Inescapable (Talented Saga #7)

by Sophie Davis

  “Mine is the top, but I am happy to switch if you’d prefer it,” she told Cressa, her gaze still downcast.

  “The lower bed works for me,” Cressa replied easily, wishing they were alone. She wanted to reassure Nydia that she’d be easy to get along with, but worried about speaking out of turn with Gracia’s hawk eyes watching.

  Two small, carrel-style desks were arranged opposite the beds, and Gracia pointed to a thick binder in the center of one. A plastic-wrapped dinner tray was beside the binder.

  “That is your 2P manual,” Gracia told Cressa. “Read it. Learn it. Memorize it. You will be expected to know and follow all of the rules and regulations within those pages, no exceptions and no excuses. Should you commit an infraction, you will be held accountable, regardless of whether you knew you were committing the infraction at the time.”

  “And so will Gracia,” Daphne muttered. Cressa glanced over, and found the younger girl grinning like a fool.

  “That’s because I am in charge,” Gracia shot back. She cleared her throat loudly to regain Cressa’s attention. “Do you have any questions?”

  Um, yeah, Cressa thought. Loads of them.

  There was no sense in asking, though. Cressa wasn’t sure how much 7Ps knew about sources and supposedly dead movie stars, but she was certain that Gracia wouldn’t answer those questions, regardless.

  “No, ma’am,” Cressa replied.

  “Good. Eat your dinner quickly, then get ready for bed.”

  Without another word, Gracia spun on her heel and started for the door. Since she was wearing slippers, Gracia’s slender foot came free when she took her first step, making her dramatic exit decidedly less so. Daphne snickered loudly. Even Nydia smiled, though she turned away to hide her mirthful expression.

  Gracia made a very un-lady like noise, and then snatched up the slipper from the floor. She proceeded to storm from the room, elbowing Daphne aside as she passed.

  “Right nasty, isn’t she?” Daphne said merrily, once Gracia was gone.

  Cressa gave a noncommittal shrug, unsure whether the comment was a setup. Being fifteen, and having attended boarding school, she knew how girls worked—coaxing each other into saying negative things about others, just to run off to the girl in the question and spill everything.

  Besides, Leslie’s reminder that the Institute was all one giant competition was still fresh in Cressa’s mind. The cadets were not in this together. No, they were opponents, adversaries, enemies. There would be times that one person’s success meant another person’s failure. Becoming too friendly with her classmates now was just asking for trouble later.

  Sadly, Cressa’s eyes flicked to Nydia. As much as she wanted a friend, she understood that her desire to become besties with her new roommate was silly and childish. Nydia seemed nice enough, but her father had always said that attachments made people weak, and vulnerable. Cressa couldn’t afford to be either, not if she wanted to become Privileged.

  “I’m sure she’s learned to be that way,” Cressa finally said, striving for diplomacy in case word got back to Gracia. “This is a difficult program.”

  “Nah, she’s been nasty her whole life,” Daphne replied. “I should know, we are related, after all.” She made a face, as if the words had left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

  The admission surprised Cressa. The two girls looked nothing alike, and their personalities seemed to be polar opposites.

  “I know, I know,” Daphne continued. “It’s hard to believe we came from the same parents. Gracia is my mother’s daughter, where I’m more like daddy.” Daphne shrugged, as if that said it all. “Anywho, I better be off. See you in the morning, Cressa. ‘Night, Nydia.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Cressa echoed, watching the small girl flit from her new room.

  “Don’t mind Daphne,” Nydia said, once they were alone. “She’s much younger than the rest of us, so she doesn’t really take the program seriously. Also, she makes a game out of taunting Gracia, but I wouldn’t recommend doing the same. Gracia puts up with it from her sister, but she isn’t at all lenient with the rest of us.”

  “Trust me, I wasn’t planning on it,” Cressa replied. “Gracia doesn’t seem like the type of girl you cross,”

  “She’s not,” Nydia agreed. She walked to the back of the room and slid a set of closet doors apart soundlessly. “Your clothes are to the right. Mine are on the left.”

