Jordyn

The room around us stops shaking a few moments after Sam wakes up. Yet, none of us move from under the ledge. Ezra watches the screen until it finally goes black, and then, he plays with the holograph controls in his hand, careful not to project them.

"Are you alright?" I ask Samson, helping him into a more comfortable position. His head rests against my thigh like a pillow, and he blinks up at me in stunned confusion. Blood has dried down the side of his face from the head wound, plastering brown hair against his scalp.

"I think so," he mumbles, reaching up to touch his head.

"Don't," I say quickly, and he pulls back. "You got knocked around pretty bad."

"I feel like I got kicked by a horse."

"Not quite," I laugh. "Just one angry Neil."

"What happened after I blacked out?"

I recount the events in the hallway to him, leaving out the bloody scene of Neil spread out like a gutted fish. It's impossible to erase the memory from my mind, but he doesn't have to know.

"You killed him?" Sam asks, brows furrowing deeply.

"I had to," I say. "He was going to hurt us." Quoting Ezra feels like the safest bet. I wasn't being malicious, right? That is my job--protecting people.

"I don't doubt that," Sam whispers, rubbing his cheek. "You think that stuff he said about turning us in was true?"

I nod.

"What reason would he have to lie? Plus, Ezra would have told us if he was lying."

Ezra glances back at us. Our eyes meet, and he smiles faintly before turning back around. He would definitely tell me if Neil had been lying.

"Someone's coming," I tell Sam, still staring at the back of Ezra's hair. It's a nest of blonde curls with bits of concrete dust lodged in it. His bare back and shoulders shine with sweat. Otherwise, the skin is blemishless--no freckles, scars, or anything. I can see the edge of a scratch on his upper arm, just below the shoulder, and it looks recent but healed. I wonder what happened.

"Murano?" Sam asks.

"We aren't sure," Ezra blurts, turning to face us. He catches me staring at him, and his eyebrows raise slightly. I scowl at him, and he laughs.

"How are we not sure?" Sam continues.

"Well, I couldn't really ask for their names when we locked ourselves in this death hole."

Sam sighs.

"Any other signs of alliance? Clothes or badges or something?"

"Now that you mention it, I think one of them might have been wearing a little pink bow in their hair. That's gotta mean they're in the girl scouts. I bet the troops have come to rescue us."

"Ezra," I warn. "Stop."

He shoots me a look, one of anger but resolution. After nodding to me, he shakes his head.

"No, Samson. No signs of alliance. I didn't recognize any faces, either. They're wearing masks."

"Do you think they'll find us?" I ask. Ezra shrugs.

"I mean, we aren't going anywhere. They'll search The Island for signs of life using heat traces. The mechanical animals and such won't show up. You left the tunnel door open, didn't you, Sam?"

"Yeah, why?"

Sam pushes himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the pressing of my hands against him.

"They'll find the door and know that there's a tunnel system. Considering they don't get lost in the system, I assume they'll stumble across the... what did Neil call them?"

"Morphs," I blurt. Goosebumps run down my arms, and I try to stop the shiver I feel coming on. I can still hear their screaming.

"Right. Morphs. After that, I mean, it's logical that they'll find us. Depending on who it is, the technology might be a little better."

Ezra looks at the broken computer screen, chewing on his lip. There's something he isn't telling us. I open my mouth to ask but shut it again. I have to trust him. He's here to help, not hurt. Whatever he's not telling us must either be not that important or something we don't need to know.

"Should we arm ourselves or prepare for Murano?"

Ezra blinks emptily at him, the muscle in his jaw clenching. I can see the sarcastic response building up like a thunderstorm.

"Arm ourselves with what exactly, Samson?" he asks through gritted teeth. I purse my lips together and try not to laugh.

"I don't know. Isn't there anything in this room?"

Ezra gestures to the messy space, his stone expression never changing.

"Which one do you wanna beat Murano over the head with--a keyboard or an office chair leg?"

"Look," Sam snaps. "You don't have to be such a smart mouth all the time."

"Well, you don't have to ask such stupid questions!"

"It wasn't a stupid question."

"Did you honestly think--"

"Boys!"

Ezra and Sam both look at me. Ezra's face drops, but Sam's fuming. I point at each of them in turn, enjoying the way they both shrivel.

"Sam, stop asking questions," I begin. "Ezra and I checked the room while you were unconscious. If there was anything to arm ourselves with, we would have." Sam nods and settles back against the wall. I switch my glare to Ezra. "Please stop being... you."

Ezra smirks but nods, turning his back to us once more.

"Jordy, we can't just sit here and wait for these strangers to show up," Sam whispers.

"There's no other option, Sam," I reply. "Plus, we wouldn't stand a chance if we had weapons anyway. Look at us."

Sam's face drops. He knows I'm right. I've got a broken arm; Sam's wobbly from his head injury. Ezra's cut isn't healing automatically. What happened with Neil was pure luck. Or karma. Or something. Whatever it was, it won't happen again. I saw the weapons those white-suited people were carrying. It's not safe to try and fight them.

Hiding is our best option.

"Tell us about where we come from, Ezra," I say, craving to fill the silence. It eats through my skin and makes my nerves shaky.

