Whisper (Whisper #1)(41)

“Hi,” the boy says, with a timid wave.

He’s still in that gawky-limbed growing stage, making me guess he’s around fourteen or so. He has auburn hair layered like a bird’s nest on top of his head. When I just stare at him, he glances bashfully at the ground, pushes wire-framed glasses up his nose and shuffles his feet uncomfortably.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he mumbles, looking like he wants to disappear again.

“This is Sneak,” Enzo says, clapping a hand on the shoulder of the partially see-through boy. “His physical ability makes him like a human chameleon, since he can use words to blend into his surroundings or even disappear entirely.”

“I’m still learning control,” Sneak tells me, pink spreading across his cheeks. “Ever since I first Spoke, I haven’t been able to turn back to fully solid.” He flutters his hands downward to indicate his body. “This is the best I can manage for now.”

“Don’t worry, bud, you’ll get there,” Enzo encourages. “We all have to start somewhere.”

Sneak nods his agreement and sends Enzo a small smile, pushing his glasses up again. “Do you think they’re serving chocolate pudding in the mess hall tonight?”

Mess hall? Do the others not live in personal quarters like Ward and Cami? There is still so much to learn about Lengard.

Enzo laughs and slings his noninjured arm around the younger boy’s neck. “Why don’t we go and find out? Catch you later, Lando. And I’ll see you in the morning, JD.”

Whether he forgot Ward’s order about my name or he just chose to ignore it since most of the others have already left, I’m not sure. I send him a tight smile, which he returns with a full grin, then he leads the ghost boy out the door.

The moment it seals behind them, I feel an acute sense of discomfort.

When the silence stretches on and finally becomes too much, I fortify myself and glance up, to find Ward watching me. I keep my expression open, hoping he can read the confusion, the frustration, the wonder I’m feeling bubbling up inside me. How can any of this be possible? And what, exactly, do they expect from me? To be trained as … one of their warriors? A limitless Creator — no wonder they kept me around for so long, waiting in hope that I might eventually prove my worth. The joke is on them, though, since I can’t give them what they want. Limitless, I might be, but I won’t risk the damage I could cause. The damage I will cause.

… The damage I have caused.

“There are two rules I expect you to follow,” Ward tells me without any lead-up. “The first is that you’ll tell no one that you’re a Creator. You saw how they reacted just at the memory of one who has been gone for a decade. Your situation is complicated enough without others knowing the truth. Agreed?”

I grit my teeth but nod. I may be a monster, but that doesn’t mean I want people to be afraid of me.

“The second is that you will commit yourself to the Exodus Project. That means training, which in turn means participation. You’ll be required to Speak. I can’t teach you how to control your ability if you refuse to open your mouth.”

I look at him sharply. Control? That’s impossible. Monsters can’t be controlled. They can only be caged.

Ward catches my look. “I’m not messing with you. You can learn how to control it. You just have to practice. If you submit to the training, you’ll eventually be able to turn your power on and off just like the rest of us. You’ll be able to have normal conversations, talk like a regular person. Isn’t that what you want?”

Memories sail across my mind from a time long ago, a time of bubbly words and unending dialogue. When sentences fell freely from my lips only to be caught by the breeze, floating away into a harmless oblivion. Those memories are like dreams — impossible dreams of a long-distant past.

“I know you want that,” he says, missing nothing. “I’ve seen you with Enzo and Cami. I’ve also seen you with Esther and the kids. You fight against forming attachments, but you still long for those relationships. It’s natural, your desire for companionship. My uncle was right about that. And the more you’ve been letting them all in, letting me in, the more your walls have been breaking down.”

I have to turn my head to keep him from seeing the pain flash across my face.

“I’ve seen you struggle not to talk,” he goes on. “I’ve watched you open your mouth only to snap it shut again. Just imagine how liberating it will be when you can talk about anything you want, at any time, with no fear of consequences. You can’t honestly tell me you don’t want that.”

I hate him.

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

Because he has me. And he knows it.

“One way or another you’re going to be a part of the Exodus Project, because you know there’s no real alternative. Falon won’t allow it. Lengard won’t allow it. The question is, are you going to cooperate? Will you dedicate yourself to the training and learn how to control your power?” He pauses for effect, then finishes, “Are you going to Speak?”

I know what he’s after. I don’t want to give it to him, but I need to know if what he’s saying is possible. If it’s true. Because I’d do anything to be a normal person again — even if that person is but a shadow of my old self. I’ve lost too much to ever be whole again.