“Yes,” Cecily says. “Treatments from conception to birth given in utero. The Elders believed twins held some great knowledge that they wanted for themselves. For decades they sought the answers, but the answers caused other effects they would not realize for many years.”
“What were they looking for?” Thorne asks.
“The Old World had many beliefs about twins, from the dawn of time until the Preservation,” Cecily says. “In their mythologies, twins represented creation and sacrifice, a partnership. Twins were cast as two halves of the same whole, sharing deep bonds. Some said twins had psychic or emotional connections and secret communication. Centuries of humans believed that twins had a connection, a strength that transcended normal understanding.”
That’s how Thorne and I are. Stronger together, a balance, a weighted scale. I’ve known what Thorne felt all my life.
“Because of the stories the Elders connected twins?” I ask.
Cecily nods. “There’s power in belief. It shapes who you become. The Elders believed twins were each half a person, and the branding would allow them to remain as one. Early on, the Elders tested twins to determine how deep that connection ran, and well, they always got the answers they were searching for.”
If the connection is that deep, then what would it feel like to not have someone else on the other end of my branding? To be alone after being with someone for so long?
“How?” Thorne interjects.
“Because the branding alters them,” I say aloud. It’s starting to make some sort of sense. If the branding alters everyone in some way, then it alters twins, too. The purpose was supposed to be similar-control and lack of free will-but it wasn’t. Not with the treatments given to twins. That was how the Elders did it.
Cecily clears her throat, and when I look up, she and Thorne are staring at me. “The twin branding and testing caused more trouble than the Elders believed it could. You can’t play with genetics and not have consequences. The branding was the final ingredient of whatever concoction the Elders were cooking in the womb.”
Then how did it work on Thorne and me? What did it mean for us? Was it truly the reason we are the way we are? I was never given a treatment, but I was connected to him, part of him.
“It served also as a marker that these two people were different, important to them,” Cecily says. “The Elders kept them together, studied them as they grew, and used the research to perfect future births.” She stares at us for a long time, sorrow evident in her eye. “They believed you were unaffected. I assume they were wrong in that belief?”
I nod, not letting my gaze waver. “What happened back then?”
Cecily doesn’t get to answer. Boris steps into the room with food and water. Cecily looks away as Boris hands me a sandwich, and the hot cheese burns the roof of my mouth.
I’m halfway through the sandwich when she asks me about the Burrows. “There was some kind of casualty there today. We weren’t sure you would make it.”
“My guide helped me escape before the fire.”
“It was a fire?” she asks. I nod. She says something to Boris in the Remnant language. “Eat up, then get some rest. Boris will return to show you to your room. We can talk more tomorrow.”
They’re gone before I get the chance to ask if they know how a fire could’ve started in the Burrows and what they know about it. Thorne stares at me, and when I reach out for him, because my hand has a mind of its own, he pulls away.
3 DAYS BEFORE ESCAPE
XENITH PULLS ME OFF THE FLOOR. My head is groggy with images of Thorne, with the sound of him crying for me in the other room with the boy he hated more than anyone.
“Is he okay?” I ask as Xenith lays me on the bed. I scoot over and sit up.
“As okay as he ever will be.”
“I want to tell him,” I say. I need to. “You need to.” Xenith shakes his head. “That’s not happening, Neely.” “Why? He can help. You know that we’re stronger together!”
“I told you that I couldn’t get you both out at the same time. You know that. The Elders were already suspicious of your connection-you said so yourself,” he says. I did say that and it’s true, but that doesn’t make this easier. Branding connection or not, I still want him with me. “And you leave in three days. Thorne Bishop can’t help you now. You can’t tell him anything. You’re dead, Neely.”
I start to protest, and Xenith holds a finger to my lips. “You made a promise. You can’t tell Thorne anything. Nothing. You gave me your word, and I will know if you break it.”
“Xenith.”
“Neely, you gave your word. No telling Thorne. If you can’t handle a task as simple as that, then you shouldn’t be going.”
“Fine. I won’t see him again once I leave here anyway.” “Fine.” The word is sharp, and I know he means it. I know I will never have the opportunity to tell Thorne anyway, but Xenith stares at me until the awkward moments feel too long.
DEADLINE: 30D, 8H, 18M
ODESSA, TEXAS
IT’S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE I’ve had enough to eat, and my stomach is full after one greasy sandwich. It feels as if Boris has been gone for hours, but it’s probably only been a few minutes. Thorne keeps staring at me, his emotions and mine jumping between a heavy weight, a ripple, and a warmth spinning in my head. Underneath all that, under the worry and confusion and anger and fear, there’s a lightness. He still loves me. The reassurance of that is more than I expected.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Thorne says, breaking the silence. “I knew I was coming here to see you, to help somehow, but I guess part of me thought you were really dead and Xenith was playing me.”
I inhale a sharp breath as the weight of his sadness rushes over me. It’s only a fraction of what he must have felt. I’d experienced him after I died, by chance and without him knowing, and I’ll never forget the way he said my name, pleaded to Xenith as I listened in the next room. That was like getting my heart ripped out of my chest. I don’t want to imagine what that was like. That loneliness.
