Chapter Twenty
"prepare"

❣︎

I stare at Thomas from across the table.

He tries to stare back, but gives up after a few seconds, staring at the ground in shame.

I wait patiently.

Below his breath, he murmurs something inaudible. My eyebrow raises.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, louder this time, but still mumbling. Not because he doesn't mean it, but because he's ashamed. Very, very ashamed.

I still don't look away.

"I was selfish," he finally admits, sighing. "And I'm sorry for not apologizing or thanking you before. You deserve all the credit and I really am thankful, though it might not seem like that. Thank you for coming along with me and figuring it all out."

Satisfied, I nod and go back to eating my food.

Minho pulls a face. "So it did not go smooth? With the three of you?"

"No, we were all kind of arguing with each other," Thomas admits. "Not all of the time—well, Aris and Adelaide weren't arguing all of the time."

"But they were arguing?"

"In a sense, yes."

Minho turns to me for confirmation. I shrug a bit. We weren't arguing. I was just pissed at him for a while. I'm not sure how I feel about it now, but whatever.

"Let's just say I'm glad you're all back," Minho says. "Healthy and well, though Newt is worryingly thin."

"Yeah, he wasn't allowed to eat," Thomas says, almost as if casual.

"What?" Minho's head snaps toward his friend at the same time mine does.

"Huh? Oh, right. He had to hide all the time."

"That doesn't explain why he wasn't allowed to eat."

Thomas looks around, checking if someone is eavesdropping or whatever, and then leans closer. "According to Newt, there was this guy. He would give them food, but only Rachel and Desmia were allowed to eat it."

That explains why Cora is thin as well. But why would Desmia agree to something like that? And why did that happen in the first place?

"Why?" Minho frowns, as confused as I am.

"How do I put this?" Thomas hums. "He didn't care about Cora because... well, she's his kid. From what Newt told me, the guy only cared about controlling Desmia and Rachel."

My appetite vanishes.

Minho leans back in his chair, visibly tensing. "What the hell?"

"Yeah," Thomas mutters. "They were stuck with him for a long time. Newt was a threat. Desmia had been hiding him, but if that man found out she was helping another guy... well, you can imagine how he'd react. She couldn't risk him finding out. Rachel smuggled him scraps when she could, but most of the time, he'd watch them eat the food he brought and would leave once it was finished."

That's why I couldn't find the food.

Minho shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "That is seriously screwed up."

"Tell me about it. Newt said he hadn't done anything yet, but he was planning on doing it someday. He was feeding them to ensure physical health for... his own needs... I guess. He would say that it's for a new generation. That getting immune kids was the only option to a new world."

Bile rises up my throat at the thought. 'He hadn't done anything yet'. Well, apparently he did. To Desmia.

That's why they're thin. That's why Cora is frightened of strangers. That's why she was in that cave instead of the bunker. That's why Newt was behind those boxes.

My grip tightens around the spoon in my hand, knuckles whitening. I can barely bring myself to look at Thomas, but when I do, he's staring at the table, his lips pressed into a thin line. Minho looks just as horrified, his mouth opening and closing as though searching for the right words.

"How did Cora end up with Newt, Rachel, and Desmia? Did they steal her from that guy?"

"Cora is Desmia's daughter. He doesn't see her as anything more than a failed product. She wasn't born immune, so he didn't care. He's obsessed," Thomas continues. "With survival, immunity, the 'new generation.' But he was starting to give up on Desmia, until Rachel showed up. We saved them right on time."

My widened eyes warn Thomas.

"Oh." His face falls. "Minho, you weren't supposed to know Desmia has a daughter. Keep your mouth shut about it."

Minho nods heavily.

I stare at my plate. Desmia had to endure that. Rachel too. Cora, just a little girl, had to grow up in the shadow of a monster who didn't even see her as human.

Thomas fidgets with his hands. "Look, I know it's a lot to process, but they're safe now."

Safe. The word feels hollow. Safety doesn't erase scars, doesn't undo years of trauma.

