This Shattered World (Starbound #2)(103)

The inside is so bright that for an instant my eyes are too dazzled to see. A hand between my shoulder blades propels me forward, and the touch is so like Flynn’s—and so unlike it at the same time—that I’m too dumbfounded to resist. I stumble over the lip and into the room, blinking.

Flynn follows, and the door whooshes closed again. I turn, heart seizing in alarm. I’m trapped. But before I can react, Flynn goes crumpling to the ground.

I give a wordless shout and throw myself down next to him, grabbing at him before his head can hit the solid plastene floor.

“What the—Flynn? Flynn, wake up. Please.” I give him a shake, but his head lolls back. I bend my head close, putting my ear to his lips—he’s breathing, but only barely. His pulse is slow.

Cradling him against me, I lift my head and look around. I’d expected machinery, transmitters, a central hub crawling with technicians. Instead, the room is empty. We’re in a large white dome with no visible light source, despite the brightness reflected off the curved walls. The floor and ceiling are made of plastene panels that tingle to the touch, as if they’re somehow conductive, except that plastene is an insulator by design.

As I draw in a ragged breath only to have the sound swallowed by the space, I remember another property of plastene: it muffles noise. No matter how loud I scream in here, no one’s ever going to hear me.

My fingers run through Flynn’s hair, desperate for his touch even if he’s unconscious. Even if he’s not him anymore. Don’t leave me here alone, Romeo.

Then, as if in answer to the thought, a breeze traces along the back of my neck. I shiver in response, jerking to the side. There’s nothing there, and when I lift a hand to rub at my neck I realize the collar of my shirt would prevent a breeze from reaching my skin. Nevertheless, the hairs are rising on my neck and my arms.

I know this sensation too well to ignore it.

We’re not alone.

“I know you’re there,” I say, trying to sound harsh and competent. “Show yourself. Now.” But no one answers; all I can hear is my own breathing.

The light is too bright to be sure, but for an instant I think I see a faint green glow hovering only a few feet in front of my face.

Then Flynn stirs with a tiny groan, and my attention snaps back down. He lifts his head from my lap, pressing one hand against the floor.

“Flynn?” I duck my head to try to see his face. I can’t afford to hope.

His eyes open, showing me only blackness, and my heart sinks. I swallow the sob that wants to escape, and scramble back from him, getting my feet under me and reaching for the gun he dropped when he collapsed. He finishes picking himself up slowly.

“We are sorry,” Flynn whispers, almost to himself, his movements slow and measured.

“Sorry?” I stare at the creature, the gun clenched in my grip, though I can’t make my arm lift it.

The Flynn-creature finally swings his gaze over toward me. “Yes. We—I—” The word is slow to leave his lips, as though it feels wrong. “I am sorry. You must listen, we don’t have much time. The others will know I have interfered.”

I press my back against the sealed door. “Others,” I repeat, so confused I’m only able to echo his words. “You mean you’re not the thing that took Flynn?”

Flynn shakes his head. There’s nothing to suggest he’s changed; his eyes are still black, his face still devoid of emotion. “Once, we were all the same. Part of each other. But that was when the rift still connected us. Now we’re alone. And I do not wish for the kind of freedom the others want.”

For the first time since Flynn turned those empty eyes on me, my heart flickers with hope—a tiny, guttering flame that makes my eyes burn. I want so badly to believe the creature. I want so badly not to be alone. But I tighten my grip on the gun as panic sweeps back through me. “It’s a trick,” I spit. “You’re trying to—I don’t know. If you really were different, you’d let Flynn go. You’d give him back to me.”

“We can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? Upstairs you said you would let him go if I helped you.”

“The others have learned deception. It is a human art, and we have had a very clever teacher.” The thing makes Flynn shake his head. “When we take a mind this deeply, for this long, there is no going back. His mind is still here, but it would be damaged beyond repair if I tried to leave him now.”

Despair surges in me. “You took me over for hours and I’m still here. You made me go to the rebel hideout, and I came back, and I was fine. My mind’s intact.”

“You’re different.” Flynn’s eyes stay on mine, watching me. There’s an odd, probing quality to his gaze. I can’t shake the disturbing feeling that he can see my thoughts.

“Different. Soulless, like the men say?”

“The opposite.” Flynn’s mouth curves into something not very much like a smile, but far from being comforting, it’s just a reminder that it isn’t Flynn, not really. That smile should be his, for me. Not an echo summoned up by the creature infesting his mind. “You and I have met before.”

“You’ve got me confused with someone—”

“We do not have time for me to be gentle,” the whisper interrupts. “I cannot hold off the others forever. You must remember. You are Jubilee Chase, daughter of Mei-Hua and Noah Chase, and we have been together for a very long time.”