Ultraxenopia (Project W. A. R. Book 1) (15 page)

My eyes dart between them.
A wave of confusion washes over me, and the feeling only grows when Ezra
lingers in the room.

He remains behind, his eyes
landing on mine as the door clicks into place, leaving the two of us alone.

“I THINK I KNEW THIS entire time,” he
says, breaking the silence that had arisen between us the instant the others
left the room. “When we met back at
The Vega,
and then when you
mentioned Austin . . . . I think, deep down, a part of me knew this had
something to do with the disease that killed my mother.”

He doesn’t look at me as he
speaks. Regardless, I can see the mixed emotions in his gaze. There’s an
intense regret there, as well as pain. Above all, I see rage, a fiery storm of
passion that could overtake him at any moment.

“I’m sorry about what
happened to her,” I whisper.

I
am
sorry. I can
sympathize, after all. Although, maybe not from the same point of view. Still,
it’s enough to make me wonder something I never even thought to question until
now.

Who is this disease really
worse for? The person who has to suffer through it? Or the ones left behind who
have to watch them deteriorate?

I guess it never occurred
to me, since my own mother so readily gave me up. She was all I had. There was
no one else for me to leave behind. No one to watch me slowly succumb to my
condition. No one to watch me die.

No one.

I vaguely notice that Ezra
is watching me. Glancing up, I meet his gaze, but what I find there is
unexpected. The way he looks at me now is the polar opposite of how he always
looked at me before, and I’m not only confused by the change, but taken aback
by it. If anything, it reminds me of the first time I ever saw him.

Of the way he appeared in
my vision.

It’s as if I’m looking into
the eyes of an entirely different person—a stranger completely separate from
the man standing before me.

The corners of his lips
twitch up into a smile, almost as if he can sense what I’m thinking. I reel
back as my heart beats nervously in my chest, bewildering me further.

All at once, his smiling
face is no longer what I’m seeing. Now, all I can picture is his dirt-stained
skin. His morose hazel eyes. The tears streaming down his cheeks.

All I can hear are those
three familiar words.

“I’m sorry, Wynter.”

I turn away from him,
overwhelmed by the memory flooding my thoughts. It’s strange really, since it’s
not actually a memory. Even though, to me
,
that’s exactly what it feels
like.

But even more than my
conflicting thoughts, I’m torn between whether or not I should tell him about
what I saw. I know that, sooner or later, I’ll have to. There’s no way around
that. How can there be with something so important—so imperative to the future
of not only the human race, but also the whole world?

Sooner or later, he’ll have
to know.

I breathe in deeply. My
lips part, trembling to the point that my every breath comes out ragged. As
much as I try, I can’t find the strength to say what needs to be said.

Instead, I turn the
conversation to Richter.

“It’s amazing,” I whisper.
“Considering he went into that line of work because of your mother, he has a
remarkable lack of compassion for someone who suffers from the same disorder.”

“What do you mean?” Ezra’s
voice is soft. Innocent even. Or maybe he’s simply choosing to ignore what he
already suspects.

“I’ll spare you the details
of what they did to me in there.” I hesitate, remembering those eyes and that
horrible empty smile. “But I
can
tell you,” I murmur, “that Richter
seems like the type who will stop at nothing. He’ll get what he wants,
regardless of what it does to anyone else.”

Ezra grimaces, visibly
blanching in response to my words.

“It’s probably my fault,”
he groans.

I raise an eyebrow at him
in confusion. “How do you figure?”

His cheeks puff out as he
releases a loud breath. He leans back against the nearest wall and looks up at
the ceiling as if searching for an answer. “My brother and I have always stood
on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to our political viewpoints,” he
explains. “Our relationship turned hostile when I told him I was leaving home
to join PHOENIX. I don’t think it helped any that Rai came with me. That was
probably the final straw that tipped him over the edge.”

He tenses his jaw and
fidgets a little as if uncomfortable with the subject. I take note of his every
expression, intrigued by his story and more curious than ever about Rai’s
connection to it.

