Whisper (Whisper #1)(15)

“You’re doing great.”

Ward squeezes me reassuringly.

“Let’s get you back to bed, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait for me to agree before he reaches for a better hold and swings me straight up into his arms.

I let out an audible squeak of surprise, and his arms tense around me. His startled eyes meet mine, but I press my lips together, bite the inside of my cheek and look away from his wondering gaze.

A lifetime passes before he turns and carries me back to the bedroom. There, he lowers me gently onto the bed, then tucks the covers around me.

I’m holding my breath again, but not from panic this time. Or at least, it’s a different kind of panic. It’s the I’m-so-stupid, What-was-I-thinking, Does-he-realize-what-almost-happened kind of panic.

I know he heard me squeak.

And he must be wondering: If I have a voice, why won’t I use it?

A thousand scenarios flash across my mind, ones where Ward sits, ones where he remains standing, ones where he calls Director Falon or even Vanik. In every scene, the questions come pouring out. I can’t envision a way for me to get out of answering, not after what Ward heard.

What I don’t expect is for him to raise a hand to rub the back of his neck, releasing a breath that relaxes his visibly tense body.

Nor do I expect to hear what comes out of his mouth next, spoken in a soft, almost warm voice.

“Get some sleep, Chip. The director is away now, but I contacted him earlier, and he’s agreed to give you tomorrow off. Rest as long as you want, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Just like that, he’s gone, leaving me gaping after him.

What happened to the interrogation? To the unending questions? To the demand for answers I will never be able to give?

Perhaps he’s coming back with Vanik after all. Or the guards. Or — no. I don’t believe he is. Because I saw the look on his face, and I heard the warmth in his voice. There will be no answers asked of me tonight, despite the questions I saw in his eyes. For some inexplicable reason, he’s giving me a reprieve.

I’m confused. But I’m also grateful. And I’m going to take advantage of his silence for as long as he’ll let me. Or at least for however long I have left.

Sixteen days and counting.

After that, I won’t have to worry about questions ever again.

I won’t have to worry about anything ever again.

The thought leaves a tangy taste in my mouth, the dread almost overwhelming.

I’ve never been suicidal. There was a reason I locked myself away from the world rather than eliminating myself from it — I don’t want to die.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that, especially when I’m alone in my cold, hard cell late at night. But here, tucked safe into the warmth and comfort of Ward’s bed, it’s easier to recall the dreams I once had, the future I once envisioned …

… the life I once lived.

Everything changed in a split second. And nothing will ever be the same again. I know that. Every single day, I remember. And tonight, Ward had a front-row seat to what happens when I take a trip down memory lane.

He was there through it all. He held me close and carried me to safety. And then he didn’t ask the questions I know he’s desperate to have answered.

I can’t help thinking that maybe he’s not really my evaluator at all.

But if that’s the case, then I don’t know what he is. Who he is. To me.

All I know is, right now, I’m in his room and I’m not going anywhere. I might as well enjoy this luxury, even if it is only for one night.

Because tomorrow, I’m back in my cell. And all the silence that comes with it.





CHAPTER SIX


When I wake the next day, I’m feeling almost completely better. It’s amazing what a comfortable bed and a ridiculous amount of sleep can do for the human body. Even my head no longer aches.

I roll my neck and shoulders, and it feels so good that I flex my other muscles, moving downward until even my toes are limber. Part of me knows I’m putting off the inevitable — once I get out of bed I’ll have to face the day, and that means seeing Ward. But there’s no point in hiding, so I throw aside the blankets and push myself out of bed.

I’m pleased to discover that I’m only slightly wobbly, but I take my time heading to the door. Each step seems to bolster my strength, and by the time I reach the hallway I’m walking with confidence, ready to meet Ward and deal with whatever may come next.

The only thing is, it’s not Ward I find in the kitchen.

My steps falter at the sight of the girl rifling through the fridge. I wonder if I should retreat before she sees me, but I don’t decide fast enough, and she turns around, catching a glimpse of me.

“Oh!” She places a hand to her chest, startled. “I didn’t know you were awake. I wanted to have breakfast ready for when you got up.”

My brow furrows. She looks too young to be Ward’s aunt.

“I’m Landon’s sister, Cami,” she says, moving toward me. “He told me I can call you ‘Chip,’ but you don’t look like a Chip to me.” She tilts her head and waves of golden hair pour down her shoulders. “I know Jane’s not your real name, but for now, I think I’ll stick with that — if it’s okay with you?”