The Cage(95)

“Could a body really decompose that fast?” Nok asked.

“Time doesn’t work the same way here,” Rolf answered curtly.

Nok flinched. Rolf had found his confidence and then some. She told herself he was just worried about the baby, and the threat Cora’s instability might pose. But the truth was, Rolf had always had a jealous streak. He was jealous when she smiled at Lucky. He was jealous when Cora got more tokens.

Nok raked her nails over her scalp. Her head throbbed so hard she could barely think. “I just can’t imagine Cora would do such a thing. If we could reason with her . . .”

Lucky’s eyes were dazed from the head wound, and he kept clutching at his chest like Cora had ripped the very heart from his chest.

“Maybe she isn’t malicious,” Rolf said quietly. “But we all know that she’s going crazy. For her own good, she can’t be allowed to just run free. None of us are safe with her on the loose. We have a baby to think of now. We need to find her and turn her over to the Kindred. They’ll give her the help she needs and put her in a place that’s right for her.”

Nok chewed on her lip. She glanced at Lucky, who looked like he wasn’t even listening. He kept pressing his fist against his heart, rubbing his chest, swallowing hard.

Maybe Rolf was right.

Pressure started to build in the air, and alarm shot to Nok’s throat as she remembered it was the twenty-first day. Had they come for Lucky now? Surely they would give him another chance. She didn’t want him replaced with some half-feral boy with cold eyes who might pose yet another threat to her child.

A figure materialized in the corner, dressed in black, but it wasn’t the Caretaker. It was a Kindred woman with dark hair, pulled back tight in a different style knot from Serassi’s. The same apparatus jutted out of her chest. The woman tugged off her thick black gloves.

“Who are you?” Rolf asked in a bewildered voice, looking just as shocked as Nok felt. “Where’s the Caretaker?”

“I am the substitute Caretaker. My name is Tessela. It is my responsibility to heal any minor injuries that do not require the medical officer’s attention.” She pressed her ungloved hand against Lucky’s bleeding temple. When she pulled back her hand, the wound was healed, the blood dried and crusted. “Due to this recent incident, the Warden has determined that the artifacts from Earth, such as the ceramic dog, are too dangerous; you cannot be trusted with them if you insist on hurting one another. The Warden has given the order to phase them out over the next week. They will be replaced with imitations.”

Nok gaped. The radio with the knobs that looked like a smiling face. The painting set. The books in the bookstore. They were replacing them with toys that would feel wrong and smell wrong.

As if sensing her thoughts, Tessela turned to her. “That goes for your child as well. The Warden has determined, given this violent incident, that your cohort is too unstable for a child to be raised among you. Once you deliver your child, we will transport it to the standard facility, where it will be cared for.” Tessela gripped the apparatus in her chest and, with a wave of pressure, flickered away.

Nok’s breath caught. Pain ripped through her head, but it was nothing compared to the panic flooding her chest. Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird. Her hands pressed against her abdomen protectively. They were going to take her baby away? All because of one fight? Her thoughts churned faster, panic rising. She had to fix this. She had to convince the Kindred—but she couldn’t win them over with a flirtatious smile, that was for sure.

It hadn’t even been Nok’s fault. She had done nothing but obey the rules.

Cora had been the one who’d broken them.

Rage started boiling inside of her, heating her up faster and faster until she feared she’d melt. She had thought Cora was a friend. She had defended her against Rolf’s claims. And this is what she got for her friendship—her baby ripped away?

Pain fractured behind her left eye, and she doubled over. A memory overcame her. Standing on the tarmac in Chiang Mai, in her older sister’s finest dress that her mother had patched, a backpack with fifteen hundred baht and a bag of peanuts in case she got hungry. Her parents pulling her into a stiff hug, her mother trying not to cry. “Like winning the lottery,” her mother had said, and then, less than twenty-four hours later, arriving at a London apartment and realizing she’d practically been sold into slavery.

She’d grown up with strangers, forced to be photographed, observed.