Imagine Me

“We’re going to go up, through the vent. If you truly need to use the bathroom, do it now.”

“Okay, but why do you have to sound so disgusted about it? Do you really expect me to believe that you never have to use the bathroom? Are basic human needs below you?”

Warner ignores me.

I see the stall door open, and I hear his careful sounds as he climbs the metal cubicles. There’s a large vent in the ceiling just above one of the stalls, and I watch as his invisible hands make short work of the grate.

Quickly, I use the bathroom. And then I wash my hands as loudly as possible, just in case Warner feels the need to make a juvenile comment about my hygiene.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t.

Instead, he says, “Are you ready?” And I can tell by the echoing sound of his voice that he’s already halfway up the vent.

“I’m ready. Just let me know when you’re in.”

More careful movement, the metal drumming as he goes. “I’m in,” he says. “Make sure you reattach the grate after you climb up.”

“Got it.”

“On a related note, I hope you’re not claustrophobic. Though if you are . . . Good luck.”

I take a deep breath.

Let it go.

And we begin our journey into hell.

ELLA

JULIETTE

Max, Anderson, a blond woman, and a tall black man are all standing in the center of the room, staring at a dead body, and they look up only when Ibrahim approaches.

Anderson’s eyes home in on me immediately.

I feel my heart jump. I don’t know how Max got here before we did, and I don’t know if I’m about to be punished for obeying Supreme Commander Ibrahim.

My mind spirals.

“What’s she doing here?” Anderson asks, his expression wild. “I told her to stay in the r—”

“I overruled your orders,” Ibrahim says sharply, “and told her to come with me.”

“My bedroom is one of the most secure locations on this wing,” Anderson says, barely holding on to his anger. “You’ve put us all at risk by moving her.”

“We are currently under attack,” Ibrahim says. “You left her alone, completely unattended—”

“I left her with Max!”

“Max, who’s too terrified of his own creation to spend even a few minutes alone with the girl. You forget, there’s a reason he was never granted a military position.”

Anderson shoots Max a strange, confused look. Somehow, the confusion on Anderson’s face makes me feel better about my own. I have no idea what’s happening. No idea to whom I should answer. No idea what Ibrahim meant by creation.

Max just shakes his head.

“The children are here,” Ibrahim says, changing the subject. “They’re here, in our midst, completely undetected. They’re going room by room searching for her, and already they’ve killed four of our key scientists in the process.” He nods at the dead body—a graying, middle-aged man, blood pooling beneath him. “How did this happen? Why haven’t they been spotted yet?”

“Nothing has registered on the cameras,” Anderson says. “Not yet, anyway.”

“So you’re telling me that this—and the three other dead bodies we’ve found so far—was the work of ghosts?”

“They must’ve found a way to trick the system,” the woman says. “It’s the only possible answer.”

“Yes, Tatiana, I realize that—but the question is how.” Ibrahim pinches his nose between his thumb and index finger. And it’s clear he’s talking to Anderson when he says: “All the preparations you claimed to have made in anticipation of a possible assault—they were all for nothing?”

“What did you expect?” Anderson is no longer trying to control his anger. “They’re our children. We bred them for this. I’d be disappointed if they were stupid enough to fall into our traps right away.”

Our children?

“Enough,” Ibrahim cries. “Enough of this. We need to initiate the transfer now.”

“I already told you why we can’t,” Max says urgently. “Not yet. We need more time. Emmaline still needs to fall below ten percent viability in order for the procedure to operate smoothly, and right now, she’s at twelve percent. Another few days—maybe a couple of weeks—and we should be able to move forward. But anything above ten percent viability means there’s a chance she’ll still be strong enough to resis—”

“I don’t care,” Ibrahim says. “We’ve waited long enough. And we’ve wasted enough time and money trying to keep both her alive and her sister in our custody. We can’t risk another failure.”

“But initiating the transfer at twelve percent viability has a thirty-eight percent chance of failure,” Max says, speaking quickly. “We could be risking a great deal—”

“Then find more ways to reduce viability,” Ibrahim snaps.

“We’re already at the top end of what we can do right now,” Max says. “She’s still too strong—she’s fighting our efforts—”

“That’s only more reason to get rid of her sooner,” Ibrahim says, cutting him off again. “We’re expending an egregious amount of resources just to keep the other kids isolated from her advances—when God only knows what damage she’s already done. She’s been meddling everywhere, causing needless disaster. We need a new host. A healthy one. And we need it now.”

“Ibrahim, don’t be rash,” Anderson says, trying to sound calm. “This could be a huge mistake. Juliette is a perfect soldier—she’s more than proven herself—and right now she could be a huge help. Instead of locking her away, we should be sending her out. Giving her a mission.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ibrahim, he makes a good point,” the tall black man says. “The kids won’t be expecting her. She’d be the perfect lure.”

“See? Azi agrees with me.”

“I don’t.” Tatiana shakes her head. “It’s too dangerous,” she says. “Too many things could go wrong.”

“What could possibly go wrong?” Anderson asks. “She’s more powerful than any of them, and completely obedient to me. To us. To the movement. You all know as well as I do that she’s proven her loyalty again and again. She’d be able to capture them in a matter of minutes. This could all be over in an hour, and we’d be able to move on with our lives.” Anderson locks eyes with me. “You wouldn’t mind rounding up a few rebels, would you, Juliette?”

“I would be happy to, sir.”

“See?” Anderson gestures to me.

A sudden alarm blares, the sound so loud it’s painful. I’m still rooted in place, so overwhelmed and confused by this sudden flood of dizzying information that I don’t even know what to do with myself. But the supreme commanders look suddenly terrified.

“Azi, where is Santiago?” Tatiana cries. “You were last with him, weren’t you? Someone check in with Santiago—”

“He’s down,” Azi says, tapping against his temple. “He’s not responding.”