Elites of Eden (Children of Eden #2)(70)

I find myself hoping he’ll be out. Not because I wouldn’t relish the sight of Lark beating his face to a bloody pulp . . . but because I would. That frightens me. What am I turning into?

“Whether he’s home or not, I can get in silently. I’ve spent a lifetime doing it. Then after I let you in we can get his credentials. With them, we’ll be able to move anywhere inside the Center.”

When my fingers curl around the first handhold, I feel that stab again, but I take a deep breath—which turns into a sigh—and start to climb. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t dare look down. I’m barely holding on. Literally.

The outside of the wall isn’t as intimately ingrained on my memory, my fingertips, as the inside. But still it is connected to some of the happiest moments of my life, the bittersweet ending to each clandestine night with Lark. All the more bittersweet because of what came of our friendship. Each touch of a new rock beneath my hands seems to spark a new memory. Lark showing me the stars from the rooftop. Lark’s kiss.

After tonight, I may never see her again. I’ll be embedded in my mission, under my new identity. It’s probably for the best. I can’t look at her without thinking how her careless trust of the wrong person cost my mother her life, and ultimately condemned Ash to his death sentence. I know she didn’t mean to, that it tears at her almost as much as it does me. Still, it might be best that we’re going our separate ways.

At least I’ll still have Lachlan, helping me with my mission.

Don’t cry, I tell myself firmly as I climb down on the inside. All your tears are already shed. Now is the time for strength.

My feet hit the moss inside the courtyard, and in an instant I feel caged again. What if I’d never ventured outside of my familial prison? What would have been different? Would I have found a way to grasp at happiness? I manage to walk across the springy moss Mom tended to so lovingly without a single salty drop falling. Sure, my eyes are already heavy and wet, but that’s just from the surgery.

I let myself into the house. Everything is just the same, as if I’d never left. I half expected new locks, a regiment of Greenshirts stationed inside. At the very least, some sign of chaos. Broken knickknacks, an overturned chair. An unwashed dish left on the countertop in a moment of grief, or even distraction. Dust.

But everything is perfect. Just as if Mom is still there, ruling so sweetly over the family.

I move through the quiet house, touching things, smelling Mom’s side of the sofa, the place where her ponytail would rest when she flopped down after a long day at work. And I listen for the sound of my father. The house is silent.

Cautiously, I creep toward my parents’ bedroom. There, finally, is a small sign of disruption. The bedclothes are disheveled. Did he forget to make the bed, plagued by guilt? Did he simply not know how to perform a task Mom usually did? Or has he been unable to sleep in their bed since her death? I don’t know, but at least something is different.

If it wasn’t made mostly of stone, I’d like to burn this whole house to the ground.

The bedroom is empty, and so is the rest of the house. My father is out. Maybe at work, maybe scheming to destroy someone else. Maybe, if he has an ounce of goodness in him, getting drunk and nerving himself up to jump off the tallest building in Eden. Bitterness consumes me, a hate that hurts, but I can’t fight.

I let Lark in. “We’re alone,” I say, and lead her to my father’s office. We’re looking for his security pass. I can only hope that he’s not staying late at work, but out somewhere else. If he’s at work, he’ll have his ID on him. I have no idea what we’ll do then. We might also need other security codes to pass Center security. Lachlan would know exactly what we need. I’m not so sure myself. Where is Lachlan?

I start to go through various documents in my father’s office.

“Can’t you find it?” Lark asks, glancing anxiously in the direction of the front door, listening for sounds of approach. I’m beginning to panic that I won’t be able to find it. What if he still has it on him? Do we wait for him to come home, and take it from him by force?

Finally I find it, shoved haphazardly in a drawer as if he just wanted to get rid of it in a hurry. “I’ve got it!” I cry excitedly, holding it up. “I think this is all we need. My father doesn’t seem to be very security-conscious.”

“Then let’s go,” she says urgently. “He could be back any minute.”

“I want to see if there’s anything else useful here. I don’t know what else we might need once we’re inside the Center.” I also wonder if there might be anything incriminating in here, leverage to use against my father. Or maybe something that would be useful to the Underground. I scan each page as quickly as I can.

“Come on!” Lark says anxiously, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

But it’s too late. I hear the doorknob turn, my father’s heavy tread, stumbling.

I reach under my shirt and touch the gun pressed against my navel.

“No,” I say, very softly, reminding myself that I’m a good person. Better than my father, at any rate.

If he doesn’t come in here, if he goes straight to bed, we can slip out the front door.

He’s talking. Did he bring someone home with him? I step closer to the closed over (but not completely closed) door and listen.