Abandon

through the back door, returned to my bedroom, and checked my false transmission feed when the tap, tap, tap landed on the glass.

My heart pounded in my scrawny chest.

Maybe They’d been monitoring me. Maybe They knew I wasn’t listening to the transmissions. I’d screwed up after only a few days of helping the anti-Thinker movement. The Resistance, my dad had called it.

Insider Tip #2: Don’t hesitate. It shows weakness and indecision. Those who hesitate often have something to hide.

I took a deep breath and accepted whatever was gonna happen. I strode to the window and yanked it up, expecting to see a Special Forces agent with glinting black eyes and a fully charged taser.

Instead, I found Violet Schoenfeld. I could tell she’d been crying, even if the tears were already dried up. The full moon cast glimmers of white light in her brown hair.

“Violet?” I scanned the yard behind her. Empty. A hovercopter floated along the edge of the Centrals, a couple miles away.

“Zenn, I—” She cast a quick glance over her shoulder.

“You’re gonna be seen,” I whispered. “Climb up.” I reached out to help her but drew back before we touched. That was against the rules, and the window was wide open so anyone could see.

Violet used to answer questions in class, used to show up to school with her panels done. She used to hang with the other girls during breaks. Then her dad disappeared. She’d withdrawn, and now that we’d moved into secondary subjects, she sat alone against the fence during breaks and hadn’t turned in homework for months. She didn’t speak to anyone except her sister Tyson.

I didn’t even know she knew my name, let alone where I lived. Maybe she was searching for any window that looked like there might be someone awake within.

She struggled over the windowsill while I stood there and watched. I could’ve pulled up all ninety pounds of her with one hand. She straightened, and I towered at least six inches over her.

Her face was the color of uncooked rice. Her eyes were a mixture of blue and green, like the serene color of the lake. Her brown hair flowed freely over her shoulders, but it should’ve been secured in its customary ponytail or bun.

She was crazy-beautiful, even with tearstained cheeks. And then it hit me: A girl was standing in my room. In the middle of the night.

I’d been away from my transmissions for hours. My older brother had developed tech that could simulate sleep patterns, but I wondered how Violet had managed to trick hers long enough to leave her house.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t be here.” She paced next to my bed.

I glanced at my brother, a decent sleeper, fifteen feet from us. “It’s fine.” I wanted to touch her shoulder, make her stop walking. Her squeaky shoes were going to wake my brother. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing?” I repeated.

“Ty told me . . . It’s nothing.”

I folded my arms. “If it’s nothing, can you stop pacing? You’re gonna wake Fret.”

She stopped and took a deep breath. “It’s my mom,” she whispered. “She hates me for not being Ty.” Violet’s voice began to rush. “And I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get out. Oh, it’s so late.” She threw a glance at my bedside clock, her eyes wild. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

“You’re safe here,” I lied, wishing it were true. But my smart house would rat her out if she didn’t leave soon. Extra body temperature and oxygen usage and all that.

Violet moved toward the window. “You’ll get in trouble,” she said, climbing out.

“Wait!”

The hovercopter had already spotlighted her. The mechanical voice shouted for her to freeze. I shrank back into the shadows, terror thumping through my veins.

She sprinted toward the bushes in my backyard, but no one escapes from a hovercopter.

Like a coward, I slammed the window and drew the blinds. I peeked through two slats, watching the Special Forces agent interrogate her. She didn’t cry. Her fists clenched and unclenched, and she accepted the citation without a word.

The hovercopter zipped away, and that’s when Violet crumpled to the ground. Her shoulders shook with racking sobs.

Then I did what any thirteen-year-old boy would do: I dropped the shades and crawled into bed.

* * *

Saffediene Brown sat immediately to my right, frantically writing a report for Jag. Though we were the same age, she reminded me of myself when I first began serving the Resistance. She’d joined a month after I’d arrived in Freedom.

In fact, Saffediene had been my first recruit for the Insiders.

She finished writing, folded the paper, and put her hand on mine. I shook my thoughts away from Vi and that first night in my bedroom and jerked at the contact from Saffediene. She pulled her hand back and hid it under the table. Her eyes flickered to mine, a small smile playing on her face.

“Zenn?” she said, still watching me. Just like everyone else was doing.

“Indy and her team are drinking protein like there’s no tomorrow,” I said, stuffing my hand in my pocket as I stood. My skin felt hot where Saffediene had touched me. “They’ll be on mandatory rest this week, and then we’ll get them into rotations for duties.”

I nodded toward Pace, who stood and started droning on about some new tech he’d invented that would eliminate the squealing in new implants. When Thane had first brought me beyond the wall of Freedom to this cavern, I’d barely recognized Pace.

The smile that used to come quickly to his lips now took longer. His eyes were dull, and Pace’s long, silver hair didn’t get washed enough, but I suspected that wasn’t the only reason for its lackluster appearance.

When Tyson Schoenfeld died, a big piece of Pace Barque did too. I’d been present when she’d been killed, but the memories of those weeks are shrouded. I’d been brainwashed and medicated, with only moments of lucidity.

Thane had told me the story of Ty’s death. It had aged him too, though I didn’t comfort him. The first time I saw Pace here in the hideout, though, I had gripped him in a hug that said more than We’re on the same team.

It had said, Please forgive me. I did what I thought was right. I miss Ty too.

He’d understood, and he’d freely given his forgiveness—something Jag sucked at doing. I watched Pace now and noticed he’d revived a bit since Jag’s return. I was reminded of when I first joined the Resistance, when Pace and Jag would embrace after months apart. They’d laugh about Irvine’s seriousness and throw wads of paper at Indy as she snored on the couch.

I longed for the more carefree days of the Resistance, when the thought of battling the Thinkers only happened in our imaginations. It was easier then to feel like They were robbing the general population of their free will. I’d believed in the cause of the Resistance with my whole heart. No one should have to conform to a job, a marriage, a life they hated simply because someone with persuasive powers deemed it so.

So the Resistance fought talent with talent. They had Thinkers. So did we. They had voice talent. So did we. They also had vastly more personnel, many and diverse ways to find our strongholds, and untold resources.

We had Jag Barque.

Back before I turned Informant, me, Pace, and Jag would sit around the kitchen table in Jag’s house, making grand plans and playing cards. Sure, we ran minor missions, sent messages, and attended training in Seaside with Vi’s older sister, Tyson.

Ty had the unique ability to make you think you were the most important person in the world. Vi had worshipped her. I’d rescued Ty from the Goodgrounds, helped her through the desert to the Badlands, and passed her off to Jag. Pace had been there, and I still remember the first time he met Ty.

I was young—a few months shy of fourteen—and rescuing Ty was my first solo mission for the Resistance. But I recognized the light on Pace’s face. I’d seen my dad look at my mom with that brightness that said, The person standing in front of me could change my life.

As Pace spoke now, here in this dingy cavern, it was clear that his easiness had been lost with Ty. He