"You mean the city?" Ezra asks, glancing over his shoulder at me. I nod. "Well, it's dark and cold. The building's have been stacked so high to make up for the growing population that it seems to block out the lights most the time.

"The city guards--Murano's henchmen--patrol at all times and try to catch people committing her idea of crimes. I've seen people get arrested for things as little as having their shirt untucked, which is part of the civilian uniform. They're very strict.

"Everyone under the poverty line has an allotted meal time, where they're allowed to report to the Dining Center and pick up their single daily meal. It's usually dehydrated food packs, which taste a lot like pocket lint. That's never enough food, of course, so it leads to people fighting and stealing. Which leads to more arrests. It's a vicious cycle."

Ezra stops talking and rubs the back of his neck.

"Why do people stay in that sort of place if it's that bad?" Sam asks, shaking his head. "I mean, there's a whole world out there! Why not just leave?"

"Murano's influence extends over the entire United States. We aren't the only mega-city in the country. In between, little pods of towns have come up, but she keeps strict tabs on them, enforcing steep taxes and exportation rates for crops. The people that live there are basically slaves to the cities. Which would you rather be--a free beggar or an owned slave?"

I wrap a strand of hair around my finger and tug at it. Freedom. I don't remember what it feels like. I just know that it smells like fresh wildflowers and brownies strait from the oven. I know it sounds like rushing creek water and gentle humming from a woman who loves me like the mother I can't remember either. It looks like the silver truck pulling up the drive, two amaranthine blue eyes atop dimpled cheeks, and silver windchimes that twinkle in the wind.

Yet, in my heart, I know none of that is a place. Freedom is Sam and my father, Ezra and the rebels I barely remember. It's doing what I want, when I want, and spending time with the people who mean the most to me. It's countless nights under the stars throwing rocks over the edge of buildings and training to fight.

When I look up, Ezra's watching me.

"Which would you rather be?" he asks softly.

"I would rather be free," I whisper, and he smiles.

"Me too. Which is why I didn't run when my parents were killed. I faced a life of scraping by to fight for my own freedom. Might as well. Memento mori."

I squint at him.

"Memento mori?"

"It's something my dad used to say. They were professors at a university in the city before Murano had them killed for refusing to teach her standards of education. It's Latin for 'Remember you will die.'"

My face twists in horror.

"'Remember you will die'?!"

Ezra shrugs.

"Pessimistic, isn't it?" he says. "It helps me to be brave and remember that I'm going to die regardless. I should fight for something while I have the chance."

I hum in surprise. He's not wrong. It's a grim way of looking at the world, but it's an important reminder. I've been running from death since I woke up in the middle of the jungle. What would happen if I embraced Ezra's philosophy?

"I think you're both insane," Sam mutters. "I would rather work and breathe fresh air than be trapped in that awful sounding city."

Ezra lifts an eyebrow at him.

"Considering she's staying in the city, I highly doubt you're going anywhere."

"What does that mean?" Sam snaps.

"Oh, nothing," Ezra says with a mischievous grin. "It's just--"

A banging on the door cuts Ezra off. He sits straight up, holding an arm out over us.

"How is your arm going to protect us?" Sam hisses.

"Shut up," I whisper, crawling forward to kneel beside Ezra. We look at each other, knowing good and well this is it. They've found us. Being quiet won't do any good.

Who ever is on the other side bangs on the door again. The hinges quiver. They aren't hitting the metal with their hand.

"We know you're in there!" someone shouts. "We can see your heat traces. Come on out, or we're going to blow the door in."

Sam finally joins us, crouching on the other side of Ezra.

"What do we do?" he asks in a low whisper. His hands clench into fists in his lap. The blood dried on the side of his face cracks as he furrows his brow in anger. Ezra chews on his lip and then looks at me.

I look between him and the door in rapid succession.

"Memento mori," I whisper, holding my hand out.

"What?" Sam hisses. "This isn't the time for Latin lessons! We're about to be dead."

Ezra doesn't say anything. He just looks at me for a long second, and then, his eyes fall on my hand. It trembles slightly, the embodiment of how frightened I am. Power through, Jordyn.

"Are you sure?" Ezra asks, digging through his pocket.

I want to say no more than anything. No, I'm not sure. I'm taking a huge risk. If I'm going to die, though, it won't be like a coward.

"I am."

With a nod, Ezra hands me they keycard. I crawl out from under the ledge, waiting for the two of them to follow. When they're both out, I walk towards the door.

"Let me go," Sam growls from behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see Ezra holding him back by both arms.

"No," Ezra says emptily, jerking his chin at me. I nod and push forward to the keycard reader. With my hand still shaking, I slide it through, hurrying back to brace myself for Murano.

I'm greeted by a sea of white. They wear tight fitting military uniforms from head to toe, faces completely covered with plastic helmets. Neither of us move, but I hear Ezra suck in a breath behind me.

The water's part, and a tall streak of black pushes through to the front. It's a man, much taller than me, with red hair that contrasts with the both the white and black around him.

The keycard slides out on my hand and shatters the silence around us.

"Thomas," Ezra whispers from behind me.

"Dad," I manage to spit out, breathless.