  She stepped back so that Cressa could see the rows of identical khaki jumpers and navy oxford shirts already hanging in place. A second, lower bar held several pairs of khaki pants and a few white cardigans. Black leather flats with a single strap across the top were arranged in a perfectly straight line at the bottom of the closet, with five pairs on one side of an invisible divider and five on the other.

  On the day Cressa arrived, the clothes she was wearing—black jeans and a funky tee with Righteous Renegades, her favorite band—were taken away. They’d been replaced with a never-ending supply of simple navy shifts—the uniform of the 1P female.

  As she faced her new uniforms, Cressa stifled a sigh of disappointment. She didn’t quite feel like herself in the Institute’s standard-issue clothing. A part of Cressa had been excited when Leslie said her things were already in her new room, wondering if they’d sent away for her own clothes. Unfortunately, no dice.

  Not for the first time, Cressa wondered if she should write a eulogy for her old life. She hadn’t spoken to her parents or Julie since leaving Boston, nor would she. At least, not until she’d completed the program. Even then, Cressa doubted she’d be permitted contact with Julie. Her best friend was a norm, and she always would be. The two girls were now on very different paths, ones that were not likely to cross in the future.

  A traitorous thought entered Cressa’s mind: Is becoming Privileged really worth it?

  She’d wanted to come to the Institute. Upon graduation, she’d be Privileged, and part of something greater than herself—that was what Cressa’s parents had told her. They’d filled Cressa’s head with images of a wonderful new world full of hope and optimism, and free of the hatred that drove so many to persecute those who were different.

  What her parents hadn’t explained was how much she’d be giving up to earn the Privileged label. Her friends, her home, her identity—they were all casualties of a war that hadn’t even happened yet.

  “Undershirts and underwear are in the top drawer.” Nydia’s voice broke in as she gestured to a set of three drawers inset on Cressa’s side of the closet.

  Compartmentalizing her doubts, Cressa concentrated on Nydia. This was her life now, and the past was just that—past. Julie and her parents were the past. The Institute was her present. Being one of the Privileged was her future.

  “Socks and stockings are in the middle one,” Nydia continued, eyeing Cressa skeptically from beneath her long lashes.

  “Thanks,” Cressa said quietly.

  “Everything changes so fast here,” Nydia abruptly segued, correctly guessing the reason for Cressa’s silence and gloomy mood. “I advanced four months ago, and I still feel like it’s my first day as a 2P sometimes. Just try to remember that you aren’t alone. We all feel a little overwhelmed sometimes.”

  Cressa smiled gratefully at her new roommate. “You’re the first person to admit that. Back home, I went to the same school from the time I was four. So I was never the new kid, you know? Here, I feel like I’m always the new kid.”

  Tensing, Nydia glanced around the small room nervously.

  “I do, too, Cressa,” she said in a low voice. “Just be careful about mentioning your life before. The Institute is your home now. For all intents and purposes, the Dame is your only parent. If Gracia or Leslie catches you talking about life before the Institute,” Nydia shook her head, “it won’t be good for you. Cadets who are too hung up on the past are frequently diagnosed with adjustment disorders.”

  Thoughts of Kev Leon flickered through her head again. It was hard enough for Cressa not to thi
nk about her parents and friends, and the glamorous life of premiere events and society balls she’d once led. But Kev had been a celebrity, accustomed to people catering to his every whim. That had to be extremely difficult to give up. It was no wonder the poor boy was having so much trouble acclimating.

  Clearing her throat loudly, Nydia reverted back to her tour of the closet. Cressa took the hint; the feeling-sharing portion of the evening was over.

  “Sleep clothes are at the bottom. Your toiletries are already in the bathroom, which we share with the Towers twins. You have your own cubby in there, I’ll show you after we’ve changed for bed.” Nydia glanced at the dinner tray sitting untouched on Cressa’s desk. “Unless you want to eat first?”

  “I’m not hungry,” Cressa replied. Then, she made a snap decision. Nydia seemed genuine and trustworthy, but Cressa had no way of knowing if it was all an act. So, she decided to put her new roommate’s loyalty to the test. “If I pitch the food, will you tell?”

