The Cage(101)

Even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t quite true. How many times had he bent the rules for her?

He turned his head. “That is against protocol.”

“So was taking me to the menagerie. So is having me in your bedroom, I’m guessing. Admit it—you know what they’re doing is wrong. You know I’m more than a gender and a number. I’m a person. Like you.”

Her heart hammered. It was excruciating, being so close to this beautiful bronzed creature who wasn’t human but who was so similar. A crazy thought entered her head: Maybe Lucky was right to be jealous.

His hand flexed on the table, close enough that their fingers brushed, and the spark ran through her, straight to her heart.

“Why do you wish to go back,” he asked, “when we both you know will never obey?”

She bit the inside of her cheek harder, masking her thoughts with pain. “Don’t ask me that. Please. I can’t tell you.”

That’s why the ocean had pulsed so strangely that day—because her eyes knew they were being tricked. Her body knew there was something wrong with the ocean, more than just her fear of deep water.

“I would be risking much for you, Cora. If the Warden found out, we would both be severely punished.”

She didn’t let herself think. “That’s what I want.”

He paused. “Then I will help you. And I will not ask why.”

Silence shrouded the room, but Cora didn’t mind. It was a reprieve from the cage. From her thoughts. From her loneliness. Cassian refilled the glass, and they took turns sipping. For the rest of the night they sat in his spartan quarters and talked, and then they didn’t talk, and they listened to the silence around them.

Cora’s head jerked. She had fallen asleep sitting up. She tried to stand but stumbled, shaky. Cassian stood too, to keep her from falling.

“You should rest,” he said. “When you wake, I will return you to your enclosure.”

He was asking her if she could walk, but she couldn’t find the words to answer. She just wanted to sleep. Her thoughts kept drifting back to her bed at home, the quilt that Sadie liked to curl up on. Even with all the pain, and hurt, and loneliness, she wanted that life back.

The ground fell away from her; he was carrying her to the other room as though she weighed nothing. Her head lolled, her hair dangling. Then came a temperature change and a softness as her body relaxed into the familiar comfort of a bed, though it was harder than she’d like. Her muscles unwound in a way they hadn’t in weeks.

“I will wait in the other room,” he said.

She shook her head. She reached out a hand to touch him, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or pull his warmth closer.

“I still have to try,” she whispered.

He didn’t ask her to elaborate, because if he could see in her head, he had to know what she meant: she couldn’t live in a cage. And she couldn’t let the others continue to slide away from humanity.

“Not now,” he said. “Now, just rest.”

She started to drift even deeper into sleep. The mattress dipped where he was sitting; she was tempted to roll toward that groove. He said words she barely heard, about how she was wrong when she thought she was just an animal to him. That he didn’t think of her that way. But it might have just been her dreams taking over.

Her mind drifted deeper, and an hour might have passed, or maybe only an instant, but his weight was still on the bed beside her.

“Cora,” he said softly, more to himself. She felt the faintest touch of his hand on her cheek, his fingers light as if they didn’t know how hard to touch not to bruise her. The metallic skin of his thumb rubbed along her bottom lip.

You don’t know what I’m like in private, when I’m uncloaked.

As she slipped from the waking world to sleep, she wondered if he wanted to kiss her. He had been so curious, that day in the menagerie. His desire to understand humanity had been palpable. Her heart was racing, despite the alcohol. She could still show him. She could press her lips to his—she was aching to. It was so clear now. She wasn’t sure when it had begun, certainly not that first day, nor in the medical rooms. The night he gave her the stars, maybe. She wanted to show him what it meant to be human.

She moved her lips, trying to form his name.

But as soon as his thumb had brushed her lips, it was gone, and the weight beside her on the bed was gone, and then she fell asleep to the sound of his footsteps by the window, pacing back and forth, back and forth. Just like a tiger.