“There’s a complicated
history between my brother and Rai,” he says in response to my questioning
gaze. “Let’s just say that her joining the rebellion wasn’t exactly the future
he had envisioned for them.”

So, that explains it,
I realize.

I’m overwhelmed by a surge
of immense sympathy for her, and suddenly, her reactions from before all make
sense. Ezra’s relationship with his brother is estranged. He openly admitted
that. But what about Rai’s relationship with him?

What happened between them
before she left to join PHOENIX?

I remember the way she
asked me if I thought he was a good man. The devastation in her eyes when I had
answered no. As I recall that moment, I can’t help but wonder if she returned
Richter’s feelings. And even more so, if it was difficult for her to leave him
if she did.

“How old were you when all
of this happened?” I murmur.

Ezra scratches the back of
his neck as he considers my question. “I left home right before Austin was due
to take his placement exam . . . so sixteen. Rai was nineteen,” he answers.
“It’s been nearly ten years, and neither of us have seen or heard from him
since.”

Ten years. Is a decade long
enough to forget that kind of abandonment, or would Richter have held a grudge
against them?

I think back to my days at
the DSD, trying to remember his reaction the day his tests were finally
successful. The day he saw my vision. The day he saw Ezra. It was his response
more than anything that showed his true colors and revealed the monster he was
hiding behind his carefully controlled mask.

I’ll never forget that
determined look in his eyes. It spoke volumes; not only about his emotions, but
about the lengths he would go to get what he’s after.

“He won’t stop until he’s
found you.” The words escape my lips in a quiet gasp, leaving me breathless and
full of fear. Richter frightens me, and I’m nothing to him, so I can only
imagine what he would do to his own brother.

Ezra looks at me, holding
my gaze for what feels like an infinite length of time. Neither of us speak,
and once again, I’m faced with the realization that I have to tell him the
truth.

He
needs
to know
what I saw.

“When they were doing their
experiments on me, I . . .” I glance away as a feeling of doubt forms a lump in
my stomach.

Do I tell him?

Should
I tell him?

“I saw you,” I finally
whisper.

I can practically feel his
entire body go rigid, regardless of the space separating us. I swallow, forcing
myself to continue.

“Richter became more
determined after that and seemed obsessed, deranged even, by the idea of
finding you. By that point, he had already run more tests on me than I cared to
count, and that was without the added motivation. I didn’t want to stick around
to see what he had in store for me next.”

Ezra straightens up, but he
still says nothing. I glance at him, wary of his grave expression.

“How exactly did you find
me?” he mutters after a moment.

“I saw a glimpse of
The
Vega
just before I escaped. It seemed like my mind was telling me that’s
where I’d find answers. Where I’d find
you
. Everything else about you,
though, I overheard at the DSD.”

He slowly nods, keeping his
eyes fixed on the floor. The silence from before returns with a vengeance,
torturing me with curiosity about what he must be thinking.

Will he believe my story?
Can
he believe my story?

He will,
I tell myself.
He has
to.

“What was your vision about?”

I stare at him in shock.
For some reason, I’m unprepared for this particular question. Of course, he
would want to know.

So, then why do I feel so
reluctant to tell him?

He meets my gaze, and
there’s something there that reminds me of the way he looked at me before.

How he
will
look at
me.

“It was just you and me,” I
murmur. “You were saying you’re sorry.”

I left out one detail,
possibly the most important one. Maybe I don’t see the point in worrying him or
igniting that sort of fear. Or maybe, I don’t want to place the burden of this
knowledge on anyone else.

“What was I apologizing
for?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t
know,” I answer honestly.

He nods once again. Except
this time, he frowns. “I imagine I’ll have a lot to apologize for,” he says.

“Like what?” I ask.

He lifts his head and looks
at me somewhat skeptically, apparently surprised that I’m even asking. “Well,
the way I’ve treated you, for one.”

