His thumb strokes down the side of my face, tracing the small cut there. “Let’s leave this place.”
“What?” My voice escapes in a croak.
“You heard me. Let’s run.”
The wild suggestion tempts me. My hand drifts to my neck, brushing the imprint there that forever brands me as the killer that I am. I’ll have no way of getting rid of it if I run.
Sean continues, “I don’t want to become what they’re training us to be. I don’t want what happened today to happen again, and it will. It doesn’t matter if we ignore each other. They used me once to manipulate you. They’ll do it again. Maybe next time, they’ll use you to get me to do something.” His eyes look pained. “And I’ll do it. God knows I will.”
Of course, he would. He volunteered to kill for me today—so I wouldn’t have to do it. Not that Harris let him.
I moisten my lips. “Even if we could get away, where would we go? How would we not get caught?” My gaze skitters to the door, knowing we only have minutes before my door gets locked.
He angles his head. His hair strokes his shoulders with the motion. I doubt he’s cut it even once in the months since we first met.
“Can you trust me? Gil has been looking into it during independent study, and I’ve heard things, too . . . before we came here. There’s an underground group out there offering shelter for carriers, helping us get to safety. There are places we could go.”
We. He wants me to go with him. Run away into the dangerous unknown. My stomach does a flip. “Gil’s going, too?”
“And you . . . I hope.” His gaze searches mine.
“I don’t know, Sean. If we’re caught escaping . . .”
We know what would happen. Today taught us that.
“How can we risk it?” I finish.
“How can we stay here?”
His head dips and he’s kissing me again, persuading me with lips that make me melt. It’s unfair of him, but I clutch him close again.
A door slams nearby and I jerk in his arms.
Sean lifts his head. We wait, listening to the sound of receding steps.
I sag with relief. “Go. Now.”
He climbs off the bed. “Think about it. We’re working on a plan. Gil is waiting to hear back from a contact. It’s gonna happen soon. This week.”
This week? Sitting up, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “You didn’t just decide to do this today. How long have you been planning this?”
His expression hardens. “Let’s just say after today I decided to put a rush on things.” And I can see it in his eyes now. His pain. I’d only thought of my misery, but now I realize today destroyed a piece of him, too. I might have pulled the trigger, but he’s the reason I did it.
“I won’t be anyone’s pawn again,” he vows.
But he will. Or I will. Maybe next time the gun will be on me. As long as we’re together, we can be twisted and manipulated. I could hurt him, Gil . . . to say nothing of myself. Some wounds are deeper than death. If nothing else, I’ve learned that.
He watches me, waiting.
“I’ll think about it,” I promise, trying to convince myself that out there we have a chance. That just maybe we could make it.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Correspondence from director of Camp 4 to Dr. Wainwright: The conditions in the camp have reached crisis-level proportions. Disease, infighting, attacks on the guards. Escapes are more frequent, and we haven’t the manpower to give pursuit. We request immediate relief . . . more guards, more supplies, more temporary buildings. Perhaps the dismantling of the camp altogether is necessary. Something needs to be done or I fear the carriers shall soon overrun us. . . .
Reply from Dr. Wainwright:
We haven’t the supplies or manpower to spare at this time. Your foremost priority is to maintain control of the camp. I cannot stress how crucial this is. Exterminate any agitators that threaten your command and do not waste food or medicine on the gravely sick.