The Cage (The Cage 1)

Her eyes traced the far reaches of the desert. She had only the one memory of her life before she had been taken. A carpet laid out over sand, and camels in the distance, and her mother pouring hot tea from a beautiful glass pot. She had clung to that memory of her home because it was all there was.

But maybe there could be more.

Maybe her mother was still there, and the camels, and the tea, and all of Earth. Maybe she had been wrong to have trusted the Kindred. She had thought she was different; that Serassi and Cassian were her friends, and she was more than just a human subject. But maybe they had been manipulating her the entire time, just like they had the others.

Maybe Cora was right.

Maybe Earth was still there—and maybe they could go back.

39

Cora

OVERHEAD, SPRAYS OF PALMS obscured the sky. Cora raced along the elevated walkway through the jungle. There were no mosquitoes, no thorns, no tropical snakes—nothing dangerous, just like all the habitats. A heavy rain began, soaking into her clothes.

Between the dancing leaves, she glimpsed the ruins of a towering stone palace covered in vines, and a few quaint huts, though they were likely just fabricated replicas that provided a framework for the black windows. She was drenched, so she jumped off the walkway and ran for it.

Mud gave way to sandy soil as she jogged toward the closest hut. Two of the huts were entirely artificial, but the other one had three walls and a thatched roof that at least provided a break from the rain. From the collection of belongings scattered about, she knew she’d found Leon’s home.

Sickly sweet peaches from the farm filled a crate. Leaves woven together by untrained hands made a rough mat, covered with a sheet stolen from the house. There were more sheets strung up around the sides of the huts. He had painted on them in mud, and they were actually quite good. She’d never have guessed that Leon was an artist, but his strokes were certain, his shading masterful and surprisingly emotional. The Kindred took us because we’re prime specimens. She shouldn’t have assumed the only desirable trait Leon had was his strength.

Someone grunted behind her.

She twisted around. Leon was crouched in a corner of the hut, waiting out the rain too. Even so close to the ground, he was a colossus. Shadows hid one half of his face, so only the tattooed side stared back at her.

She reached for a guitar string around her wrist. “Leon,” she stammered. “I came to find you.”

He stayed where he was. His eyes traced over her body, lingering on the wet hair plastered to her face, then drifted to the paintings. Cora swallowed. “They’re really good.”

What she didn’t say was that they were completely insane.

Each sheet was covered in a thousand watching eyes. Not fathomless Kindred eyes, but human eyes with irises and pupils and flecks of color that he must have made from the painting kit.

“Yeah, wow, I didn’t know you were an artist,” she added, fingering the guitar string. It would only take one flick of her finger to spring the knot, and have it ready to twist around his throat if he tried anything.

His expression was hooded. He stood, slowly stretching to his full height. “What are you doing out here?”

She hesitated. It was a perfectly sane thing to say, unlike the crazed ramblings she’d expected. “I . . . wanted to find you. The others aren’t thinking straight. They’ve basically turned against me. They’re convinced that Earth is gone. I don’t believe that, and I think there’s a chance we can get home, but first we have to escape this enclosure. Mali claims she doesn’t know where the fail-safe exit is, but she’s lied to us before. She won’t talk to me, but she might talk to you. The Kindred must have paired you for a reason.”

He cocked his head, taking a step toward her. “You grew your hair out. Mom always wanted you to have long hair.”

He was out of the shadows now, so she could see both sides of his face, and his eyes that weren’t threatening but weren’t entirely sane, either. She ran her fingers through her damp hair. “Mom?”

“You should stop dyeing it, though,” he said. “Blond doesn’t suit you.”

Oh—he though she was his sister.

The level of his delusions left her jittery, a deer ready to bolt, but he loved his sister more than anything. If he thought she was Ellie, at least it meant he wouldn’t hurt her.

She hoped.

“Yeah . . . bro,” she said slowly, surrounded by the blue and green and purple eyes. “So will you ask Mali for help?”

He watched the green eyes next to him, hypnotically. “It’s too late for her.”

“Mali? Why?” He didn’t respond, and it took Cora a minute of studying the electric-green eyes in the painting to understand. Only one of their group of captives had green eyes. “You mean the dead girl.”

He nodded. “Yasmine.”

Uneasiness picked at Cora’s palms like flea bites. “How do you know her name?”

Leon flashed her a wild look that made Cora grab the guitar string, ready to spring it open in case he lunged for her. But he didn’t.

“I never told anyone,” he said. “I thought you would think I killed her on purpose. She was running away from me like I scared her. I didn’t mean to chase her. Or maybe I did.” He cocked his head at a strange angle. “I can hear her sometimes. She walks through the forest. She likes the mountains. They remind her of home.”

He went back to staring at the painted eyes.

She swallowed. Had he just confessed to killing the girl?

The raised platform wasn’t far away. She could bolt—Leon was strong but slow. On the other hand, could she believe a thing he said? He was insane. As much as he was prone to violence, she couldn’t imagine him drowning a girl he’d never met before.

“However she died, Leon, she’s not still here. She can’t be wandering around.”

His eyes swung to her. “Of course she isn’t,” he barked. “It’s her ghost.”

He tilted his head toward the set of painted green eyes as though they spoke to him. A cold spike drilled between Cora’s shoulder blades. She glanced at the nearest black window, and pinched her arm.

“I need you, Leon. Brother. You’re the only other one who isn’t complacent here. Nok and Rolf like it here. Mali does too. She might as well be a Kindred. And Lucky is . . .” She swallowed, thinking of his dark eyes turning away from her. “Lucky is as blind as the rest of them. You and me, we’re the only ones who understand that we have to get out of here. This place is dangerous.”