I shrug my shoulders. “It
was necessary,” I breathe. “I know that.”

“Still doesn’t make it right,”
he grumbles.

Without warning, he shifts
away from the wall and closes the distance between us in less than three steps.
When he’s directly in front of me, he squats on the floor. His eyes lift to
meet mine.

I can see the sincerity
burning within them like fire.

“I’m sorry,” he croons.

I gape at him, stunned and
unable to speak. He blinks, and I notice a tiny smile pulling at the corners of
his lips.

“Am I off the hook?” he
asks.

My heart rate quickens, and
I feel my cheeks redden. He’s joking. I see that now in his almost childish
expression.

Crossing my arms, I purse
my lips.

“Sorry, that wasn’t it if
that’s what you’re asking.”

I can’t help but smile, and
for the first time since I came here, I feel at ease. Maybe it’s this new side
of him. Maybe it’s the simple fact that he seems to understand I’m not their
enemy.

Or maybe, it’s the
possibility of finally belonging somewhere.

He stands up. As he does,
his smile widens until I barely recognize him.

“Damn,” he grunts.

Unexpectedly, he offers me
his hand. I peer down at it, not quite sure whether or not I should take it.

“Come on,” he murmurs.

I peek up to find his hazel
eyes staring down at me. My heart thumps erratically, and for some reason, I
find myself wanting to take it. To
trust
him. Without a second thought,
I slide my hand into his.

I lift myself up at the
same moment he pulls me to my feet. He then makes a move for the door, dragging
me behind him.

“Where are we going?” I
ask.

He looks back over his
shoulder at me. “Out of this room,” he answers. “You’re not our prisoner
anymore.”

“WELL, HERE WE ARE.”

I glance past Ezra into the
empty quarters. It’s minimal and somewhat bare, but at least there’s a proper
bed.

I follow him into the room,
inching uncertainly through the metal framed doorway.

“You’ll be more comfortable
here,” he murmurs.

He steps aside, watching me
carefully, as if gauging my reaction. I can’t deny this is a vast improvement
over the tiny storeroom, but at what cost? Will accepting his offer really do
me any favors?

Will it really help the
people here welcome me with open arms?

I turn in place as my eyes
scan the length of the concrete walls. After a moment, I meet his lingering
gaze, nodding in response to his unspoken question.

He stares at me, seeming to
consider me in silence. Finally, as if reading my mind, he puts all of my
doubts about the situation to rest.

“Don’t worry. You’re not
taking it away from anyone,” he assures me. “This place is big enough that we
actually have rooms to spare.”

I exhale, feeling relieved
to hear him say that. I suppose I can accept it then, so long as by doing so
I’m not negatively affecting the others who live here.

“I’ll get Rai to find some
extra clothes for you as well. There are bound to be some lying around
somewhere.”

I nod once, my cheeks
flushing with gratitude. “Thank you,” I whisper.

It’s strange. The way
Ezra’s treating me now is a complete turnaround from before. The difference
isn’t lost on me, and while I can’t entirely make sense of it just yet, I
suppose at the same time, I can also kind of understand it.

It might seem sudden, but
I’m learning that compassion can easily do that, especially when distanced from
the draining nature of the State. Sympathy—or I guess, in this instance,
empathy—can alter a person’s mindset toward just about anything, regardless of
the circumstances. Or, in our case,
because
of the circumstances.

After all, the connection
between his mother and me is too great to ignore. Knowing that I suffer from
the same condition as her would be more than enough to change his attitude
toward me. It would be enough to make him acknowledge that I’m not his
enemy—that I’m not here to cause them harm. It would be enough to help him
embrace my presence here. To want to help me.

To
accept
me.

He says nothing else, so I
turn away and plop down on the bed, the mattress springing beneath my weight.
Unable to contain myself, I fall back against the blankets—an unfamiliar smile
spreading across my face as I do. It’s as if all of the emotions I was never
allowed to show before are now beginning to work their way to the surface,
revealing themselves when I least expect them. What surprises me even more is
that I find myself embracing every single one.

