Arcane

by Elle Park

  It's getting harder to breathe with him here like this, the heat from his body seeping into mine. But I don't know what the appropriate move to make is. What am I supposed to do in a situation like this—invite him into my cage? I almost want to laugh at the thought. Whatever prospect of that happening dies in my throat, though, as another unexpected lump restricts it access.

  I'm about to think we're just going to stay like this forever, wordlessly communicating a message I can't seem to interpret, when he finally breaks our warring trance. But instead of backing up to retrace his steps, he moves to the side and straight past me, the wall sliding back into place.

  I feel his gaze on the back of my head, but when I turn around, his eyes shift once to his feet, then again to somewhere on my forehead.

  So, he still can't look at me.

  Sighing, I shake my head. "What are you doing here?" I don't think I sounded particularly accusing—because that wasn't my intent—but he looks as if I slapped him, physically flinching at my words.

  He doesn't answer right away, instead studying me for another beat before returning to the persona I'm more accustomed to. "Who did you think I was—the Grim Reaper?" His tone is light and amused, with not even an ounce of the seriousness that was present mere seconds ago. "You do know I could see you tip-toeing inside the cube. Oh, man. You should have seen your face, sweets. I swear, you looked like—wait," he pauses, realization flashing across his own face, "you didn't think I was Freddie, did you? Because there is no way he can walk as gracefully as I can. I'm like a gazelle, really. Did you know—"

  "Nolan."

  "Yeah, babe, how are you doing?"

  "You didn't answer my question."

  He opens his mouth to say what I'm expecting will be another line of typical Nolan, but he shuts his mouth as his eyes meet mine. "Neither did you," he says after a beat.

  "I'm fine."

  I think it's true, for the most part. I'm not breaking down and sobbing at how unfair life is, so I must be fine, right? I'm pretty sure I am. And even if I'm not, what would I say? What would I do? Cry in his arms and beg him to help me? Like that would do anything. I already saw how The Union shut him down before, and I know they would do it again.

  Besides, I don't think I even remember how to cry anymore.

  Unless it's on my cue, of course.

  "You know, I've learned that when someone says 'I'm fine', they're usually anything but fine." When I don't encourage his theory, he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. He seems to be at war with his own thoughts, but I can't tell if he won or lost when he looks back up at me. "I'm grateful to have met you, Kaia, but I'm sorry you met me, because I brought you into a world I might not be strong enough to protect you from." Clenching his jaw, he lowers his head. "I'm sorry."

  He looks pathetic. Like a kicked puppy.

  I've always liked puppies.

  It's not like I've never consoled someone before—I have, plenty of times. There were the kids who made drunken mistakes, the students who didn't get the grades they had hoped for, the girls who were cheated on, the girls who were dumped, the girls who were cheated on and then dumped...

  But it was all an act.

  And I was able to pull it off because I never had to mean it.

  Before I even register that I've moved, I'm already standing in front of him, gently wrapping my arms around his waist. I fear I've made a mistake when he stiffens at the contact, but before I can back away, he drops his forehead to my shoulder.

  "I'm sorry," he repeats shakily, hugging me closer to his chest.

  Is this how it feels to really comfort someone—or am I the one being comforted?

  It's no longer heat I feel, but warmth. And I realize I needed this just as much as he did, if not more.

  "It's not your fault."

  "We both know it is."

  "I don't blame you." His trembling eases, but he doesn't loosen his hold. If anything, it tightens. And, aware that we're not alone, I tilt my head just slightly, angling my mouth close to his ear. "If you didn't find me, someone else would have. And they wouldn't have hacked into The Corporation's database to keep me safe, or put their house on lock-down so they could train me not to get myself killed, or go against the most powerful people in the world to try and save me. You did what you could, Nolan." Leaning back, I give him the best smile I can manage. "Thank you," I say softly, the words cracking and splintering as they squeeze past the lump that has overstayed its welcome in my throat.