I can almost see it, even though I don’t remember more than the retelling from Xenith. He told Xenith that he’d felt something was wrong when I’d died and he had to come back for me. The story of Thorne vomiting over the fisherboat. Him wading into the water and pulling me to shore, trying to bring me back even though he knew it wouldn’t work. The anger he must’ve felt and the fear and the sadness all at once.
“I saw them send your ashes into the water,” he says. “I lost you, and it was like losing myself. I kept waiting for you to be there, and every day you weren’t.”
I close my eyes and feel Thorne pulling away whatever weight he’d sent through our connection. Even when he’s mad at me, he’s carrying more than his share of our emotions. I never want to be on the other side of that. I couldn’t handle losing Thorne; I’m not as strong as him.
I bite my lip. There are too many words that taste bitter on my tongue. I’m not sure which ones are the best ones to say, so I don’t use any of them. We sit in the silence while my brain tries to compartmentalize all of the pain that I caused him. The emotions fall through me until I feel the normal, steady pulse of my heart and breathing. This is the feeling I had while I was separated from Thorne. The new normal of it just being me.
“How did you get here?” I ask. I don’t know which emotion to give in to first, so my brain says that I need to understand instead. There’s got to be a reason, a way he came.
Thorne looks at me, his warm caramel eyes still familiar. “The same way you did. Xenith.”
At the sound of his name, I look up to meet Thorne’s eyes. Xenith went back on his word to me to protect Thorne no matter what. I shake my head and move across the room. Xenith wouldn’t lie. Not to me.
Thorne rises and takes a step toward me. “You look surprised that Xenith would help me. You shouldn’t be. He’ll do anything if the price is right.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I say. But part of me knows I’m lying to myself, even
if I don’t want to accept that.
“What do you want to hear instead? Want me to prove it?” Thorne holds onto my arm, and I feel the sensation of something lodged in my throat, then of it sitting in my stomach, solid and steady as he feels it on his own. His worry. “Xenith did not get me out,” he says slowly.
The words fall from his lips, and I feel an erratic jolt in our connection, a shock spreading through my system. I jerk my hand away so I don’t feel it again. We only feel that jolt when one of us is lying. Which means Xenith betrayed me; he risked Thorne, despite our agreement.
I run my hand over my face. This can’t be happening.
“I’m here to help you. I thought-I felt you. I thought I was crazy because you were dead. I thought I was crazy,” he says, shaking his head slightly. His fingers graze my arm again, as if he can’t not touch me. I can’t handle him touching me, not right now. It’s too real.
I take a step back and pretend that I don’t feel his frustration. “How did you make it here before me?”
“I travelled above ground.”
Above. Xenith told me that wasn’t safe. He told me I had to travel through the Burrows. I guess that wasn’t really safe either. Why wouldn’t he let me travel above? Why would he send Thorne up here when it could mean his death?
“Why did you leave?” Thorne asks.
Tense silence fills the spaces between us. In seventeen years, I’ve never questioned what to say to him. I don’t even know where to start or what answers to give him or which ones matter the most.
“You know why I left the Compound,” I say. I turn on my heel to avoid any more conversation. He lunges for me and pulls my body toward his, and it responds on contact with heat and fire. His face is inches from mine, so close I can feel his warm breath. I can smell the salt of the ocean in his pores. I can see the pain in his eyes that was never there before.
“I meant me. Why did you leave me?”
I swallow but can’t look away from his face. What can he read in my eyes when he looks at me? Does he know all the times I wished for something more than him? For something completely my own? Does he even know why he’s really standing here?
“I—”
My voice cracks as if tears are going to come through. I force them back. The door opens behind us, and Thorne releases my arm. Boris stiffens in the doorway, his eyes going back and forth between us.
“I’m to give you a place to sleep,” he says. A small smile creeps across his face. “One room or two?”
Thorne says two.
1 YEAR BEFORE ESCAPE
THORNE EXTENDS TWO YELLOW DAISIES out to me, smiling like a schoolboy.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I came to help,” Thorne says. “And I brought you some flowers. Only two, though. You know how the old man is about picking his daisies.”
I take the flowers from Thorne and set them on the table next to me. He’s already wandering around the schoolhouse, floors creaking after him as he opens windows. “How did you know I was here?”
He doesn’t answer until he’s opened all four windows, and the breeze is nice. Thorne crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “Aren’t I allowed to be a man of mystery?”
A smile breaks across my face. “Sara told you, didn’t she?”
He sighs dramatically. “The women in my life conspire against me.” He jumps and moves around me quickly to pick up the paint. He crouches down and dips a brush in the paint, and it drips to the floor. “Where do we start?”
“You don’t. You don’t have to do anything.”
He looks up at me and slowly rises to his feet. “I know I don’t. I want to. Painting the schoolhouse is my favorite thing to do, you know.”
I laugh because he’s trying so hard to be serious. He smiles, and his eyes light up when he looks at me. I feel a wave of love and joy coming off him and into me. “I thought you were going out with the boats today?”