For the first time in my
life, I actually feel as if I can relax. For the first time, it feels like . .
.
maybe
. . . I don’t have to be afraid.

I sigh, enjoying this small
comfort, and it’s only when Ezra clears his throat that I’m even reminded he’s
still here.

Pushing up onto my elbows,
I gaze at him curiously. His eyes are wide, and the way he looks at me is
troubling, as if there's some unstated emotion hiding behind his blank
expression. I can see it there, threatening to break through.

Before I can discover what
it is, he glances away from me. Clearing his throat, he runs his hand across
the back of his neck.

“I’ll, uh . . . I’ll leave
you to it then,” he mumbles.

He keeps his eyes averted
from mine as he makes for the door. I watch him leave without saying a single
word, noticing his rigid body language in every tense movement. I scrutinize
him, wondering why he suddenly seems so uncomfortable. But the answer never
comes to me.

Shrugging, I collapse back
against the bed. I allow my body to fully unwind, and it feels like I could
fall asleep at any moment. Just as my eyes begin to close, pulling me toward
sleep, the sound of my name drags me back to the surface. I hear a voice
calling me. Ezra’s voice.

“Wynter.”

My eyes peek open, and I
meet his gaze where he stands tentatively in the doorway.

It occurs to me that this
is the first time I’ve actually heard him say my name—the first time in person.
It reminds me all too easily of that vision of the future. Just me and him . .
.

Just
us
. Standing
alone at the end of the world.

While the way he says my
name is the same, the look on his face is entirely different. For some reason,
my heart sinks when I see it.

“I have to ask . . . did my
brother say what he wanted with you?”

A shudder runs up my spine
at the mention of Dr. Richter. It makes sense that Ezra would want to know
about my time at the DSD, and more importantly, about my connection to his
brother. Still, the very topic unsettles me.

I shake my head.

“No,” I murmur. “All he
said was that I’d be doing a service to the State if I cooperated. When I saw
you in that vision, I just figured it had something to do with PHOENIX.”

Considering the way Dr.
Richter had reacted at that moment, it’s only logical I would assume that he
had planned to use my ability to help him do what the State does best—find and
eliminate anyone they deem to be a threat.

Now that I know about their
familial connection, I can’t help but wonder why he
really
wanted me.
Was it to find PHOENIX? Was it to find Ezra? To find Rai? Or was it a
combination of that and doing his duty to the State? Perhaps it was something
else entirely.

Ezra brings his fingers to
his lips, staring off into the space between us as if lost deep in thought. I
search his face, but just like before, his expression makes it impossible to
figure out what he’s thinking.

When he finally glances up
at me, our eyes lock. He keeps his gaze fixed on mine as he crouches to the
ground beside me.

“I think it might be best
if we keep this to ourselves for now,” he breathes in a hushed voice. “Don’t
tell anyone else here what the State wants with you, and
don’t
mention
your condition.”

I furrow my eyebrows,
confused and taken aback by his words. Why does he want me to hide it? What
does he think will happen if I don’t?

“I can’t control it,” I
blurt out.

I bite my lip. I feel the
need to explain myself—to make him aware of my own fears about the situation.

“What I mean is . . .
they’ve already seen it once. Maybe they won’t think much of it now, but it
will
happen again. And that’s when people will start asking questions.”

He frowns, and I can tell
by his expression that he knows I’m right. This will be impossible to hide.
Sooner or later, the others will demand to know about me—about why I’m here.

Sooner or later, the truth
will come out.

“No one else has to know
the details.” His voice is comforting. Calm. “Let them think what they want.
The important thing is that we keep you safe.”

Why?
I want to ask.

Why is it so important for
them to keep me safe? A part of me hopes it’s for genuine reasons and not
anything having to do with Dr. Richter. Then again, these people are part of a
rebellion. It would be foolish of me not to accept that a tool of the enemy is
also a weapon against it.

