The room feels smaller tonight, or maybe it's just the weight of everything we've learned pressing in on us. I stare at the white walls, plain, bare, empty. Instead of seeing a blank canvas full of possibilities, they are a stark reminder of how little we know about this place.

How little we know about everything.

Marcy and I sit on the edge of the bed, our backs against the wall, our ankles hanging off the edge. The silence envelopes us.

Outside, the compound is quiet, but my mind is anything but.

I still can't shake Sylvia's image from my mind. The drip of blood trickling from the corner of her lip. The stillness of her eyes.

I didn't know her. Didn't even know about her until a few hours ago. Yet she haunts me.

Marcy shifts. The softness of her shoulder presses against mine. "I feel like my whole world was cracked open today, you know?" she breaks the silence, her voice thoughtful.

"Hmm," I grunt in agreement.

"You never told me about where you went when you disappeared." She glances at me.

I've never lied to Marcy. Never kept anything of consequence from her. She has always been my confidant, my counsel, my compass.

But Harry was very clear with his directions. And, I don't feel any urgency. He made it sound like nothing would happen for at least a month.

"He showed us a supply closet," I say, which is the truth.

"Well, he's certainly shown an interest in you," she teases, lightly elbowing me in the side. "Any fun new gadgets?"

I shrug one shoulder, unsure how to respond, not wanting to dig myself into a hole that I can't get out of. "Everything is new, you know?"

"Yeah. It's strange, isn't it?" Her voice becomes thoughtful. "Back in the city, everything felt so... predetermined. Like we were just following a script laid out for us. But here, it's different."

My brows furrow. "Hmm. I don't know." I try to remember what I was thinking on my Choosing Day. It was only the day before yesterday, but so much has changed since then. I was so ignorant. "We thought we had choices. Thought we had control."

I glance over at her, and Marcy nods with her bottom lip jutting out, pondering what I've said. She turns her face, and her gaze meets mine. "Yeah, but those choices were about what path to take. There was still a general map we were all following."

"I guess that's the mistake I made." The words taste bitter, and I look away. "The choice I made wasn't on the map."

Her hand touches my knee, sending a shock of warmth up my leg.

"Hey," she says. Soft. Cooing. "You didn't do anything wrong. You just wanted to follow the path while also being yourself."

"You're right," I agree. "That's all I wanted to be. Myself. Wanted to have a career. Have a family. Follow the rules. Be part of society. Fit in. Just be a normal man. I–I didn't want to buck the system or break the rules. To be some anomaly. It's not fair."

As the words leave my lips, I think of Alex. Are they an anomaly?

Two days ago, I might have thought so. Put them in the same category as the guy who wanted flames for hair.

A rush of heat flairs in my chest.

I'm angry with myself. Angry at the city for making me think that way.

For categorizing people as freaks.

Harry has a point. If I had known about the Queer Rebels when I was growing up, if I had known people like them existed, maybe I would have seen that there were more possibilities.

Not been so judgmental.

Marcy brings her ankles up, tucks her legs in, and turns her whole body towards me.

"But now we actually have choices," she says, the excitement in her voice contradicting the storm brewing inside my chest. "We can go off the road. Do anything we'd like."

Without meaning to, I snort. Anything we'd like. I think of Harry asking me to help bring visibility to the Queer Rebels, or Sequoia showing us pictures of the sacrifices it took to build this sanctuary.

Sure, we have freedom of choice. But we don't have freedom from consequences.

Marcy doesn't know the choice that Harry has presented me with. The dilemma of whom to trust. Of the paths opening up before me that have no clear destinations.

Do I tell her? Explain this conundrum?

How can I?

Marcy would have been perfectly fine continuing to follow the city's path for her. There is nothing she has to change about herself.

The only thing anomalous about her is her love for me.

I shake my head. "Yeah, but here, every decision feels weighty. Like it could have ramifications we don't understand."

Marcy leans forward on her knees, and I turn to look at her. There is a sparkle in her eyes. A playfulness. She tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear and then reaches out to stroke my cheek.

"What if I decided to kiss you right now? Would there be any ramifications?" She licks her lips.

The breath I was exhaling catches in my throat as a wave of heat crashes down my chest and rushes between my legs. My simmering anger melts, and my mind goes momentarily blank.

Marcy chuckles, a breathy sound that makes my ears burn. Then she leans even further forward, her hands on her knees, and lets her nose touch mine.

"So, would there?" she whispers, her face so close to mine that I can't see anything but her eyes.

I let out a shaky exhale.