  He's back to staring at me, his usually smiling mouth now clamped shut. "You're always so on guard, as if you don't know how to feel," he finally says, slowly shaking his head. "I think you feel a lot, Kaia—maybe even too much—and you don't know how to deal with it because you believe it makes you vulnerable." He's gripping my arms, as if he's about to physically try and shake sense into me. He doesn't, but that doesn't stop my heart from trying to jump out of my chest. "If there's ever a time when you should let yourself feel and to let yourself be vulnerable, it's now. And I know you've been on your own your whole life, but you're not anymore. I'm here. You have me." Locking me in a firm embrace, one of his hands cradles the back of my head, the other embedding itself between my shoulder blades.

  It couldn't have been more than an hour ago when I was trying to convince myself to accept my fate. I don't think it worked, though, because there was something else—something that squashed every last bit of acceptance I might have been capable of feeling: an explosive, chaotic jumble of emotions that settled uncomfortably in every crevice of my body, spreading like a disease I refused to acknowledge. My throat swelled, my chest ached, the pit of my stomach filled with what felt like acid, and yet I still chose to ignore it.

  Now it's back like a lethal wave, ready to knock me off my feet, and I would've drowned upon impact if it weren't for the boy holding onto me like a lifeline.

  The boy I'm holding onto like a lifeline.

  My fingers are gripping the soft fabric of his shirt, desperately stamping my prints into the flesh of his back. This time, it's my forehead that lands on his shoulder. And this time, it's not him who's trembling. It's like a dam I didn't even know existed broke inside of me, and there's no hope of fixing it.

  Because you can't stop a disaster.

  You can only wait for the damage to be done.

  I realize I'm crying, and I must have been doing so for a while now because when I shift my head, wet cotton drags across my cheek. Liquid salt coats the outline of my lips and the edge of my jaw, but I don't bother rubbing it off. I'm too distracted by the fact that I can, indeed, still cry against my will, and I'm too busy trying to dissect the trigger that sparked my body's innate yet unexpected response.

  I don't want to die.

  There's anger, sadness, sorrow, despair, and about a million other things burning me from the inside-out. I'm not ready to let go of my life—the life that I dreamed of bettering and hoped to grow into. I never asked for any of this. They're punishing me for something that's out of my control, and they justify it by regarding me like I'm some mad dog that needs to be put down.

  It's unfair, and I'm terrified.

  But it's not just my looming death that has me breaking down in sobs.

  Years of buried emotions are making their way to the surface. It's the raw ache of a child who was lost, abandoned and lonely; the agony of a little girl who magnified her own pain so that it might be noticed and acknowledged.

  I'm crying for her.

  Nolan doesn't say anything. There aren't any reassurances that everything will be fine—we both know it would be a lie—and there are no more words of comfort. He just holds me.

  He's here. I have him.

  Right now, that's all I need.

  I don't know how long we stay like that, huddled so close to each other that we wouldn't be able to tell where one ends and the other begins. Our synchronized breathing helps to calm me further, and my heart no longer feels like it's about to burst, the beat now slow and
even.

  Feelings are... exhausting.

  My puffy eyelids are growing heavier by the second, and I have no doubt I would crumple to the floor if it weren't for Nolan holding me up. This is the first time I've ever truly leaned on someone—both literally and figuratively—and surprisingly, I don't hate it. I always told myself that depending on others would make me weak, but I think that was just my way of rationalizing the fact that I had no one by or on my side.

  It feels nice to not be alone.

  Too bad I won't have the chance to get used to it.

  My eyes are already closed when I hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle. It's so brief, though, that I almost think I imagined it. When the air falls quiet once again, I don't think much of the disruption, content to let the small circles being rubbed into my back lull me to sleep. I would've been happy to drift away like that, but it seems reality has other plans in store.

  "I'm sorry, don't mind me. Y'all are just so," Charise hiccups, "so dang beautiful."

  "Such sad story, Kitten," Toshiro says, loudly blowing his nose. I try not to picture what he used in lieu of a tissue. "No more cry. You hurt, I hurt."

