TWENTY-THREE

You dropped these,” Razor said, stepping out of the kitchen area. “In the elevator.”

Caitlyn recognized the folded papers he held in his hand. Letters that she’d kept close to her body, beneath the cloak.

Silently, she took them away, refusing to ask if he’d read them. She was so angry, she didn’t care.

He smiled at her obvious anger. “Those flowers that Melvin took from me? I had really gotten them to give to you. Just so you know. Not poisoned. As a peace offering.”

He went back into the kitchen.

She heard water running. Razor came back with two glasses of water and a household first-aid kit. He had a couple of small towels tucked under his right arm.

He handed her a glass of water. She took it but did not drink.

He offered her a couple of aspirin. She declined. He popped a few into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Then sucked back half a glass of water. He poured the remainder of the water on the corner of one of the towels.

He pulled up a chair and sat facing her, wet towel in his hand.

Caitlyn stared out the window at the chopper outlined against the dark gray clouds, ignoring the water in her hand. Men. In the chopper. Waiting to execute her. This was what Papa had set her free to find? Proof again that she could not trust anybody. Ever.

Razor handed her the clean towel and motioned for her to give him the bloodied shirt. Caitlyn traded shirt for towel, barely registering the act in her conscious thoughts.

“Thermal radar,” Razor said. “Last night, regular Enforcers pick you up. Within minutes of sending a video, agents appear. Like they’re monitoring communications and waiting for you. Here’s what’s stranger. Those agents Tasered the Enforcers and didn’t even bother to shut off the monitor in the car, like they wanted whoever sent them to know they’d taken you. So I’ll ask again. What is it about you that brings on that kind of heat so fast? Who are you? Where’d you come from?”

“You’ve got your secrets,” Caitlyn said. She saw needle tracks on the inside of his elbow. “I’ve got mine.”

“Not ones that have the Influentials sending all their dogs after me. Even if by some miracle the thermal radar misses us, how far are you going to have to run until they stop looking for you?”

When she didn’t answer, he opened the first-aid kit and pulled out gauze and a roll of tape.

“Give me your arm,” he said. “You can stay and wait for them to knock on the door, but I’m going to patch up these cuts like I actually have a plan to get us out of here.”

He didn’t give her the option of refusing. He pulled away the towel from her arm before she could react.

He squinted. “A cut like that should still be bleeding. How did—”

He pulled up his shirt and used the towel moistened by her blood to dab at the cut on his belly.

“I’m not bleeding either,” he said. Now his face was unreadable. “This can’t be coincidence.”