  Nydia gave a small smile. “That’s against the rules.”

  “I know,” Cressa said, studying Nydia closely. “But I won’t tell, if you don’t.”

  “I’ll show you where to toss it so that you won’t get caught.” Nydia’s body language indicated that she was uneasy about committing even this relatively minor transgression. Nonetheless, Cressa felt confident that the other girl would keep her mouth shut.

  “Thanks,” Cressa replied.

  She crossed over to the closet and pulled out a set of glaringly white pajamas. The sight reminded Cressa uncomfortably of her white flower in the ceiling garden, which of course made her think of all the black and withered ones. Her stomach twisted painfully into knots worthy of any expert sailor. Truthfully, all the misgivings she was experiencing scared Cressa.

  It’s too late to turn back, she thought sadly.

  Pushing aside the realization, Cressa quickly changed into the sleep attire.

  “You can deposit that in your laundry chute on the way to the bathroom,” Nydia told her, nodding towards the floor where Cressa’s navy dress lay in a heap. Nydia’s own dirty clothes were folded neatly in her arms.

  “Oh, right.” Cressa bent and collected the discarded dress. “Lead the way,” she told Nydia.

  Silently, the two girls made their way to the communal bathroom at the end of the hallway, stopping at the laundry chutes just long enough to throw their worn clothes inside. The Towers twins were already inside the bathroom when Cressa and Nydia arrived.

  “Of all the colors she could have picked, she went with purple. It’s madness,” one of the twins was saying.

  “You know why she did it, don’t you?” the other twin replied.

  The sound of Nydia’s slippers on the tile floor caused both twins to turn, identical brown eyes heavy with a mixture of guilt and nerves.

  “Oh, thank heavens, it’s just you,” one twin said. “For a second there, I thought we’d been caught gossiping by the she-devil.” The girl turned to Cressa. “You won’t tell her you heard us, will you? She’ll make our lives hell.”

  “Of course not,” Cressa said quickly.

  The twins were standing in front of a large mirror that was mounted above four sinks. Behind them, on the opposite wall, were four large cubbies with towels, shower caps, and baskets of toiletries. The cubby on the top right had Cressa’s name on it. Quietly, she retrieved her toothbrush, toothpaste, and face wash.

  “Of course I know why,” the second twin said, picking up the conversation again. “But looking like her isn’t going to make Gracia more powerful. She’s absolutely nuts if Gracia thinks she’ll ever have that sort of power. She hasn’t even started manipulation training. I bet she washes out within the first week of it. They don’t call it the gauntlet for nothing, you know?”

  Curious, Cressa opened her mouth to speak. In the mirror, she caught Nydia’s subtle headshake, warning her against taking part in the conversation. Instead of asking the questions running through her mind, Cressa went about brushing her teeth and washing her face while simply listening to her new classmates.

  “I don’t think she did it to become more powerful. I think she did it for him. You know, her boyfriend. I hear Gracia sleeps with his picture under her pillow,” the first twin responded.

  “She’s even crazier than I thought,” her sister said flatly. Her eyes darted around the bathroom, ensuring the four cadets were truly alone, before continuing in a much quieter tone. “Did you hear the Dame tried to free him from UNITED? She sent an agent to one of his peace rallies to stage an escape. Unfortunately, the attempt was unsuccessful. They say he was hurt, though not seriously, in a blast meant to kill his bodyguards. The agent who performed the attack bungled it so badly she ended up dying herself. But, she was able to get so close that she actually touched him. Can you imagine? She must have died with a smile on her lips. I know I would have.”

  “Me too,” the twin agreed, nodding readily. “Do you think it’s true? That Gracia really has been chosen as a clone? And that’s why she got the purple eyes?”

  The other twin shrugged. “Daphne did say that Gracia applied for facial reorg, but she chose the eye color long before the clone rumors started swirling. I bet that’s why the Dame wants to see her tomorrow morning, to let her know whether she’s been chosen. It will be so weird, seeing her all the time. I mean, it’s already weird enough now. Gracia looks just enough like her that it’s creepy, don’t you think? The hair, now the eyes? Daphne says Gracia has even been studying video footage, to practice her mannerisms. You know, just in case.”

