Ryan said, and the words skirted over the edge of my jaw.
He leaned back, and there was air in the world again. Our eyes held. Then his gaze slipped to the little golden bird between us, half-hidden beneath our fingers.
His hands squeezed mine.
Ours.
FIVE
A month ago, on the beach, Jackson told Addie and me how hybrids coped with their situation—or at least how they coped with part of it. Some things we didn’t talk about. He didn’t teach me how to suppress the nightmares of Nornand’s white walls, didn’t let me know if it was okay that sometimes I felt so furious with my mom and dad for what they’d allowed to happen to us.
But Jackson explained how hybrids could achieve a semblance of independence when their bodies could never truly be theirs. They forced themselves to disappear, one soul slipping into unconsciousness.
I’d done it once, by accident, when Addie and I were thirteen, but never since then. It had been an unspoken promise between Addie and me that I’d never leave her again. But we were fifteen now, and though leaving Addie
forever
was unthinkable, a few minutes or a few hours was something else entirely. The possibility of freedom taunted me.
Addie said every time I brought up the possibility of
going under
, as Jackson called it.
A week ago, I’d finally drawn up the courage to ask Sophie:
If I make myself disappear, is it possible I won’t come back?
She laughed as if I’d asked if we might stick our head out the window and be struck by lightning.
“Of course you’d come back, Eva. Haven’t you ever done it before?”
“But how do you control how long you’re gone? What if you’re gone for days? For weeks?”
She’d smiled. “Then you’ll have to let me know, because that would be a world record.”
“So it’s never happened.”
The urgency in our voice must have reached her; her expression gentled. “The longest I’ve ever heard of anyone being out is half a day, Eva. If you’ve never done it before, it
can
be hard to control how long you’re gone. You might only manage a few minutes, or it could be a couple hours. But you get the hang of it. You learn to control it.”
“How?”
“It’s—it’s hard to explain. It’s something you learn through doing, more than anything. Just keep trying. You and Addie will figure it out.”
But Addie and I had figured out nothing, because Addie refused to try.
I said.
Addie was right. It had always been Addie who yearned for normality. She’d had the luxury of thinking about it. Growing up, there had been no version of normality that could coexist with my survival.
Now there was. And I wanted it, more than anything.
Still, it was Addie’s choice as much as mine, and I could feel how torn she was. But I could also feel the ghost of Ryan’s lips against our jaw, and the phantom twist in our gut every time he got too close—the pain that wasn’t mine.
I couldn’t stay like this forever.
Maybe it was Emalia who convinced Peter to let us attend the meeting. But something in me felt it was Sabine who pulled through for us in the end. Jenson’s speech had set everyone on edge, even Emalia. Ryan shot us an exasperated look behind Emalia’s back as she fluttered around, giving us instructions:
don’t talk, keep walking, attract as little attention as possible.
By the time we left the building, it was dark out, the streets lit only by sallow streetlamps and the occasional headlights. From what Jackson had told us, this was the part of the city tourists didn’t visit. No one lived here but the people who had to, the ones who couldn’t afford better housing. Or, I supposed, the ones like us, in hiding.
Usually, only a select few were called to
He leaned back, and there was air in the world again. Our eyes held. Then his gaze slipped to the little golden bird between us, half-hidden beneath our fingers.
His hands squeezed mine.
Ours.
FIVE
A month ago, on the beach, Jackson told Addie and me how hybrids coped with their situation—or at least how they coped with part of it. Some things we didn’t talk about. He didn’t teach me how to suppress the nightmares of Nornand’s white walls, didn’t let me know if it was okay that sometimes I felt so furious with my mom and dad for what they’d allowed to happen to us.
But Jackson explained how hybrids could achieve a semblance of independence when their bodies could never truly be theirs. They forced themselves to disappear, one soul slipping into unconsciousness.
I’d done it once, by accident, when Addie and I were thirteen, but never since then. It had been an unspoken promise between Addie and me that I’d never leave her again. But we were fifteen now, and though leaving Addie
forever
was unthinkable, a few minutes or a few hours was something else entirely. The possibility of freedom taunted me.
Addie said every time I brought up the possibility of
going under
, as Jackson called it.
A week ago, I’d finally drawn up the courage to ask Sophie:
If I make myself disappear, is it possible I won’t come back?
She laughed as if I’d asked if we might stick our head out the window and be struck by lightning.
“Of course you’d come back, Eva. Haven’t you ever done it before?”
“But how do you control how long you’re gone? What if you’re gone for days? For weeks?”
She’d smiled. “Then you’ll have to let me know, because that would be a world record.”
“So it’s never happened.”
The urgency in our voice must have reached her; her expression gentled. “The longest I’ve ever heard of anyone being out is half a day, Eva. If you’ve never done it before, it
can
be hard to control how long you’re gone. You might only manage a few minutes, or it could be a couple hours. But you get the hang of it. You learn to control it.”
“How?”
“It’s—it’s hard to explain. It’s something you learn through doing, more than anything. Just keep trying. You and Addie will figure it out.”
But Addie and I had figured out nothing, because Addie refused to try.
I said.
Addie was right. It had always been Addie who yearned for normality. She’d had the luxury of thinking about it. Growing up, there had been no version of normality that could coexist with my survival.
Now there was. And I wanted it, more than anything.
Still, it was Addie’s choice as much as mine, and I could feel how torn she was. But I could also feel the ghost of Ryan’s lips against our jaw, and the phantom twist in our gut every time he got too close—the pain that wasn’t mine.
I couldn’t stay like this forever.
Maybe it was Emalia who convinced Peter to let us attend the meeting. But something in me felt it was Sabine who pulled through for us in the end. Jenson’s speech had set everyone on edge, even Emalia. Ryan shot us an exasperated look behind Emalia’s back as she fluttered around, giving us instructions:
don’t talk, keep walking, attract as little attention as possible.
By the time we left the building, it was dark out, the streets lit only by sallow streetlamps and the occasional headlights. From what Jackson had told us, this was the part of the city tourists didn’t visit. No one lived here but the people who had to, the ones who couldn’t afford better housing. Or, I supposed, the ones like us, in hiding.
Usually, only a select few were called to
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