Prodigy

hope she’s okay.
Had she chosen to stay with the Patriots?
    Finally, Day stops in front of a wall. I nearly collapse against him, and a sudden wave of relief and panic hits me. I should be able to run farther than this, but I’m exhausted. Is this a dead end? Has part of the tunnel collapsed on itself, and now we’re trapped from both sides?
    But Day puts his hand against the surface in the darkness. “We can rest here,” he whispers. They’re the first words he’s spoken since we got down here. “I stayed in one of these in Lamar.”
    Razor had mentioned the Patriots’ getaway tunnels once. Day runs his hand along the edge of the door where it meets the wall. Finally, he finds what he’s searching for, a small sliding lever sticking out from a thin twelve-inch slot. He pulls it from one end to the other. The door opens with a click.
    At first, we just step into a black hole. Although I can’t see anything, I listen closely to how our footsteps are echoing around the room and guess that there’s a low ceiling, probably only a few feet taller than the tunnel itself (ten, maybe eleven feet high), and when I put a hand along one wall I can tell it’s straight, not curved. A rectangular room.
    “Here it is,” Day mutters. I hear him press and release something, and artificial light floods the space. “Let’s hope it’s empty.”
    It’s not a large chamber, but it would be big enough to fit twenty or thirty people comfortably, even up to a hundred if they were crammed in. Against the back wall are two doors leading off into dark hallways. All the walls have monitors, thick and clunky along the edges, with clumsier design than the ones used in most Republic halls. I wonder if the Patriots installed these or if they’re old tech left over from when these tunnels were first built.
    While Day wanders through the first hall at the back of the main room, his gun drawn, I check the second one. There are two smaller rooms here, with five sets of bunk beds in each one, and at the far end of the hall is a small door that leads back into the dark, endless tunnel. I’m willing to bet that the hall Day is in also has a tunnel entrance. As I wander from bunk to bunk, I run my hand along the wall where people had scrawled their names and initials.
This way to salvation. J. D. Edward,
one says.
The only way out is death. Maria Márques,
says another.
    “All clear?” Day says from behind me.
    I nod at him. “Clear. I think we’re safe for now.”
    He sighs, lets his shoulders slump, then runs a hand wearily through his tangled hair. It’s only been a few days since the last time I saw him, but somehow it feels like so much longer. I walk over to him. His eyes wander across my face as if taking me in for the first time. He must have a million questions for me, but he just lifts a hand and pushes a lock of my hair into place. I’m not sure if I feel dizzy from illness or emotion. I’d almost forgotten how his touch makes me feel. I want to fall into the purity that is Day, soaking in his simple honesty, his heart that sits open and beating on his sleeve.
    “Hey,” he murmurs.
    I wrap my arms around him, and we hold each other tightly. I close my eyes, letting myself sink against Day’s body and the warmth of his breath on my neck. His hands brush through my hair and run down my back, holding on to me like he’s afraid to let go. He pulls away enough to meet my eyes. He leans forward as if to kiss me . . . but then, for some reason, he stops himself, and pulls me back into a hug. Holding him is comforting, but still.
    Something has changed.
    We make our way into the kitchen (two hundred twenty-five square feet, judging by the number of tiles on the square floor), dig up two cans of food and bottles of water, squeeze onto the counters, and settle in for a break. Day’s silent. I wait expectantly as we share a can of pasta drowning in tomato sauce, but he still doesn’t utter a word. He seems to be thinking. About the foiled plan? About Tess? Or perhaps he’s not thinking at all, but still stunned into silence. I stay quiet too. I would prefer not to put words in his mouth.
    “I saw your warning signal from one of the security cam videos,” he finally says after seventeen minutes have passed. “I didn’t know exactly what you wanted me to do, but I got the general idea.”
    I notice he doesn’t mention the kiss between Anden and me, even though I’m sure he saw it. “Thanks.” My vision darkens for a