  "Have you all no tact?" Oscar asks rhetorically. "For goodness' sake, they were having a private moment."

  Clearly, we weren't.

  Nolan sighs, loosening his hold just enough to meet my eyes. "I forgot they could hear us," he says, smiling ruefully.

  That makes two of us.

  Right on cue, our eavesdropping audience erupts into a unified blubbering mess. It sounds like I'm already at my goddamn funeral. Everyone takes turns between sending me their own version of condolences and sobbing like there's no tomorrow. I guess it's appropriate for me, though, considering I might not have a tomorrow.

  "When?" I say, lowering my gaze to the suddenly quickened pulse at the base of Nolan's neck. I don't have to elaborate for him to understand what I'm referring to.

  "Normally, the process that leads to an execution is a long one." I'm sensing a but coming... "But they're treating this—you—as an urgent matter." My eyes shift to his Adam's apple bobbing down his throat. "Tomorrow morning."

  "Oh." I'm nodding, but I don't know why. "Okay."

  "No," he shakes his head, "I swore to myself that I wouldn't let anyone else die because of me—at least, not anyone innocent." He almost chokes on his confession, as if it was physically painful to voice out loud. Judging by the torment in his eyes, it probably was. "I won't let them do this to you. I'll find a way to get you out of this," he says, his jaw clenched tight as he grinds his teeth together.

  I can tell he means it, and I appreciate his words.

  But he's wrong—I'm not innocent.

  We seem to have resumed our little staring contest, neither of us knowing what to say. It feels like I've been thrown into the depths of an ice-cold lake—and I think he notices because the next thing he does is bring his hand up to my face. I don't realize I'm shivering until the thumb stroking my cheek gradually moves to the outer corner of my mouth, brushing across my bottom lip and halting any further tremors.

  His forehead drops to mine, and suddenly, I'm not so cold anymore. Our breaths are mingling, and the warmth is different from what I was feeling earlier. I'm pretty sure everyone is still wailing at my unintentional drama, but the only thing I hear is my own heavy pulse.

  He's searching for something. I can tell by the way his eyes flicker and darken, dancing up and down my face. It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes that we engage in this silent battle, each seeking but none surrendering—and if it weren't for the sound of a startling click, we might have realized that we were on the same side.

  As soon as we break apart with equally puzzled expressions, the wall of our cube slides open. It's dead silent, and even the air is still.

  "What the—" Nolan says, stepping around me and past the open frame. "Oh, shit."

  When I follow him to see what's going on, I realize I was wrong.

  It's not just our cube that's open.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  THERE ARE ROWS upon rows of cubes.

  At least, that's what I'm assuming.

  Now there are just rows upon rows of people—prisoners—who, like zoo animals being let out of their cages for the first time, look nothing short of dumbfounded. For a moment, no one dares move anything but their eyes, blinking rapidly as they take in the room they've been trapped in for however many days, months or years. There's not much to absorb, though. The walls, the floor, and the ceiling are all a stark, plain white. It only takes a fleeting glance to realize we're just in a larger, shared version of our solitary cubes.

  In the next instant, heads turn and necks swivel because doors have magically appeared on all four walls of the room.

  And then... chaos.

  "We're free!"

  "Move out of the way!"

  "Thank you, God! Thank you, Buddha! Thank you, Allah!"

  "Hurry, before they close!"

  A swarm of bodies are running toward their portal to an assumed freedom, pushing and shoving as they go. The sound of their feet pounding against the ground provides a frantic beat to their words, the impact sending vibrations through my limbs. No one stops until they're out the door, not looking back even once.

  "Kitten, what are you waiting for?"

  My head snaps in the direction of Toshiro's voice, and my searching gaze instantly lands on what seems like the only person who isn't moving. He's short and round, and the crown of his head is bald, silver wisps of hair falling like tattered curtains down his scalp. One of his eyes appear glassy and unnatural, and it's actually drifting away from me, pointing somewhere off to the side.

