The vibrations in the stagnant air gave me a split-second warning before a horn drowned out the sound of our footsteps. Lights I hadn’t noticed earlier came to life along one side of the platform’s edge. Fear made my hand go clammy in Erik’s. We were so going to get caught.

  I found Erik’s eyes. The train’s headlight illuminated the fear he was trying hard not to show. Uncertainty turned his thoughts anxious. Before I knew it, he was dragging me across the slippery tiles toward the tracks that weren’t illuminated by the headlight of the approaching train. Without hesitation, he leapt onto the tracks, pulling me over the platform’s edge after him. Erik hugged the inner wall, careful not to touch the rails themselves. I struggled to keep pace in my slippery ballet flats, not bothering to be quiet as I followed him into the darkened tunnel.

  Metal screeched against metal as the train pulled up against the platform we’d just vacated. Curiosity mingled with growing fear as we crouched in the blackened space. Erik tried to exude calm, pretending that he was in control of the situation.

  It wasn’t working.

  I could feel his anxiety, and it heightened my own. Despite the cold, he started to sweat. My sense of smell was enhanced and the faint odor of his deodorant mixed with his sweat filled my nostrils. I tried in vain to dull my olfactory senses and breathed only through my mouth.

  The train doors emitted a mechanical whine when they slid apart. Heavy footsteps echoed through the stale air. Beads of cold sweat weaved their way down my back, plastering my dress to my skin. All the surety that I’d had when we told Arden not to worry about us getting caught was gone. I no longer felt confident in my ability to talk our way out of trouble.

  “I thought you said the trains were automatic? That they weren’t manned by conductors?” I sent, my growing unease making my mental voice sound strained.

  “They usually aren’t. The train usually just passes through the station,” Erik’s mental voice sounded as stressed as I felt.

  “Why did they stop?” I demanded, even though I knew that Erik was no more clued in to the situation than I was.

  “I don’t know, Tals, but I’m sure they’ll be gone soon,” he promised.

  His hand was cold and clammy when he squeezed mine in an attempt to calm my nerves.

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten, inhaling deeply. Relax, Talia. Worst-case scenario, they find us. We weren’t doing anything wrong, really. Sure, we weren’t exactly supposed to be down here, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been caught someplace I shouldn’t be. And it certainly wasn’t the first time that Erik had been caught in a prohibited location. Fine. We were going to be fine. I hated having to give myself a mental pep talk.

  Several more sets of footsteps clamored down the metal stairs of the escalators to the platform. I gripped Erik’s hand tighter and he hugged me tight against his side.

  “Warden Arnouse,” a deep voice boomed, the words reverberating through the tunnel.

  My breath caught in my throat and my body went rigid. I knew that voice: Mac. Erik recognized Mac’s voice instantly, as well. His entire body tensed, and he swore under his breath.

  “Director, how are you?” the man I assumed was Warden Arnouse called back.

  “Doing well,” Mac answered.

  The thought of Mac, impeccably dressed in his tailored, navy suit and crisp, white dress shirt, standing amid the filth and squalor of the metro station was almost comical. A bubble of hysterical laughter managed to escape my mouth before I could prevent it.

  “Talia!” Erik admonished me.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t help it,” I replied, burying my face against his chest to stifle any further outbursts.

  Luckily, my voice hadn’t traveled beyond the depths of our tunnel and neither man heard me.

  “How was the ride from Tramblewood? Has the prisoner spoken?” Mac asked back on the platform.

  “Tramblewood!” I exclaimed. “What’s going on?” My heart thudded loudly in my chest, and blood roared in my ears.

  Erik didn’t answer. I hadn’t actually expected him to.

  “No, sir. Been nearly comatose the entire way,” the Warden said.

  “Excellent. Irene is anticipating your arrival at Rittenhouse within the hour. She has guards standing by as an added precaution, but I do not really expect any trouble,” Mac replied.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Neither do I, sir. The drugs should keep TI-912 sedated until Dr. Thistler has taken custody.”

  Dr. Thistler? What did she have to do with anything? Dr. Thistler was my doctor. Well, technically she was Head of Medical Research for TOXIC. And Rittenhouse was one of TOXIC’s smaller medical research facilities located in Bethesda, Maryland. That much I knew.

  “Would you like to see TI-912?” the Warden asked Mac.

  “Yes!” Mac sounded giddy now.

  Uneasiness crawled over my skin like a spider. I didn’t like his tone or the excitement radiating from his thoughts.

  I heard Mac and the Warden board the train. Muffled words followed by uneasy laughter filled the station. What was so funny? Nothing about this situation seemed funny. Maybe if I weren’t pressed against a filthy, damp wall, hiding with the rats, I would have gotten the joke. I concentrated on my auditory senses, straining to hear their low conversation.

  “Information is not the only way you are useful to us,” Mac was saying.