“Changed with Carl so I could be here. You know how much he likes me.” He winks. He moves his paintbrush down along the wall and stops mid-stroke. “Although if you want me to leave, I can go. I know how hard I am to look at for so many hours.”
He tosses the brush back into the container of paint and starts to walk away. I know he’s teasing me, but I don’t want him to go so I take hold of his hand. A fire rushes through us when our hands touch. I can feel every cell in my body moving, and the chills running down my arms. It’s a sensation I’ll never fully be prepared to feel, but I’d be lost without it.
“Stay,” I say.
Thorne doesn’t let go of my hand. He licks his lips, and his desire to kiss me rushes through and mixes with my own for him. “Can’t. I’m busy.” As soon as he says it, our connection jumps, sending a shock through me.
“Liar,” I joke. “Please stay.”
“Now you want me to stay? Only seconds ago you wanted to be rid of me.”
“Never. I don’t want you to waste your day on something you don’t have to do.”
“I want to do it. Anywhere you are, I want to be,” he says. His fingers trace my cheek and send tingles through my body. “Even if it does give me nightmarish flashbacks to second year when someone spilled her juice all over me and everyone said I had an accident.” He shudders dramatically. “Why did I ever stay friends with her?”
“Because she has this remarkable smile?” I suggest and smile at him.
“No, I think it’s because she’s so messy,” he says. In a movement that happens quicker than I can believe possible, Thorne reaches for the paintbrush and wipes it down my arm, cold and yellow. I yell out his name.
“Neely! What a mess! Hank Callahan will be upset that you’re wasting his paint!”
I aim another brush toward him. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Please don’t promise things you won’t deliver on,” he says.
He runs out the door, and I chase after him around the schoolhouse in two circles. His brush finds my face, and then he pulls me toward his chest and turns me around so my back is up against the wall.
“I hate you,” I say. Our connection jumps, flickers like a flame that’s struggling to stay lit.
Thorne smiles. “Liar,” he says as presses his lips against mine. No one is around to see us, but we part quickly. The rules are still the rules-we can’t be seen kissing in public. I smile at him as we separate. We spend the next three hours stealing kisses while we paint inside the schoolhouse.
DEADLINE: 29D, 17H, 42M
ODESSA, TEXAS
FOR THREE HOURS, Cecily about the Old World. She’s only lived here for fifteen years, but she knows the entire history. She helped establish a whole network-the one that allows the Mavericks to help the Remnants-and it’s impressive.
“There were seven Compounds back then,” Cecily says. She sits in a rocking chair, and every time she moves it creaks. The sound of it keeps me on edge and unsettled.
“There still are seven,” I say.
She looks at me with a gleam in her eye. “There are only two left. The Mavericks have taken down the rest.”
“Wouldn’t we know that?” I ask.
“Have you been to any of them? Heard of anyone coming from somewhere that wasn’t the North? The rest are gone. They’ve been disappearing for over a century now.”
The other Compounds are gone. I’m not sure why that feels so unreal. The Elders have lied about everything. This isn’t any different, but…
Thorne asks her a question that I don’t hear. He’s been very attentive to her, though he acts like he doesn’t know me at all. I can’t figure out what he’s feeling. He’s completely blocked his feelings, and it’s probably exhausting for him. Blocking each other out takes a toll eventually. We both know that from the years we spent testing it.
Cecily inhales and rocks in her chair. I can’t help but wonder what else she’s experienced. “My sister and I always knew we were different. We had dreams from childhood, the same dreams at firs
t. Then, as we got older, they were dreams of the past, of the future, sometimes of the world that we didn’t know existed right outside the barrier. Deanna and I weren’t the only twins with the branding, but we were the first to escape.”
“How did you do it?” I ask. We’ve never been told anything about their escape.
“We planned it telepathically. The things the Elders do to twins, the tests, caused mental abilities. The Elders had been planning for that, unknowingly, and for this one. For centuries now, it’s been building.”
“The abilities?” Thorne asks. He sits on the edge of the chair, anxious for more details. He gets that way sometimes.
“When the testing started after the Preservation, twins were born with different-colored eyes or hair or traits. Small things that made them different,” Cecily says. She pulls a small, thin knife from her pocket and starts cleaning out her fingernails. “By the time we were born, every set of twins had a connection. Things kept secret until we escaped. They created us, and then they punished us.”
The Elders put us in this situation.
They created us.
I wonder how true that is for Thorne and me. How true is that for everyone else with the branding? Nothing in my life, or in anyone in the Compound, has ever been real. It’s all been created. We deserve something real. Everyone does. I’m just the one who knows that I need to search for it.
Cecily looks toward the back of the room where Boris nods and places some items on the ground. “We’ve got some supplies for your journey. Food, mostly. The others have been contacted and will be waiting for you. But there’s nothing except more trouble waiting.”
“I’ve experienced the Cleaners and-”
“We have more enemies than the Cleaners. The life of a Remnant is not a simple one.”
“What kind of enemies?” I ask.
Cecily’s eye is pea-sized and bleak. There is no emotion, as if it’s only a lifeless dark marble. Empty and desolate, but not without power. For in that bleak, dark eye, I see my own fear.
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