  Unable to hold her tongue any longer, Cressa finally asked the question burning a hole in her mind. “What are you two talking about?”

  Lyla and Shyla exchanged conspiratorial glances, a barrage of silent messages passing between them. One nodded, seemingly confirming that the new girl could be trusted.

  “Cressa, is it? I’m Lyla, that’s Shyla,” the twin closest to Cressa said, gesturing. “And we’re talking about Gracia’s new eyes. 7Ps are allowed to undergo dye injections to change the color, and Gracia decided to go with purple, in homage to her. As if darkening and perming her hair wasn’t bad enough. But, if what Daphne says is true, the eyes and hair are just the start.” Lyla sighed dramatically. “Gracia will be unbearable if she is chosen to be a clone, especially her clone. I mean, that has to be the highest honor possible.”

  Clones were not a topic covered during Phase One, but Cressa was piecing together all the snippets of information she’d heard about them. From what she could tell, Cressa figured that clones were cadets who the Dame hand-selected to not only receive a particularly powerful source’s material, but also to be physically altered to look like the source.

  But was the point of it for the Privileged individual to take the place of his or her source? What else might they use a doppelgänger for? Cressa couldn’t begin to imagine.

  To her, it seemed that being chosen as a clone was more of a punishment than an honor. Relinquishing her identity to become someone else completely was one sacrifice too many. Suddenly, with dread filling every ounce of her being, Cressa recalled Dr. Masterson’s comment about her skull being a match for her source’s. But who was it?

  For Cressa, the source’s identity was really a moot point; there was no one she wanted to be more than herself.

  “Who is ‘her’?” Cressa finally asked.

  There was a long, uncomfortable pause, where Nydia, Shyla, and Lyla all stared at Cressa as though she were supremely ignorant.

  “Natalia Lyons,” Nydia finally whispered. “She is Gracia’s new benefactor. And, if the rumors are true…Gracia is to be Natalia’s clone.”

  Talia

  Vault, Isle of Exile

  Four Days Before the Vote

  Nights on Vault were lonely and depressing. Yocum returned to Eden and his family, and I was left alone in my cell with only inanimate objects to keep me company. I did have a nighttime babysitter; a humorless, strictly by-the-book agent na
med Lynn Konterra. Luckily, she preferred standing guard outside my cell door to sitting in the uncomfortable chair Yocum occupied during the day.

  But it wasn’t the hard plastic seat or uneven legs that wobbled that kept Konterra in the hallway. It was me. I disgusted her, and she feared spending too much time in close quarters with me would somehow contaminate her.

  Reading her thoughts hadn’t been necessary to learn her true feelings. Konterra spoke them aloud frequently to her fellow guards at a volume that carried through the cell door. She wanted me to know that she thought I was lower than the muck that grew on the inside of a particularly filthy toilet bowl. The guard was under the mistaken belief that I actually cared about her opinion of me. In fact, she often wondered if her harsh assessment of my character would reduce me to tears if spoken to my face.

  That, of course, wasn’t going to happen. I’d been a loner for the majority of my life, so I was used to people saying mean things about me, both behind my back and directly to me. Plus, prior to incarceration, I’d spent a lot of time with Brand Meadows. He knew me and my weaknesses well enough to land crushing verbal bombs that made me feel like a little pile of Talia-ash when the fight was over. Konterra would have to seriously up her game if she wanted to knock Brand off the podium to claim gold in the Asshole Olympics.

  Konterra’s ugly array of emotions was not reserved solely for me, however. She loathed all of the prisoners on Vault with an equal degree of righteous indignation. Traitors to our own people—that was how she thought of us. In Konterra’s mind, there was nothing more sinful than betraying UNITED and our fellow Talented.

  The trouble was, she seemed to be incapable of making the distinction between “betraying UNITED”, “breaching protocol”, and “insubordination.” Despite the fact most of Vault’s prisoners were in for the latter crimes, she thought us all turncoats who deserved to rot in a cell until the end of our days.

  Yeah, Konterra was a peach.