“Grace.” I hear Ms. Chancellor’s voice, turn to see her standing in the doorway. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
My breath is coming too hard. I want to cry. To scream. To die.
I honestly think I’m going to die.
“She was shot,” I say between ragged breaths. “She didn’t die in the fire. She was shot!” Now I’m shouting.
Three years’ worth of lies are swirling around inside me. I see the darkened shop more clearly. My mother’s face. I actually hear the sound of the gun and I startle, eyes squeezed tightly shut, recoiling from the sound.
“Grace.”
I can feel something cold in my hand.
“Grace!” Ms. Chancellor shouts, shaking me. I can see that she has given me a glass of water. Condensation seeps between my fingers.
“Drink, Grace. And breathe. Deep breaths.”
I do as she says, sucking the cold liquid down in one long gulp.
“Good,” Ms. Chancellor tells me.
“You lied,” I say. “She was shot. It wasn’t an accident. It was —”
“It was an accident, Grace.” Ms. Chancellor grips my arms tightly.
“She was shot! It says so.” I hold up the death certificate. “She was shot,” I say again.
“Have a seat, Grace. Take another drink,” Ms. Chancellor orders, and I do as I’m told, suddenly docile and meek.
“I was right,” I mumble to myself. And then I settle on the one thought that calms me. “I’m not crazy.”
“No, Grace.” Slowly, very slowly, Ms. Chancellor shakes her head. “I’m afraid you aren’t.”
The words are wrong. The tone. The feeling in the room has shifted. I look at Ms. Chancellor, who is backing away from me. I glance down at the glass that is blurry now. Spinning. I try to call it into focus but the room is spinning, too. My arms feel heavier than they should, and I know that, even for me, this feeling is not normal.
“What happened?” I say. “Why do I feel so — What did you do to me?”
“I’m very sorry it has to be this way,” Ms. Chancellor says, but she sounds very far away. The words echo. “It’s for your own good, dear. I hope you will believe me. It has always been for your own good.”
I want to argue and demand answers, but it is all I can do to focus on the glass that is falling, shattering on the floor.
Two seconds later, I follow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The floor is cold and hard, and the first thing I realize when I wake up is that I can’t stop shaking. Did I hit my head? Am I hurt? Is this some sort of shock like I’ve never known before?
Then a new fear washes over me: Maybe I’m in the hospital again.
Or worse. Maybe I never left.
Instantly, I am certain that the last few months — or even years — have simply been a dream, a very sad illusion. I miss Rosie and Megan and Noah. Alexei. I wish my friends were real and not some figment of my messed-up mind.
I might lie here forever, wallowing in that fear, except the smell is wrong. There is no strong scent of antiseptic. The air that fills the room is not so clean that it almost hurts to breathe. No. The air around me is salty and clear, and that is why I open my eyes. That is when I know that everything has been real.
Everything.
Slowly, I try to sit upright, and I notice the heavy packing tape that binds my hands, pressing my wrists together so that my pulse beats in stereo at the place where skin meets skin.
Suddenly, I’m back in the hospital. Rocking. My hands shake no matter how desperately I try to hold them still. Even though I’m free to stand, to walk, to roam, I am bound. A cry rises in my throat, and I cannot hold it back. I wouldn’t even if I could.
I am thirteen years old again. Cold and confused, knowing that the world is over. There is no place safe for me to go.
I bite at the tape now, teeth gnawing against flesh until blood runs down my wrists, but I only feel its warmth. Finally, my teeth pierce the tape and I rip at it, tearing it from my skin, but I don’t feel the pain, only the sense of being alive as my wrists break free and I start to think again.
I am still alive.
Terror fades and, slowly, I push myself upright and crawl toward one of the four windows that look out, due north, south, east, and west. The windows are long and narrow, made for archers and lookouts, perfect for a city under siege. But as I look down at the city below me, there are no rival armies. Whatever enemies await us are now inside the walls.
The Scarred Man. Ms. Chancellor. They didn’t kill me, and I should be grateful for that, but I can’t help but wonder why. Perhaps they didn’t have time. Maybe I’m locked away in this ancient tower as some kind of bargaining chip, a hostage. I can think of a dozen reasons why they’ve left me alive, and none of them are good.
There’s no glass in the windows. A few candles burn in sconces, their light flickering and dancing in the gentle breeze and fading sun. In so many ways, I am no longer in the twenty-first century. There’s no phone in my pocket. Megan and her nifty earbuds are far, far away. I have spent the past two days trying to get my friends to let me stay locked up in my tower, and now I want to cry at the irony — the knowledge that absolutely no one will miss me.
I stand on my tiptoes and look out the window as far as I can. The sun is almost down. Only a thin ray of light bounces off the sea, and soon the sky will be a dark, inky blue. Already the crowds are gathering outside. I can see them from my place in the sky. There atop the highest hill in the city, inside the highest tower, I can see everything. I can even see the future.
The G-20 summit is going to conclude tonight, and the Scarred Man will have access to even the most secure parts of the gathering. All the world leaders will assemble there. The prime ministers of England and Adria, the monarchs of the Middle East. The presidents of the United States and Russia.
This conspiracy is far from over, and it’s almost time for all the players to take the stage.
And I won’t be there to stop him. Not this time. I will be stuck in a tower like Rapunzel, cursing my choice of really short hair.
“Help!” I yell out the narrow window to the east. Down below, people are filing out into the streets. They carry brightly colored banners and balloons. Adria has always liked a show. They adore their ceremonies and traditions, and tonight all the world will be watching. They will want to make the moment last.