  "We must go," he shouts again, his wide smile revealing the gap of air where his front tooth should have been. "We no get another chance like this!"

  "For someone who knows that, you sure ain't acting it," Charise yells, a hand tapping against her jutted hip. She's standing where her cube must have been, in the row next to ours. Her frame is tall and curvy, her skin a warm toffee tone. And she's currently glaring at Toshiro, all the while stomping her way toward him.

  "Charise? Is that you, my dear? Oh, you are just as beautiful as I thought. It is not surprising. I am always right."

  "Yeah, yeah," she stoops just slightly to grab his elbow, her towering height making the motion both awkward and comical, "you better get your ass moving, Shiro—and I mean right damn now."

  "Anything for you, beautiful Charise." He lets her drag him to the closest door, but just as they're about to vanish from our view, he looks over his shoulder and extends an arm out toward me. "Hurry, Kitten! You no have nine lives in here!"

  "He's right," Nolan says, gripping my shoulders. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but we're rolling with it."

  "But I don't even—"

  "Relax. I'll find you. I've got Milo, Henry, and Google—do you really doubt me?" I might not have, had he not mentioned a search engine as his means of tracking me. "Until then, he'll take care of you—isn't that right, Shiro?"

  "Of course," Toshiro replies, huffing. "Now, I'm sorry, Nolan, but if you love kitten, you must let her go before the dogs come."

  "Wait, you two know each—"

  "What is the hold up?" Charise barks. "I'm leaving both your asses here if you don't walk out this door right this instant."

  "Go." Nolan tows me along until we reach Toshiro, who's already halfway through the door, an arm still flailing in the air and searching for any part of my body he can grab. "Don't worry, you can trust him—just like you can trust me. Remember, sweets," he cracks a grin, "I'm a man of my word."

  It's only when the last few people begin to rush out, that a deafening alarm blares around us. And before I can even bring my hands to my ears, a team of what appears to be The Corporation's version of SWAT-slash-soldiers-slash-assassins storm into the room, each armed with a glinting dagger that I doubt they even need. By the speed of their movements, I'd bet the re
st of my short life that they're maevons.

  And by the way they're closing in on us, my short life might become even shorter.

  "Whoa, easy, guys," Nolan says, waving his hands dismissively as he steps directly in front of me, standing so close that the front of my body touches the back of his. "No need to be so dramatic."

  "Mr. Drake, please, step away from the inmate," one of them says.

  I don't know which one it is that spoke, but it doesn't really matter since they're all against me.

  "What is going on? Where are the prisoners?" Lei shouts, the fury in his voice as obvious as the tattoo on his face. He's marching toward us with the rest of The Union, and they're all looking far from pleased.

  "Nolan..." Alan says, crossing his arms and raising a brow.

  "How did this happen?" Zion says, though it sounds more like a comment to himself than an actual question.

  "This better not be your doing, Mr. Drake," Frederick warns, glaring so intensely that I'm almost surprised it hasn't burned through his glasses. "If it comes to light that you had something to do with this—"

  "What? Fred," Nolan clutches his chest, "your blatant lack of trust wounds me. I thought we were closer than that."

  "This is not the time for your jokes—"

  "Frederick," Alan interrupts, releasing a tired sigh. "You know as well as I that Nolan didn't do this."

  "Yeah," Octavia agrees, smirking as she examines her outrageous nails. "The pup's not smart enough to pull this off."

  "Thank y—" I hear the frown on Nolan's face. "Hey, I'm plenty smart."

  "So, you admit it was you who released them." Frederick is not going to let this go, but considering the situation, I can't really blame him.

  "Obviously not, my goodness. Are you listening to me or not? Whatever. I can explain," he says, taking a breath. "The cubes unlocked, and then, like, doors appeared everywhere. Everyone went crazy after that. It was like a damn stampede, I tell you. I felt like I was in The Lion King—and we all know how that ended up for Mufasa," he finishes with a full-body shiver. "We were this close to getting trampled on," he pinches his fingers together, "but chill, guys. We're okay. Not even a scratch."