My thoughts are like wind, rushing, curling into the depths of myself, expelling, dispelling darkness
I imagine love, I imagine wind, I imagine gold hair and green eyes and whispers, laughter
I imagine
Me
extraordinary, unbroken
the girl who shocked herself by surviving, the girl who loved herself through learning, the girl who respected her skin, understood her worth, found her strength
s t r o n g
s t r o n g e r
strongest
Imagine me
master of my own universe
I am everything I ever dreamed of
KENJI
We’re in the air.
We’ve been in the air for hours now. I spent the first four hours sleeping—I can usually fall asleep anywhere, in any position—and I spent the last two hours eating all the snacks on the plane. We’ve got about an hour left in our flight and I’m so bored I’ve begun poking myself in the eye just to pass the time.
We got off to a good start—Nouria helped us steal a plane, as promised, by shielding our actions with a sheet of light—but now that we’re up here, we’re basically on our own. Nazeera had to fend off a few questions over the radio, but because most of the military has no idea what level of shit has already gone down, she still has the necessary clout to bypass inquiries from nosy sector leaders and soldiers. We realize it’s only a matter of time, though, before someone realizes we don’t have the authority to be up here.
Until then—
I glance around. I’m sitting close enough to the cockpit to be within earshot of Nazeera, but she and I both decided that I should hang back to keep an eye on Warner, who’s sitting just far enough away to keep me safe from his scowl. Honestly, the look on his face is so intense I’m surprised he hasn’t started aging prematurely.
Suffice it to say that he didn’t like Nouria’s game plan.
I mean, I don’t like it, either—and I have no intentions of following through with it—but Warner looked like he might shoot Nouria for even thinking that we might have to kill J. He’s been sitting stiffly in the back of the plane ever since we boarded, and I’ve been wary of approaching him, despite our recent reconciliation. Semi-reconciliation? I’m calling it a reconciliation.
But right now I think he needs space.
Or maybe it’s me, maybe I’m the one who needs space. He’s exhausting to deal with. Without J around, Warner has no soft edges. He never smiles. He rarely looks at people. He’s always irritated.
Right now, I honestly can’t remember why J likes him so much.
In fact, in the last couple of months I’d forgotten what he was like without her around. But this reminder has been more than enough. Too much, in fact. I don’t want any more reminders. I can guarantee that I will never again forget that Warner is not a fun guy to spend time with. That dude carries so much tension in his body it’s practically contagious. So yeah, I’m giving him space.
So far, I’ve given him seven hours’ worth of space.
I steal another glance at him, wondering how he holds himself so still—so stiff—for seven hours straight. How does he not pull a muscle? Why does he never have to use the bathroom? Where does it all go?
The only concession we got from Warner was that he showed up looking more like his normal self. Sam was right: Warner took a shower. You’d think he was going on a date, not a murder/rescue mission. It’s obvious he wants to make a good impression.
He’s wearing more Haider castoffs: a pale green blazer, matching pants. Black boots. But because these pieces were selected by Haider, the blazer is not a normal blazer. Of course it isn’t. This blazer has no lapels, no buttons. The silhouette is cut in sharp lines that force the jacket to hang open, exposing Warner’s shirt underneath—a simple white V-neck that shows more of his chest than I feel comfortable staring at. Still, he looks okay. A little nervous, but— “Your thoughts are very loud,” Warner says, still staring out the window.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say, feigning shock. “I’d turn the volume down, but I’d have to die in order for my brain to stop working.”
“A problem easily rectified,” he mutters.
“I heard that.”
“I meant for you to hear that.”
“Hey,” I say, realizing something. “Doesn’t this feel like some kind of weird déjà vu?”
“No.”
“No, no, I’m being serious. What are the odds that the three of us would be on a trip like this again? Though the last time we were all on a trip like this, we ended up being shot out of the sky, so—yeah, I don’t want to relive that. Also, J isn’t here. So. Huh.” I hesitate. “Okay, I think I’m realizing that maybe I don’t actually understand what déjà vu means.”