Brooke (Under the Never Sky, #2.5)(2)

“Sure. I’ll try,” I grumble, though I’ll do no such thing. People who try to be nice are false. They’re liars. You should never force your behavior to be a certain way. You should just be. Maybe it’s not going to be nice, but at least it’ll be honest. “When you get back, can I go? I want to see my sister.”

I can’t get enough of Clara. She’s changed so much in a year. Not just in the way she looks—taller, thinner, and older. She talks like the Dwellers now, all sharp-edged. She even moves like them, a little hesitant, a little poised. I need to draw that out of her.

“You’ll see her again soon. We all have to pull our weight around here, and don’t forget that it was the Dwellers who brought Clara back.”

“It was the Dwellers who took her.”

“Her abduction was more than just their doing.”

I can’t disagree with that.

Vale, Perry’s brother, was as responsible for Clara’s abduction as the Dwellers were. Even more so, since he was our Blood Lord. It was his responsibility to protect us, but what did he do? He sold my sister and he sold his own son, Talon.

For food.

Then he tried to frame Perry for it.

I’m not the only one of the Tides who still has a hard time accepting how crooked Vale was. It’s strange how you can know something—know the pointy, sharp truth—but still want to bend and blunt the edges so it fits better in your mind.

Molly gives me a wink and walks away, knowing she’s won our little debate.

When she’s gone, I kneel next to Soren. I found out from Molly earlier that he was helping Aria inside the Pod. I should dislike him for that, but he’s the healthiest one here, so he’s my favorite. Even though he soaked my sleeve.

“If I give you water again, will you keep it down this time?” I ask, seeing that his eyes are open. Barely, but they are.

“Can’t make any promises,” Soren rasps. He’s kidding around, which is another reason he’s my favorite. This place is hell. If you can joke in here, then you can make light of just about anything.

“Well, aim to the side this time, all right?”

He nods and parts his lips. I bring the water to them and pour it in slowly. He’s sallow and sweaty, but he wouldn’t be bad-looking if he weren’t a Dweller. He has a strong face, with a heavy brow and eyes that look like they don’t miss much, even in their glazed, sickly state.

All the Dwellers are fair, with no wrinkles or scars or blemishes. I guess those qualities were done away with in the Pods. I feel very lucky that I look as good as they do—or better, actually—just by plain good fortune.

I can tell Soren is taking small, careful sips so as to keep the water down. “What’s your name again?” he croaks when he’s finished.

“Not telling you again.” All I need is forty Dwellers moaning “Brooke” to me all day long.

Drinking has made Soren out of breath. He’s panting a little when he says, “Outside . . . what’s happening?”

“Aether. Lots of it.”

His eyes narrow like he’s trying to picture the sky outside, and a small worry line appears on his brow. “How are we going to—”

“There’s nothing you can do to help,” I assure him, “especially in your pathetic condition, so just go back to sleep.” I get up and move on to the next person.

Molly says I’m not making enough of an effort with these people, but I really don’t think she’s been paying attention.

My path through the cavern is methodical. And targeted. I work my way toward Aria, who I’ve avoided until now.

I didn’t want Molly watching me around her. I didn’t want to feel like she was policing me. Like she thought I might hurt Aria. Being suspected of that would streak me, even though the idea of doing her harm does hold some appeal.

It takes me ten minutes to reach Aria’s side. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching me, I kneel next to her, moving as quietly as I can. She is in a deep sleep or maybe unconscious, but she is an Aud. I don’t want to take any chances that I’ll wake her.

As I look her over, my heart starts thudding and my face warms with anger.

Her right arm is bandaged, but blood seeps through the wrap, staining the white gauze with bright red spots.

Her arm was shot, apparently.

It’s becoming infected, apparently.

I should feel bad for her, I suppose.

I don’t.

She looks good for someone who’s wounded. That actually is apparent. Her hair is as black as the darkness around me but still shines like a diamond. Her skin is as pale as the moon, and she breathes like an Aud.

Soundlessly. Elegantly. Gently.

I am blond and strong and loud and determined, and no one will ever call me elegant. No one will ever see me as gentle. She is everything I’m not.

And Perry chose her.

Over me.

I let out a slow, shaky breath. Leaning closer to her, I picture Perry kissing her. Coals heat in my stomach, warming with every second that passes. The heat becomes unbearable; I nearly expect to see a glow through my shirt.

I can’t stand it anymore and have to let it out. Words pour from my lips.

“You probably can’t hear me,” I whisper, “but I hate you. I hate that you took away who I love. He was mine and we were happy until you came along. Maybe you think you fixed that by bringing Clara back, but you didn’t. Perry should be mine. Not yours.”