“And we almost died. Better odds, and we almost died.” I exhale slowly. “There’s nothing we can do for them right now. I thought maybe once but—all we can do is hope.”
Sorrow tugs at his face, souring his expression. But he nods. “And stay alive. Stay ourselves. You hear me, Cam?” He grabs my hand. “Don’t let this change you.”
He’s right. Even though I’m angry, even though I feel so much hatred for everything that threatens my family—is feeding that rage worth the cost?
“So what should I do?” I finally force myself to ask.
“I don’t know what having an ability’s like. You have friends who do.” His eyes twinkle as he pauses for effect. “You do have friends, right?” He quirks a smirk at me over the rim of his bowl. I smack his arm for the implication.
My mind jumps to Farley first, but she’s still in the hospital, adjusting to a new baby, and she doesn’t have an ability. Doesn’t know what it’s like to be so lethal, in control of something so deadly.
“I’m scared, Morrey. When you throw a tantrum, you just yell and cry. With me, with what I can do . . .” I reach a hand to the sky, flexing my fingers against the clouds. “I’m scared of it.”
“Maybe that’s good.”
“What do you mean?”
“At home, you remember how they use the kids? To fix the big gears, the deep wires?” Morrey widens his dark eyes, trying to make me understand.
The memory echoes. Iron on iron, the screech and twist of constantly whirring machinery across endless factory floors. I can almost smell the oil, almost feel the wrench in my hand. It was a relief when Morrey and I got too big to be spiders—what the overseers called the little kids in our division. Small enough to go where adult workers couldn’t, too young to be afraid of being crushed.
“Fear can be a good thing, Cam,” he pushes on. “Fear doesn’t let you forget. And the fear you have, the respect you have for this deadly thing inside of you, I think that’s an ability too.”
My oatmeal is cold now, but I force a mouthful so I don’t have to talk. Now the sugary taste is overpowering, and the glop sticks to my teeth.
“Your braids are a mess,” Morrey mutters to himself. He turns to another routine, an old one familiar to us both. Our parents worked earlier than we did, and we had to help each other get ready at dawn. He’s long since known how to fix my hair, and it takes no time at all for him to untangle it. It feels good to have him back, and I’m overcome with emotion as he plaits my curly black hair into two braids.
He doesn’t push me to make a decision, but the conversation is enough to let questions I already had rise to the surface. Who do I want to be? What choice am I going to make?
In the distance, around the edge of the training fields, I spot two familiar figures. One tall, one short, both of them jogging the boundary. They do this every day, their exercises familiar to most of us. Despite Cal’s much longer legs, Mare doesn’t have a problem keeping up. As they get closer, I can see her smiling. I don’t understand a lot of things about the lightning girl, and smiling during a run is one of them.
“Thanks, Morrey,” I say, getting to my feet when he finishes.
My brother doesn’t stand with me. He follows my gaze, laying eyes on Mare as she gets closer. She doesn’t make him tense up, but Cal does. Morrey quickly busies himself with the bowls, ducking his head to hide his scowl. No love lost between the Coles and the prince of Norta.
Mare raises her chin as she jogs, acknowledging us both.
The prince tries to hide his annoyance when she slows her pace, easing into a walk to approach me and Morrey. Cal doesn’t do it well, but he nods at both of us in an attempt at a polite greeting.
“Morning,” Mare says, shifting from foot to foot as she catches her breath. Her complexion has improved more than anything; a golden warmth is returning to her brown skin. “Cameron, Morrey,” she says, her eyes ticking between us with catlike speed. Her brain is always spinning, looking for cracks. After what she’s been through, how could she be any other way?
She must sense the hesitation in me, because she stays put, waiting for me to say something. I almost lose my nerve, but Morrey brushes against my leg. Just bite the bullet, I tell myself. She might even understand.
“Would you mind taking a walk with me?”
Before her capture, she would have scoffed, told me to train, brushed me away like an annoying fly. She barely tolerated me. Now she bobs her head. With a single gesture, Mare waves off Cal like only she can.