Nicole had led my group for the tour around the base earlier (and had acted just as arrogant and insufferable as she had at the park, unfortunately), and I'm now sitting on the steps of the old school, staring at the moon. I fidget with the cuff of my soft knitted sweater. When she was alive, Mom would knit both me and Dad plenty of warm clothes for the winters because, as she said, "it's a damn cold world out there". I'm also wearing my dad's old hat from his school. It's a simple orange baseball cap with "Wheaton College" embroidered in white thread. It's the closest I can get to actually having them here, I guess. I wonder what it would be like if they were here. If they were able to come. Mom probably would've cried so hard. With joy, obviously. The thought makes me smile. I hear the door creak behind me. I'm not even safe here? I instinctively get into a fighting position and whip around, eyes wide.

I find a smirking Nicole. "Easy, tiger. Just bringing you some dinner. It's no good for any of us if you starve to death, rookie." She hands me a tray.

"Thanks," I sigh. And screw you for sneaking up on me, I add silently. My fingers brush her hand as I take it and I'm surprised that, despite the warmth of the tray, it's cold. I shiver a little.

She blinks. "What?"

"Your hand is freezing."

Nicole shrugs. "And?"

"Most humans aren't cold to the touch after holding a hot tray of food, you do know that, don't you?"

"Well, I'm not like 'most humans'." Her tone isn't snarky and cocky like it usually is. She says it as if she's pointing out that grass is green or a ball is round. I still roll my eyes at the remark. Okay, she killed like some sort of monster or war goddess or something out in the field. Doesn't mean I'm going to let her ego get bigger.

"Why are you so damn arrogant?"

"I'm not arrogant. I'm just better."

I shake my head. "You're not helping your case."

"Can't help if it's true."

I give her a second eye roll. I take a look down at my plate and look at it as if it were made of pure gold. My mouth begins to water as I stare. Food! And not just some bread and beans. This is real food, the kind of stuff people ate before the disease came along -- Fūris, as they call it here. Nicole clears her throat and fakes what sounds like a horrible accent.

"Here, madam, we have local venison --" she motions to the morsels of meat "-- with a side of asparagus, a favorite --" she points to the long, green vegetables "-- rice --" white grains "-- and some chocolate," she finishes, pointing to three brown rectangles. She bows exaggeratedly. "Enjoy."

I open my mouth to groan but end up snickering instead. I have no idea why. What she just did was just so stupid. She grins and I try to straighten my face, but it just makes me laugh harder. I stop trying at this point, feeling that the cause is hopeless. The light feeling in my chest that it gives me is something I haven't had in a long time, and I savor it. When my laughing fit is over, I take a huge bite and let out a satisfied moan.

"I'm never eating beans again," I mumble between mouthfuls.

"Woah, don't eat so fast or you'll choke!" She shakes her head, smiling, almost as if she were my mom or something. "If Lucy were here, she'd be yelling at you to not talk with your mouth full."

"Lucy?" I ask, ignoring Nicole's advice about eating slower. "Who's that?"

"Lucy was one of the Top Three. Kind of like our line of command, I guess. Nina is kind of on top of them all. She built the way we live. Lucy, Tristin and Nina. They took charge at the very beginning."

"Was?" I place my empty plate onto the ground. It clatters slightly, and my fingertips scrape against the concrete, but not hard enough to bleed, despite the sting.

"She's a Host now," Nicole says in monotone. I tilt my head at her voice and her blank face.

"Did you not like her?" I ask.

She looks at me with a confused expression. "I liked her just fine. Why?"

Now I'm the one who looks confused. "You just sound like you don't care..."

She shrugs. "We usually go Host by twenty two or so. She was one of our oldest. The Top Three were all fourteen during the Locking."

"The what?" Some of these words roll off her tongue so easily it makes me feel as if it's strange to not to know what they mean. It's as if I've been living under a rock my entire life. Well, I guess I kind of was.

"First Host attack. I wasn't even born yet. It was eighteen years ago. January fifteenth. The Anniversary's in a week."

"What happens then?" I ask, intrigued. It's as if the people here developed their own culture since that day. It's so... I don't even know. I want to know everything, though.

"A huge party." She rolls her eyes. "I'm not one for all the extravagance, but there's always great wine."

"A party? Like, a party? With dancing and music and everything?" I ask excitedly. I realize that this reaction might make me look a little childish, so I say, more calmly, "That's cool. Cool." Smooth, Maya. Real smooth. Why do I even care? It doesn't matter if I look like a toddler in front of some random girl I just met.

Nicole laughs. It's the first time I've heard her do so since I've met her- it's a surprisingly melodic sound that reminds me of a bird. I feel my face get hot with embarrassment from her laughing at me and push my face into my knees, wishing I could shrink down. Okay, maybe I care. Just a little bit. She clears her throat. "Sorry." She still has a goofy grin on her face.

I lift my face from my legs. "You don't sound sorry," I point out, pouting a little despite myself.

"Oh, that's because I'm not." She smirks again. "But then again, I'm sure you'll have your chance to get revenge or whatever the hell people do." She looks up and away from me, as if deep in thought. She runs a hand down her right calf absentmindedly as she gazes at the starry sky.

"Did you hurt yourself?" I ask. Her muscles tense. Clearly, I asked a terrible question at a terrible time.

"Long story," she says shortly, her tone warning me not to ask questions. "What's the cup of dirt in your room?" she counters.

I think "room" is putting it nicely -- we have little cubicle-like areas separated by cinder blocks and cardboard. "It's from my parents' graves," I answer quietly. I don't know why I even open my mouth, it just feels... natural. Maybe because I haven't had someone to talk to in so long. "The disease got them when I was young."

Nicole blinks, her expression impressed and surprised. "After they went Host, you killed them so you'd have something to bury. I got to admit, that's sort of badass."

Horror creeps into me at her words. "I didn't kill them. They were already dead. Their bodies were being used like puppets."

She furrows her brow. "Yeah, you did. They were alive. You then ended that. As far as I know, that's called 'killing'. Like, dictionary definition."

"No, I didn't!" I scream. I clench my fists. "What do you know?" With every word, the look on her face gets more distant, cooler. As if she's pulling her soul away from the conversation.

"Enough," she says evenly, despite the brief flash of hurt in her eyes. From what, I don't know.

It just makes my temper worse. "Damn it! Haven't you ever loved something?"

Something in her snaps at those words. The cool expression snaps into one of anger and something I can't place. "You listen up, rookie, I'm going to tell you how it is!" she yells. "Out there, those people are alive, just sick. We're killers. We go Host and then are killed by our own people, and we're fine with that. Love is a weakness. It makes you stupid. You better learn that early on --" she rolls up her right pants cuff "-- before someone gets hurt!"

I gasp when I see what's on the back of the calf. Ugly scars that look like their wound was never properly treated run from her ankle to knee-height. From their shape, it looks like they're older scars from something scratching her -- or someone. The sight of them makes me sick. Nicole pulls the cuff back down and utters five more words: "I learned the hard way." With that, she storms back into the building and leaves me speechless. Oh my God.

What happened to her?