Scarlet

track us? That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”
    “Hey, I liked my idea of bringing her along, but you already vetoed that idea, so now I’m resorting to Plan B, which is to interrogate her. And I am really looking forward to it. I used to play a game called interrogation with one of my old girlfriends where we—”
    “That’s enough.” Cinder raised her hand, silencing him. “This is a bad idea. I’m leaving now. You can stay here with your girlfriend if you like.” She marched past him.
    Thorne stayed on her heels. “Now that was definitely jealousy I just heard.”
    A whimper stopped them both halfway to the front door and they turned to see the girl’s eyelashes fluttering open.
    Cinder cursed again and tugged Thorne toward the entryway, but he didn’t budge. After a moment, he peeled himself out of her grip and meandered back into the living room. Terror flashed over her face and she sat up, pushing herself against the arm of the sofa.
    “Don’t be alarmed,” said Thorne. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
    “You’re those people from the netscreens. The fugitives,” she said in an endearing European accent. She gaped at Cinder. “You’re the … the…”
    “Escaped Lunar cyborg fugitive?” Thorne offered.
    The last bit of color drained from the girl’s face. Cinder prayed for patience.
    “A-are you going to kill me?”
    “No! No, no, no, of course not.” Thorne slid himself onto the other end of the sofa. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
    The girl gulped.
    “What’s your name, love?”
    She chewed on her lower lip, eyeing Thorne with a mixture of distrust and mild hope. “Émilie,” she breathed, barely audible.
    “Émilie. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
    Fighting back the urge to gag, Cinder thumped her head against the door frame. It brought the girl’s attention back to her and Émilie shriveled away in fear again.
    “Sorry,” said Cinder, holding out both hands. “Uh, it’s really nice to meet—”
    Émilie broke into hysterical crying, her focus latched on to Cinder’s metal hand. “Please don’t kill me. I won’t tell anyone I saw you! I promise, just please don’t kill me!”
    Jaw dropping, Cinder stared at the offensive limb for a second, before realizing it wasn’t her cyborg half that the girl was afraid of. It was the Lunar in her. She glanced at Thorne, who was glaring accusations at her, before throwing her arms into the air. “Fine, you take care of it,” she said, and marched out of the room.
    She sat down on the stairs, where she could hear Thorne trying to calm the girl while keeping an eye on the road through the front window. She folded her elbows on top of her knees and listened to Thorne’s cooing and Émilie’s sobs and tried to rub away an oncoming headache.
    Once, people had looked at her with revulsion. Now, people were terrified of her.
    She wasn’t sure which was worse.
    She wanted to scream to the world that it wasn’t her fault she was this way. She’d had nothing to do with it.
    It surely wouldn’t have been her choice if one had been given to her.
    Lunar.
    Cyborg.
    Fugitive.
    Outlaw.
    Outcast.
    Cinder buried her face in her arms and urged the swirling injustices away. She would not get carried away with self-loathing. She had too many other things to worry about.
    In the next room, she could hear Thorne mentioning Michelle Benoit, pleading with the girl to tell him something, anything useful, but all he got back were blubbery apologies.
    Cinder sighed, wishing there were some way she could convince the girl they meant her no harm, that they were in fact the good guys.
    Her body tensed.
    She could convince the girl of that. Quite easily.
    Guilt flooded her veins a moment later, but it didn’t quite dispel the temptation. She scanned the horizon, still seeing no sign of civilization beyond the fields.
    She folded her fingers together, debating.
    “You do know Michelle Benoit, don’t you?” Thorne said, his tone taking on an edge of pleading. “I mean, you are in her house. This is her house, isn’t it?”
    Cinder massaged her thumbs over her temples.
    She was not like Queen Levana and her thaumaturges and all the other Lunars who abused this gift—brainwashed and cajoled and controlled others for their own selfish gains.
    But if controlling someone were for the greater good … and only for a short time …
    “Émilie, please stop crying. It’s just a simple question,