Her lips brush against mine, soft as rose petals, and she finishes her question, "Be any ramifications?"

"Yes," I say, although it comes out as a growl, and I press my lips against hers.

She opens her mouth for me as I turn my torso towards her. My hand glides up from her hip, tracing the outline of her waist and breast, and caresses her neck. My thumb flicks her earlobe, and my fingers intertwine in her hair.

Marcy, still on her knees, presses my shoulders back into the wall, and then in one smooth motion, she straddles me. She places one palm on either side of my face, presses her weight down, and deepens our kiss.

As she grinds into me, my hips thrust up. Even through our clothes, I can feel her yearning.

Her mouth and body work in unison, pushing and pulling. Hard and soft.

With one hand, she cups the back of my head, keeping our mouths connected. Her other hand grabs my wrist and places it on her ass.

I grab at her, holding her, steering her, as our jerks and grinds become more frantic. More needy.

There is a tightening in my pants as I feel her heat. Crave her warmth. My body reacts, wanting to harden. To press further into her curves.

She shifts back, tearing her mouth away from mine.

I begin to protest, but when she rips her t-shirt over her head–exposing the softness of her stomach, the shadow between her breasts–I stop.

My hands race to explore. To learn the topography of her flesh.

She kisses down my cheek, nibbles at the shadow where my jaw meets my neck. Warm breath exhales into my ear and I lose control.

With an animalistic instinct, I roll Marcy off me and land on top of her, between her legs, my arms on either side of her waist.

I crash into her, and if I had the body I was supposed to have, there would be no question about what I would do next.

Instead, I freeze.

Looking down at her, I notice her large pupils and the flush blooming on her chest. I want to tear my shirt off. To unzip my jeans. To share myself.

But I can't. Don't want to share this version of myself. Not the extra parts of me, not the parts that are lacking.

Marcy notices. Feels the slowing of my movements. "What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing," I say with a shake of my head. "I just think, maybe, we should slow down a little."

"Come here," she beckons, drawing my face close to hers.

I drop my head on her bare shoulder, and she runs her fingers through my short hair, rubbing her hand down my back.

My shirt is thick against my skin, my binder constricting my breathing. I roll half off her body, still touching her, but no longer in such an intimate position.

Was this rush of dysphoria the unforeseen ramification of our kiss?

For a long minute, we lay in silence. The firm mattress is unyielding, and the unnatural fluorescent ceiling lamp bathes us in a sterile light.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. The excitement I felt earlier is now cold and clammy against my skin.

I roll over onto my back, and Marcy sits up. She grabs her discarded shirt from the foot of the bed and pulls it back over her head, covering herself.

"Sorry for what?" she asks and leans down to kiss the top of my head.

I prop myself up on one shoulder and look at her.

"I wanted to keep going," I say. "But I just–I don't know." I look away, my cheeks burning. "I don't have the body you want yet."

"Really?" she asks. And even though I'm not looking at her, I can hear the roll of her eyes in the tone of her voice. "Are you sure about that?"

"I–" my response gets caught in my throat. That isn't fair. She obviously wants me. I'm the one who froze. "You're right," I say, changing course.

"Usually am," she mutters.

"I don't have the body I want to give you yet," I correct myself.

She reaches out, but instead of a soft caress, she ruffles up my hair. "You will."

God, I am so lucky.

Marcy stretches, arching her back, which stirs up my desire. I feel a pang of regret. Why wasn't I able to push through? What stopped me?

But there's nothing I can do now. So, instead, I stand up and walk over to our bags, grab my pajamas, and get changed.

After Marcy puts on a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt, we turn off the lights and get into bed.

"Cuddle?" I ask, feeling a tad pathetic.

She doesn't answer, but leans into me, folding into my embrace.

Even with the conundrum that Harry has placed in front of me, there is no way I can regret coming here if it means that I can sleep with Marcy in my arms.

Soon, our breaths slow in unison, and we both fall into sleep.

But I have barely floated off into dreamland when, suddenly, a loud knock on the door rips me back awake.

I jolt up and look around.

There is a ribbon of yellow light under the door, but the rest of the room is obscured by darkness.

Beside me, Marcy stirs on her half of the bed. She mutters something incoherent, turning over in her sleep. How did she sleep through such a loud noise?

Part of me wonders if it was just a dream. But then there is another knock. Three quick raps in a row.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stumble to the door, nerves building. Who would visit at this ungodly hour?

Swinging the door open, I'm met with the unexpected sight of Harry.

"Come with me," he whispers into the darkness. "Now."