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me. Will’s arms will wrap around me. His lips will press to mine.
    That’s the way it should happen. That’s the way it’s supposed to happen.
    Only it doesn’t.



5
    T he doctor cuts me, pushing the blade deep into my skin, passing through tissue. Warm blood oozes free, trickling through my hair. I cry out into the tape, the sound a muffled screech. Fire burns up my throat, an automatic defense that does me no good now. Smoky air rushes from my nostrils.
    He slices. I know it only takes seconds, but it feels like forever. Like everything else down here, the sharp pressure stretches infinitely.
    I glance at him as he straightens up, fingers curled around the scalpel. My blood coats its silver surface, a glittery purple in the bright light, proclaiming my heritage. He quickly hands off the knife and then presses a small vial against the stinging gash in my scalp, collecting the blood.
    “Not a drop wasted,” he murmurs.
    That done, he accepts a new item from Jenkins. A small metal disk, no bigger than my fingernail.
    He moves slowly now, carefully, his movements precise and practiced as he handles the tiny disk, and I can’t help wondering if Dad lay on this same gurney, a small metal disk poised over him.
    Suddenly my panic ebbs into something calmer. I feel oddly at peace. Like Cassian is beside me, whispering encouragement.
    And I know I can’t have that thing inside me. I struggle again, trying to pull away, but there’s no give in my restraints. Nowhere to go.
    I cringe and strain against the straps. His rubbery grip curves against my skull. I whimper, nostrils flaring rapidly with hot puffs of breath as he stretches the incision he made wider, lowering the tiny little metal disk toward me, bringing it down so that I can’t see it anymore.
    Suddenly the lights flicker and flash. The doctor pauses, looks up with a frown. Jenkins murmurs something unintelligible and looks all around, his eyebrows drawing together.
    And then the lights go out and we’re plunged into blackness.
    The darkness lasts only a moment. Just long enough for one of the lab coats to expel a curse. But enough time for me to feel the tension sweep over the enkros.
    A layer of fear drapes the room. The backup lights flicker on. A dull red glow suffuses the air, reminding me of blood. Human blood, of course. It colors everything. Turns their white coats pink. Paints the strained faces of my captors a demonic red.
    “W-what is it?” Jenkins practically whispers.
    The doctor shakes his head. “Probably just a drill—”
    “And no one alerted us?”
    The doctor frowns, his caterpillar eyebrows drawing together tighter, and I can tell he’s unconvinced, too. He doesn’t know what’s going on.
    He shakes his head. “I’m sure we’re just running some kind of operations test or—”
    A low steady drone screeches across the air.
    Jenkins gasps. “It’s the siren!”
    The doctor’s eyes bulge. “It can’t be.”
    They scurry, knocking over a table in their haste, sending tools clattering, and leaving me strapped to the gurney. Anxious voices fade away, collide with others in the hallway, and then I’m all alone, stuck to a table, unable to even turn my head.
    Great .
    Soon I can’t even hear voices in the distance. Just the siren. An automated voice fills the air, speaking over the unremitting wail. All personnel evacuate through the stairwell. Proceed with caution .
    I surge against my bindings. Hopeless. My gaze fixes on the glass room where my audience once stood. Empty now. Several of the chairs are toppled over; the door of that room yawns open. Tantalizingly close, and yet I can’t get there.
    Over the siren’s wail, I hear a sound. I strain to listen, thinking it’s running feet. The swinging door behind me gives the slightest thump—like a hand pushing against it—and then a faint creak of hinges.
    Someone’s entered the room. I hold my breath, almost afraid to hope …
    “Jacinda?”
    Even as I recognize Will’s