Imagine Me

I spin around, stunned.

Warner has the girl pinned to the wall, his hand around her throat. “Who sent you here?” he says.

She struggles to break free, her feet kicking hard against the wall, her cries choked and desperate.

My head is spinning.

I blink and Warner’s got her on the floor, on her knees. His boot is planted in the middle of her back, both of her arms bent backward, locked in his grip. He twists. She cries out.

“Who sent you here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, gasping for breath.

My heart is pounding like crazy.

I have no idea what the hell just happened, but I know better than to ask questions. I remove the Glock tucked inside my waistband and aim it in her direction. And then, just as I’m beginning to wrap my head around the fact that this is an ambush—and likely from someone here, from inside the Sanctuary—I notice the food begin to move.

Three massive scorpions begin to scuttle out from underneath the noodles, and the sight is so disturbing I nearly throw up and pass out at the same time. I’ve never seen scorpions in real life.

Breaking news: they’re horrifying.

I thought I wasn’t afraid of spiders, but this is like if spiders were on crack, like if spiders were very, very large and kind of see-through and wore armor and had huge, venomous stingers on one end just primed and ready to murder you. The creatures make a sharp turn, and all three of them head straight for Warner.

I let out a panicked gasp of breath. “Uh, bro—not to, um, freak you out or anything, but there are, like, three scorpions headed straight toward y—”

Suddenly, the scorpions freeze in place.

Warner drops the girl’s arms and she scrambles away so fast her back slams against the wall. Warner stares at the scorpions. The girl stares, too.

The two of them are having a battle of wills, I realize, and it’s easy for me to figure out who’s going to win. So when the scorpions begin to move again—this time, toward her—I try not to pump my fist in the air.

The girl jumps to her feet, her eyes wild. “Who sent you?” Warner asks again.

She’s breathing hard now, still staring at the scorpions as she backs farther into a corner. They’re climbing up her shoes now.

“Who?” Warner demands.

“Your father sent me,” she says breathlessly. Shins. Knees. Scorpions on her knees. Oh my God, scorpions on her knees. “Anderson sent me here, okay? Call them off !”

“Liar.”

“It was him, I swear!”

“You were sent here by a fool,” Warner says, “if you were led to believe you could lie to me repeatedly without repercussion. And you are yourself a fool if you believe I will be anything close to merciful.”

The creatures are moving up her torso now. Climbing up her chest. She gasps. Locks eyes with him.

“I see,” he says, tilting his head at her. “Someone lied to you.”

Her eyes widen.

“You were misled,” he says, holding her gaze. “I am not kind. I am not forgiving. I do not care about your life.”

As he speaks, the scorpions creep farther up her body. They’re sitting near her collarbone now, just waiting, venomous stingers hovering below her face. And then, slowly, the scorpions’ stingers begin curving toward the soft skin at her throat.

“Call them off !” she cries.

“This is your last chance,” Warner says. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”

She’s breathing so hard now that her chest heaves, her nostrils flaring. Her eyes dart around the room in a wild panic. The scorpions’ stingers press closer to her throat. She flattens against the wall, a broken gasp escaping her lips.

“Tragic,” Warner says.

She moves fast. Lightning fast. Pulls a gun from somewhere inside her shirt and aims it in Warner’s direction and I don’t even think, I just react.

I shoot.

The sound echoes, expands—it seems violently loud—but it’s a perfect shot. A clean hole through the neck. The girl goes comically still and then slumps, slowly, to the ground.

Blood and scorpions pool around our feet. The body of a dead girl is splayed on my floor, just inches from the bed I woke up in, her limbs bent at awkward angles.

The scene is surreal.

I look up. Warner and I lock eyes.

“I’m coming with you to get J,” I say. “End of discussion.”

Warner glances from me to the dead body, and then back again. “Fine,” he says, and sighs.

ELLA

JULIETTE

I’ve been standing outside the door staring at a smooth, polished stone wall for at least fifteen minutes before I check my wrist for a summons.

Still nothing.

When I’m with Anderson I don’t have a lot of flexibility to look around, but standing here has given me time to freely examine my surroundings. The stretch of the hallway is eerily quiet, empty of doctors or soldiers in a way that unsettles me. There are long, vertical grates underfoot where the floor should be, and I’ve been standing here long enough to have become attuned to the incessant drips and mechanical roars that fill the background.

I glance at my wrist again.

Glance around the hall.

The walls aren’t gray, like I originally thought. It turns out they’re a dull white. Heavy shadows make them appear darker than they are—and in fact, make this entire floor appear darker. The overhead lights are unusual honeycomb clusters arranged along both the walls and ceilings. The oddly shaped lights scatter illumination, casting oblong hexagons in all directions, plunging some walls into complete darkness. I take a cautious step forward, peering more closely at a rectangle of blackness I’d previously ignored.

It’s a hallway, I realize, cast entirely in shadow.

I feel a sudden compulsion to explore its depths, and I have to physically stop myself from stepping forward. My duty is here, at this door. It’s not my business to explore or ask questions unless I’ve been explicitly asked to explore or ask questions.

My eyelids flutter.

Heat presses down on me, flames like fingers digging into my mind. Heat travels down my spine, wraps around my tailbone. And then shoots upward, fast and strong, forcing my eyes open. I’m breathing hard, spinning around.

Confused.

Suddenly, it makes perfect sense that I should explore the darkened hallway. Suddenly there seems no need at all to question my motives or any possible consequences for my actions.

But I’ve only taken a single step into the darkness when I’m pushed aggressively back. A girl’s face peers out at me.

“Did you need something?” she says.

I throw up my hands, then I hesitate. I might not be authorized to hurt this person.

She steps forward. She’s wearing civilian clothes, but doesn’t appear to be armed. I wait for her to speak, and she doesn’t.

“Who are you?” I demand. “Who gave you the authority to be down here?”

“I am Valentina Castillo. I have authority everywhere.”

I drop my hands.

Valentina Castillo is the daughter of the supreme commander of South America, Santiago Castillo. I don’t know what Valentina is supposed to look like, so this girl might be an impostor. Then again, if I take a risk and I’m wrong—