  I assumed he was talking to the prisoner. He got no response.

  “What do you have planned for our guest?” the Warden asked.

  “Research. I think this just might be the breakthrough we need.” Mac’s glee was palpable; the raw desire dripping from his words tasted sour and sickened my stomach.

  This wasn’t the Mac I knew, not even the one who lied and kept secrets from me. This Mac radiated a feverish, almost manic desire for…something. Desire to understand what was going on and revulsion over Mac’s intensity warred in my mind.

  Curiosity won out. I plunged into his head. Maybe it was my lack of familiarity with his brain patterns—it had been years since I invaded his thoughts—or his constant vigilance, or even my instructions on blocking mental intrusions, but I couldn’t penetrate his barriers. His thoughts were impossible for me to read, but his feelings were so strong, they sucked me in: Triumph. Determination. Vindication. Relief. I nearly gagged.

  “I will let you be on your way,” Mac told the Warden. “Inform me once you have made the delivery.”

  “Yes, Director.”

  One set of footsteps exited onto the platform. The train doors slid shut with a soft whoosh. I remained glued to the dirty tunnel wall, vaguely aware that Erik’s coat was likely covered in grime. I felt the ridiculous urge to apologize for ruining it.

  The sound of the train coming to life squashed any further thoughts of ruined clothing. I felt, rather than heard, Mac’s retreat from the platform.

  Neither Erik nor I moved, even once the only sound in the station was deafening silence. I tracked Mac using my mind, finally exhaling when I no longer felt his presence.

  “He’s gone,” I sent Erik.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. I can’t feel him anymore.”

  Tentatively, Erik crept forward. He held up a hand to signal that I should wait when I tried to follow. He walked on his toes, making virtually no noise. The station seemed darker than it had before the train came. My eyes adjusted quickly, though, and I could make out Erik’s form as he jumped, grabbed the platform edge, and pulled himself up in one swift motion. Even though I was confident that Mac was gone, I still held my breath when Erik vanished from sight.

  Just when I had convinced myself something had happened to him, Erik called to me. “All clear.”

  I blew out a long exhale. Close one. Anyone else I could have handled. Mac was a different story entirely. And lately he hadn’t been in an exceptionally forgiving mood.

  I jogged to where Erik leaned over the platform, arms extended to help me up. His fingers were slick and I worried he wouldn’t be able to get a firm grip. He hauled me easily over the edge, though.

  “That was close,” Erik sent.

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

  As we retraced our steps to the surface, my mind wandered to the conversation between Mac and Warden Arnouse. It didn’t make any sense. Admittedly, I didn’t know all that much about The Agency’s prisons or what type of research took place at Rittenhouse. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t actually know much about The Agency I worked for in general. I thought being a part of the McDonough family made me privy to the inner workings of TOXIC and agency politics. Apparently, I was wrong. None of our dinner table conversations had centered on prisoners or using them for human guinea pigs. The thought made me shudder. What sort of research was The Agency conducting that they needed human test subjects?

  “When Mac said they were going to use the prisoner for research, what did he mean?” I asked Erik.

  “You probably don’t want to know,” Erik sent back, his grip on my hand tightening.

  That was what I was afraid of. But I did want to know. I hated how ignorant I was. For years, I had thought TOXIC did great things for the Talented: Protected our rights. Gave us jobs. And even more importantly, they protected the entire country from threats. But at what cost?

  “Does The Agency use human test subjects a lot?” I asked as we started up the first escalator.

  Erik seemed conflicted, like he wasn’t sure how much he should say.

  “Does The Agency use human test subjects regularly?” I repeated, growing angry at the thought that maybe I was the only one that didn’t know the dirty little secret.

  “I don’t know for sure, Tals. Some people think that they do. Some people think that the School and TOXIC are just one big experiment. Let’s just say that it doesn’t surprise me that they are sending a prisoner to a research facility.”

  I didn’t like his answer. I wanted Erik to be as appalled as I was. The fact that he wasn’t sent Crane’s words flying through my mind: You have no idea what your Agency does to innocent people.

  “Conditions at the prisons, particularly Tramblewood, are not good. I’ve heard that some inmates go crazy after years without sunlight and proper nutrition. The Agency may be conducting a study on the long-term effects of incarceration.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, noncommittally.

  I knew Erik meant to comfort me by suggesting a benign alternative to the nightmarish scenarios parading through my thoughts, and I might have bought it if I hadn’t been absorbing Mac’s feelings. Whatever research Mac had planned for TI-912 was serious and vital to The Agency.

  By the time we made it back to the gate, the adrenaline rush that came with our near miss was gone, replaced by confusion and frustration. I would find out what Mac was up to. I just had to wait until his guard was down. Then I could infiltrate his thoughts. In theory, it should be easy. In practice, I doubted it would be.