Our Dark Duet (Monsters of Verity #2)(57)

Kate snorted. “Okay, Leo. How many times did you practice that line? How many times did you stand in front of the mirror and recite it, waiting for it to sink in and—”

He spun on her.

“Enough.”

Kate flinched but didn’t back down. “This new you—”

“—is none of your business,” he snapped. “You don’t get to stand here and judge me, Kate. You left. You ran away, and I stayed and fought for this city, for these people. I’m sorry you don’t like the new me, but I did what I had to. I became what this world needed me to be.” By the time he finished, he was breathless.

Kate stared, her expression carved in ice. And then she came close, close enough for him to see the glint of silver through her bangs. “You’re lying.”

“I can’t lie.”

“You’re wrong,” said Kate, turning her back on him. “There’s one kind of lie even you can tell. Do you know what it is?” She met his gaze in the steel doors. “The kind you tell yourself.”

August clenched his teeth.

Don’t listen to her, warned Leo. She doesn’t understand. She can’t.

The elevator came to a stop. The doors opened, and Kate strode out, and nearly collided with Colin.

He went white at the sight of her, then looked to August with all the desperation of a drowning man. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Kate raised a brow. “Am I supposed to know you?”

“Kate,” said August, “this is Colin Stevenson.”

Colin managed a nervous smile that did nothing to hide his discomfort. “We both went to Colton.”

“Sorry,” she said blandly. “It was a brief and tumultuous enrollment.”

Colin shifted from foot to foot. “It’s cool, I don’t expect you to remember me. I tried to stay off your radar.”

“Probably smart.”

August cleared his throat. “You’ll be joining Colin’s squad for the day.” She shot him a mischievous look that said will I? And August narrowed his eyes. Yes.

“Yeah, I’ll be, uh, showing you the ropes.”

Kate kept her gaze on August as she flashed a cool smile. “Lead on.”

He fell in step behind them as Colin gave Kate the tour. Listened to her punctuate the speech with mm-hmms and I sees, even though she clearly wasn’t listening.

“The training rooms are all located on the first and second floors and down that way’s the cafeteria, which is like the cafeteria at Colton except for the fact the food is awful. . . .”

As they moved through the halls, August felt the familiar shift of eyes, the weight of attention, but for once it wasn’t all on him. The soldiers were looking at Kate, murmuring under their breath, and he could hear, too clearly, the tension in their voices, the anger in their words.

He glanced up and realized Colin was looking at him expectantly.

“What?”

“Did I miss anything?”

“Don’t worry,” cut in Kate. “I’m a quick learner.”

Colin’s watch gave a sudden chirp. “Five minutes: we better get to the training hall. Any questions?”

Kate brightened. “Where do they keep the weapons?”

Colin laughed nervously, as if he couldn’t tell whether or not she was serious. August knew she was.

“All tech is stored on Sublevel 1—” started Colin.

“But to take any of the weapons out,” added August, “you have to be approved. Which you won’t be.”

Kate shrugged. “Good to know,” she said, shoving Colin toward the training hall.

“Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

August caught Kate’s shoulder and leaned in, his voice low, close: “There are security cameras everywhere,” he said, “so keep your head down.”

She shot him a dry smile. “Thanks for the tip,” she said.

And then she was gone.





Six months in Prosperity, and Kate had almost forgotten what it felt like to be hated.

To be always on display—that strange imbalance of being recognized, judged by your face, your name.

Six months of being no one, and now, as Colin led her into the training hall—putting space between them with every stride—she felt the news travel like a current, felt the heads turn. They looked at her and saw not a girl but a symbol, an idea, a standin for all their resentment and blame. Her skin prickled under the scrutiny, and she forced herself to focus on the room itself instead of the discomfort or the dark voice in her head.

Hundreds were packed into what looked like it might once have been a ballroom. A narrow running track edged the wall, the space within broken into training stations. The youngest soldiers looked twelve or thirteen. The oldest were white haired. They were a mix of North and South City—they wore their differences on their faces (the difference between shock and anger, curiosity and fear, caution and contempt), but in every single pair of eyes, in every twitch of lip and brow, a single commonality: distrust.

I don’t trust you either, thought Kate.

Six months—and it came back, like riding a bike. Her spine straightened. Her chin went up. It had always been an act of sorts, a part, but it was one she knew how to play.