A shiver runs across my
skin at the thought. I try my best to ignore it, turning the conversation and
my worries to something else.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe.

Ezra rises to his feet, and
I can tell by the way he cocks his eyebrow that he doesn’t understand what I’m
apologizing for.

“About Jenner,” I clarify.

He waves his hand
dismissively. “Don’t worry about him. Jenner’s smart, but he's also a hothead
at the best of times, so it’s nothing new. He’ll calm down once he comes to his
senses.”

I take his word for it.
After all, he knows these people far better than I do. If that’s a normal
reaction for Jenner, then I’ll just take it at face value and try not to
concern myself any more than necessary.

Still, I can’t help but
feel guilty about what’s happened. It seems like, ever since I arrived here,
all Ezra and the others have done is argue. Of course, it’s always been because
of me. I might not know these people, but I also don’t want to be the wedge
that drives them apart.

I came here to find Ezra.
To find answers. Not to make his life or anyone else’s here more difficult.

“You know, maybe Rai’s
right,” he murmurs.

I peek up at him. He crosses
his arms as he looks away from me, for some reason refusing to meet my gaze. He
seems to hesitate for a moment before finally speaking.

“You should consider
staying here,” he whispers.

My entire body reels back
in surprise. He wants me to
stay
? After everything he’s told me and
after everything he’s learned about me in turn.

He actually wants me to
stay here?

“I wasn’t too receptive to
the idea when she first ran it by me,” he admits. “But things have changed. You
belong here.”

He looks at me now, and his
eyes burn into mine with an almost eerie intensity. An intensity I’ve only seen
in them once before.

I recall the vision. The
tension. The sadness in his eyes. The strange connection that seemed to hang
between us.

For the first time since
meeting him, I can almost imagine that future happening.

“Damn,” he grumbles. “Looks
like I owe her an apology too.” He shrugs his shoulders and laughs under his
breath. “Rai’s always right, you know. Better you learn that sooner rather than
later.”

A smile pulls at the
corners of his lips, and I find myself reciprocating it. Still, regardless of
his new and receptive attitude toward me, I can’t help but feel on edge. Rai
and Jenner welcomed me here, and now Ezra seems to have accepted me as well.
But what about everyone else? What will they do when they find out why I’m
here?

What will they do when they
find out what I am?

“Are you okay?” Ezra lowers
himself onto the bed, sitting closely beside me.

My heart begins to race in
response to the abrupt proximity.

“I was just thinking about
the others,” I answer quickly.

“What, you mean everyone
else here?”

I nod, unable and unwilling
to meet his gaze. Without warning, he places a warm hand against my shoulder. I
peer up at him, taken aback by his unexpected touch.

“You let me worry about all
that,” he says. “You just focus on settling in.”

Settling in . . . ? As in
making myself at home? This is the second time I’ve heard that sort of comment
now, but I find it difficult to imagine being able to do so. Home is where
you’re most comfortable. Home is where you’re
accepted
.

Now that I think about it,
I don’t suppose I’ve ever truly had that. I doubt anyone in our world has.

I shake my head. “They’re
going to find out eventually,” I murmur. “You can’t hide the truth from them
forever.”

He stares back at me,
considering my words. After a long moment, he releases a deep breath. “You’re
right,” he finally answers. “Maybe we shouldn’t then.”

My stomach clenches in
response to his cryptic words. “What do you mean?” I ask warily.

“I don’t think anyone needs
to know
why
the State’s after you. They just need to know that you’re in
a similar position to them, and you need our help just as much as they do. They
need to see that you’re one of us.”

A smile breaks out across
his face as he rises from the bed, turning toward me in one hasty movement.
Bending down, he offers me his hand.

“Come on,” he says. “I have
an idea.”

I hesitate, unnerved by his
expression. Eventually, though, I give into it, telling myself to have faith in
him—to have faith in the obscure connection that awaits us in the future.