy, I can see right through you.”
I turn away, my cheeks reddening.
He keeps looking at me. “So let’s hope Juliet isn’t a very good liar.”
“Yes, let’s.”
The door opens, revealing a massive hangar. Sitting in the middle of the room is a gleaming white jet. Two workers in gray overalls are pulling at chains at the back of the room, slowly opening the door to reveal a long gravel runway.
And the sky.
It stretches on and on and on. It’s bloody endless.
“We can’t be disturbed as we transport Love Interests,” says Craike. “And a private jet is the most efficient manner of discreet transport.”
In front of the steps that lead to the door of the jet is Kaylee. She sees me and starts jumping up and down, waving ecstatically.
Hey, Caden!
Her voice rings through my mind, clear as day. Startled, I take a step back. She laughs, then taps the spot behind her ear.
Don’t freak out in front of Craike, all right? It’s bad form.
Can you hear me?
Of course I can. This is good, we need to practice talking telepathically. And no, I can’t always read your mind. Only little bursts. Now, I’m going to hug you.
She sprints toward me and grabs me in a hug. My arms go slack as she squeezes, but my obvious awkwardness only makes her grip me tighter. “It’s time. Come on, man, smile! You’re finally getting out of here. You’re going to a small country town in Virginia called Mapleton. It’s got all these little bookstores and coffee places and ugh, it’s so cute. You’ll love it there.”
Craike’s warning rings in my ears. You’ll always be ours.