Minho he breaks the silence. "If I ever meet that bastard..."

Thomas looks approving. "We'll handle it together if it ever comes to that."

Eventually, Minho stands, his chair scraping against the floor. "We should let Cora get vaccinated. Desmia as well. Just in case."

"We already made sure of that yesterday."

His gaze softens, but only slightly. "If you say so." And he sits back down.

'Why aren't you on the mission?' I write.

"Day off. Vince says we need to be of 'upper quality' as we defeat the Grayshades. We have a day off once a week, all of us. To regain our strength. But it's rather a training. I have to be inside the Base in a few minutes and we'll do exercises."

"Oh, can I come with?"

"Just because you're back does not mean it has changes the fact you're not allowed to go on the mission," Minho points out.

"I need to clear my head. What kind of exercises do we practice?"

"I don't know. Some weird yoga shit, throwing knives and shooting with guns, and things like pushups."

"I need to join," Thomas insists.

"You know what? Yes." Minho nods. "You should join yoga. I will tape you against the wall in a relaxed position and then repeatedly throw that gigantic yoga ball at you until you beg to leave."

Thomas rolls his eyes. "That ball is soft."

"Trust me, it's not. Astra and I were rolling it towards each other and then it might've slipped out of my hand and hit Gally right in the face, so hard that he fell on top of Vince, who also fell along with Brenda."

"It might've slipped out of your hand?"

"Yup."

I shake my head, but can't suppress my smile.

❣︎

The scent of sweat and the steady rhythm of boots on the floor echo around the training room. Most of the recruits are groaning, their faces red as they struggle through the endless drills Vince set for them. I've settled for sit-ups. It's not like I have to listen to Vince anyway: I'm not on the mission. Yet.

The concrete is cold beneath my body as I force my torso to rise. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine.

"How many are you at now?" A few feet away from me, Aris gives up mid-pushup and wipes his hair out of his face, sighing.

I hold up four fingers, then a zero.

"Forty?" His eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a low whistle. "That's... impressive. I think I'm at twenty-three, and I already feel like I'm dying."

I shrug. He's doing a different exercise, so it's not comparable. I'm horrible at pushups.

He flops onto the floor beside me, then rests on his elbows, watching as I keep going.

"Do you ever get tired?" he asks, his tone somewhere between admiration and disbelief.

I pause long enough to glance at him, raising a single brow. He's one to talk. He is stronger than he lets on.

"Right."

I shake my head and drop into another sit-up, silently daring him to catch up. With a sigh of protest but an unmissable grin on his face, he lowers himself onto the ground and joins the sit-ups, his breaths heaving with each movement.

Our pace is a rhythm that leaves me satisfied. However, Aris quits after another minute, huffing and puffing as if he just did the hardest exercise ever. His lingering eyes motivate me to keep going.

My core burns and that feeling intensifies by the second. I keep pushing through, sweat matting my hair down on my forehead.

Aris is still watching me by the time I give up. "Alright," he says. It looks like he's about to add something, but he remains silent.

I smile a bit, triumphant yet self-aware.

"I would say I'm decent with guns, but you're probably still better. Literally at anything."

I flush even more, the heat on my cheeks not from exercising.

I've only held a gun once. It did well enough, I guess, but not as well as I would like. I prefer using mental abilities over physical ones, no matter the situation. I'm not sure whether that's a benefit or not.

Glancing around, I find Minho throwing knives. Sonya and Harriet are shooting arrows at targets. I should try to communicate with them soon. Gally is practicing his skills with a gun while Frypan watches him.

Thomas is nowhere to be seen. He's probably with Newt. Rachel is exploring our base and Desmia still needs to make sure Cora is okay. They won't be joining the mission anytime soon.

I look back at Aris. He seems ready to join it. Now that Newt is here, we have a chance of convincing Thomas to stay with him instead of defeating the Grayshades.

I would like to join. I need something to keep myself busy with. A last thing to analyze and observe before I'll just go back to how it used to be—except this time, with friends.