The Treatment (The Program #2)(6)

We’ve tried, we’ve failed. It never ends well, so we’ve had to write them off. It’s not like it was an easy decision.”

“What are you going to do then?” he demands. I can’t believe Dallas would just give up. She seemed tougher than this.

Dallas takes a second to compose her thoughts, and it’s like I can see her hardening herself against them. “They’re the accepted loss,” she says coldly. “For now, we’re what’s left. But I’m trying to find someone, something, to help us. When we gather everyone together again, we’ll fight. I promise you we’ll fight.”

Dallas stands, pulling her long dreads into a high knot. She looks rattled by James’s comments, and she can’t hold his eyes.

“I suggest you get some sleep,” Dallas says in our direction.

“We have plans later, so I’ll need you back here at four.” Before we can ask any more questions, she leaves the room, taking the conversation with her. It’s quiet for a moment, and then James leans over to whisper to me.

“If I ever get sent away, Sloane, I expect you to save my ass.

Is that clear?”

“And vice versa,” I say. He gives a definitive nod and then turns to study the others in the room. Lacey is sitting quietly, her arms folded over her chest. This may be the most subdued I’ve ever seen her. It worries me. My stomach growls loudly, and James glances at me before calling to Cas.

“Hey, man,” he says. “Do you have any food in this place?

This one”—he hikes his thumb in my direction—“sounds like she’s on a hunger strike.”

Cas laughs. “Yeah. Let me show you around.” I get up, but Lacey is still sitting there, rubbing her forehead like she has a headache.

“You okay?” I ask her, reaching to touch her shoulder.

She lifts her gaze, and her eyes are out of focus, as if she’s staring through me. “Stress. Rebels. Who knows?” She smiles weakly. “It’ll pass.”

Her response does little to placate my worry. “James,” I say, turning to him. “I’ll catch up with you in a second.” He leans forward as if asking if everything is all right. When I nod that it is, he walks out into the hallway with Cas. I moce closer to Lacey.

“We’ve been through a hell of a lot,” I tell her. The other rebels eventually filter out, and in the quiet, the sadness starts to fill the air. “I’m sorry about Kevin.” Lacey closes her eyes. “Me too.”

Kevin was the handler assigned to me right after The Program, and Lacey was my only friend. I had no idea they even knew each other until Realm’s sister mentioned it. “How did you get involved with the rebels?” I ask Lacey. The room is empty, but I keep my voice hushed—paranoia engrained at this point in my recovery.

“It was Kevin,” she says. “I met him at Sumpter High, weeks before you ever showed up. There was something about him that told me he wasn’t like the other handlers. We met a few times at the Wellness Center. Talked outside. And then we went out for coffee—in another town, of course. He told me he could see I was a fighter. He asked me to be part of the rebels.

Then you appeared, and you were like me—a natural trouble-maker, I think.” We both smile at this, but I ache at the loss of Kevin. He was my friend.

“He called me before he disappeared,” Lacey says, swiping under her eyes to catch the tears. “Kevin thought he was being followed and told me to go ahead without him to meet you and James. He said he’d see me at the rendezvous point. I waited so long. I waited until Cas and Dallas showed up, and I fought them when they tried to make me leave without Kevin. I even punched Cas in the face. I fought like hell, but they shoved me into another van and one of the guys swept me away to here—

just a few hours ahead of you. I think Kevin’s gone, Sloane,” she says. “I think he’s dead.”

“He could be in The Program,” I offer, although I’m not sure what sort of compensation that’s supposed to be, especially now that Dallas has told us that rebels disappear. “When this is over, we can find him.”

Lacey wipes roughly at her cheeks, clearing away the tears she couldn’t catch. “No,” she says. “He’s over eighteen and he knows too much. They’ve killed him. I know they have.”

“Don’t think that way,” I start. “There are so many other—”

“Sloane,” she says, cutting me off, “I’m actually really tired. Can we talk about this another time? My head is killing me.”

“I’ll be here,” I say. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” I try to make her smile, but Lacey only thanks me and hurries from the room. Alone, I glance around the barren space, processing the fact I’m actually here. I’m a rebel.

The kitchen is a revamped office with a small counter and sink, a white refrigerator, and an old cooktop. “What did this building used to be?” I ask, looking around.

“Don’t know,” Cas says. “This place has been here for a while, but Dallas couldn’t remember exactly where it was. I tracked it down for her; it’s in pretty good shape. A lot better than some of the other places I’ve lived in.”

Cas pulls a couple of burritos out of the freezer and pops them into the microwave. I murmur my thanks and take a seat at the round table while James goes to lean against the counter.