Prodigy

will.” After a brief hesitation, he turns his eyes on me with an intensity that takes my breath away. “I’m
not.
But if I stay alone . . . if I remain the only one left, then I can’t change anything. If I stay alone, I
am
the same as my father.”
    No wonder he wanted to have this dinner with me. Something groundbreaking is stirring in Anden.
And he needs me.
He doesn’t have the people’s support, and he doesn’t have the Senate’s. He needs someone to win over the people for him. And the two people in the Republic with the most power over the people . . . are me and Day.
    The turn in this conversation confuses me. Anden isn’t—
doesn’t seem to be
—the man the Patriots described; a figurehead standing in the way of a glorious revolution. If he actually wants to
win over
the people, if Anden is telling the truth . . . why would the Patriots want him dead?
Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe there’s something about Anden that Razor knows and that I don’t.
    “Can I trust you?” Anden says. His expression has changed into something earnest, with lifted eyebrows and widened eyes.
    I lift my chin and meet his gaze. Can
I
trust
him
? I’m not sure, but for now, I whisper the safe answer.
“Yes.”
    Anden straightens and pushes away from the table. I can’t quite tell if he believes me. “We’ll keep this between us. I’ll tell my guards about your warning. I hope we find your pair of traitors.” Anden smiles at me, then tilts his head and smiles. “If we do find them, June, I’d like for us to talk again. We seem to have a lot in common.” His words make my cheeks burn.
    And that’s it. “Please, finish dinner at your leisure. My soldiers will bring you back to your cell quarters when you’re ready.”
    I murmur a quiet thanks. Anden turns away and heads out of the chamber as soldiers file back inside, the echoing clatter of their boots breaking the silence that had permeated this space only moments earlier. I turn my head down and pretend to pick at the rest of my food. There’s more to Anden than I’d first thought. Only now do I realize that my breath is coming out shorter than usual, and that my heart is racing. Can I trust Anden? Or do I trust Razor? I steady myself against the edge of the table. Whatever the truth is, I’ll have to play this all very carefully.
    * * *
    After dinner, instead of being taken to a typical prison cell, I’m delivered to a clean, luxurious apartment, a carpeted chamber with thick double doors and a large, soft bed. There are no windows. Aside from the bed, there’s no furniture in the room at all, nothing for me to pick up and turn into a weapon. The only decoration is the ever-present portrait of Anden, embedded into the plaster of one wall. I locate the security cam immediately—it’s right above the double doors, a small, subtle knob in the ceiling. A half-dozen guards stand ready outside.
    I doze fitfully throughout the night. Soldiers rotate shifts. Early in the morning a guard taps me awake. “So far, so good,” she whispers. “Remember who the enemy is.” Then she steps out of the chamber and a new guard replaces her.
    I dress silently in a warm velvet nightgown, my senses now on high alert, my hands shaking ever so slightly. The shackles on my wrists clank softly. I couldn’t have been sure before, but now I
know
that the Patriots are watching my every step. Razor’s soldiers are slowly getting into position and closing in. I might never see that guard again—but now I study the face of every soldier around me, wondering who is loyal, and who is a Patriot.

ANOTHER DREAM.
    I’m up
way
too early on the morning of my eighth birthday. Light has just started filtering in through our windows, chasing away the navy and gray of a disappearing night. I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. A half-empty glass of water balances near the edge of the old night table. Our lone plant—an ivy that Eden dragged home from some junkyard—sits in the corner, vines snaking across the floor, searching for sun. John’s snoring loudly in his corner. His feet stick out from under a patched blanket and hang off the end of the cot. Eden’s nowhere to be seen; he’s probably with Mom.
    Usually if I wake up too early I can lie back down and think of something calming, like a bird or a lake, and eventually relax enough to snooze a little longer. But it’s no good today. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pull mismatched socks over my feet.
    The