Ignite Me (Shatter Me, #3)(80)

[page]
FIFTY-SEVEN


My suit is ready.

Warner made sure Alia and Winston would have everything they needed in order to create it, and though I’d seen them tackling the project a little more every day, I never would’ve thought all those different materials could turn into this.

It looks like snakeskin.

The material is both black and gunmetal gray, but it looks almost gold in certain flashes of light. The pattern moves when I do, and it’s dizzying how the threads seem to converge and diverge, looking as though they swim together and come apart.

It fits me in a way that’s both uncomfortable and reassuring; it’s skintight and a little stiff at first, but once I start moving my arms and legs I begin to understand just how much hidden flexibility it holds. It all seems strangely counterintuitive. This suit is even lighter than the one I had before—it hardly feels like I’m wearing anything at all—and yet it feels so much more durable, so much stronger. I feel like I could block a knife in this suit. Like I could be dragged across a mile of pavement in this suit.

I also have new boots.



They’re very similar to my old ones, but these cut off at my calf, not my ankle. They’re flat, springy, and soundless as I walk around in them.

I didn’t ask for any gloves.

I’m flexing my bare hands, walking the length of the room and back, bending my knees and familiarizing myself with the sensation of wearing a new kind of outfit. It serves a different purpose. I’m not trying to hide my skin from the world anymore. I’m only trying to enhance the power I already have.

It feels so good.

“These are for you, too,” Alia says, beaming as she blushes. “I thought you might like a new set.” She holds out exact replicas of the knuckle braces she made for me once before.

The ones I lost. In a battle we lost.

These, more than anything else, represent so much to me. It’s a second chance. An opportunity to do things right. “Thank you,” I tell her, hoping she knows how much I mean it.

I fit the braces over my bare knuckles, flexing my fingers as I do.

I look up. Look around.

Everyone is staring at me. “What do you think?” I ask.

“Your suit looks just like mine.” Kenji frowns. “I’m supposed to be the one with the black suit. Why can’t you have a pink suit? Or a yellow suit—”

“Because we’re not the freaking Power Rangers,” Winston says, rolling his eyes.

“What the hell is a Power Ranger?” Kenji shoots back.

“I think it looks awesome,” James says, grinning big. “You look way cooler than you did before.”

“Yeah, that is seriously badass,” Lily says. “I love it.”

“It’s your best work, mates,” Brendan says to both Winston and Alia. “Really. And the knuckle—things . . . ,” he says, gesturing to my hands. “Those are just . . . they bring the whole thing together, I think. It’s brilliant.”

“You look very sharp, Ms. Ferrars,” Castle says to me. “I think it quite suits you,” he says, “if you’ll forgive the pun.”

I grin.

Warner’s hand is on my back. He leans in, whispers, “How easy is it to take this thing off?” and I force myself not to look at him and the smile he’s surely enjoying at my expense. I hate that he can still make me blush.

My eyes try to find a new focus around the room.

Adam.

He’s staring at me, his features unexpectedly relaxed. Calm. And for one moment, one very brief moment, I catch a glimpse of the boy I once knew. The one I first fell for.

He turns away.

I can’t stop hoping he’ll be okay; he only has twelve hours to pull himself together. Because tonight, we go over the plan, one last time.

And tomorrow, it all begins.





[page]FIFTY-EIGHT


“Aaron?” I whisper.

The lights are out. We’re lying in bed. I’m stretched out across his body, my head pillowed on his chest. My eyes are on the ceiling.

He’s running his hand over my hair, his fingers occasionally combing through the strands. “Your hair is like water,” he whispers. “It’s so fluid. Like silk.”

“Aaron.”

He leaves a light kiss on top of my head. Rubs his hands down my arms. “Are you cold?” he asks.

“You can’t avoid this forever.”

“We don’t have to avoid it at all,” he says. “There’s nothing to avoid.”

“I just want to know you’re okay,” I say. “I’m worried about you.” He still hasn’t said a single thing to me about his mother. He never said a word the entire time we were in her room, and he hasn’t spoken about it since. Hasn’t even alluded to it. Not once.

Even now, he says nothing.

“Aaron?”

“Yes, love.”

“You’re not going to talk about it?”



He’s silent again for so long I’m about to turn around to face him. But then.

“She’s no longer in pain,” he says softly. “This is a great consolation to me.”

I don’t push him to speak after that.

“Juliette,” he says.