Imagine Me. Tahereh Mafi

for the hostages,” Nazeera says. “How could he possibly? He never told us where he was. Never told us where to meet him. And most interestingly: he didn’t even ask for the rest of the supreme kids. Whatever his plans are, he doesn’t seem to require the full set of us. He didn’t want Warner or me or Haider or Stephan. All he wanted was Ella, right?” She glances at Nouria. “That’s what you said. That he only wanted Ella?”

      “Yes,” Nouria says. “That’s true— But I still don’t think I understand. You just laid out all the reasons for us to go to war, but your plan of attack involves doing nothing.”

      Nazeera can’t hide her irritation. “We should still be making plans to fight,” she says. “We’ll need a plan to find the kids, steal them back, and then, eventually, murder our parents. But I’m proposing we wait for Ella until we make any moves. I’m suggesting we do a full and complete lockdown here at the Sanctuary until Ella is conscious. No going in or out until she wakes up. If you need emergency supplies, Kenji and I can use our stealth to go on discreet missions to find what you need. The Reestablishment will have soldiers posted up everywhere, monitoring every movement in this area, but as long as we remain isolated, we should be able to buy ourselves some time.”

      “But we have no idea how long it’ll take for Ella to wake up,” Sam says. “It could be weeks—it could be never—”

      “Our mission,” Nazeera says, cutting her off, “has to be about protecting Ella at all costs. If we lose her, we lose everything. That’s it. That’s the whole plan right now. Keeping Ella alive and safe is the priority. Saving the kids is secondary. Besides, the kids will be fine. Most of us have been through worse in basic training simulations.”

      Haider laughs.

      Stephan makes an amused sound of agreement.

      “But what about James?” I protest. “What about Adam? They’re not like you guys. They’ve never been prepared for this shit. For God’s sake, James is only ten years old.”

      Nazeera looks at me then, and for a moment, she falters. “We’ll do our best,” she says. And though her words sound genuinely sympathetic, that’s all she gives me. Our best.

      That’s it.

      I feel my heart rate begin to spike.

      “So we’re just supposed to risk letting them die?” Winston asks. “We’re just supposed to gamble on a ten-year-old’s life? Let him remain imprisoned and tortured at the hands of a sociopath and hope for the best? Are you serious?”

      “Sometimes sacrifices are necessary,” Stephan says.

      Haider merely shrugs.

      “No way, no way,” I say, panicking. “We need another plan. A better plan. A plan that saves everyone, and quickly.”

      Nazeera looks at me like she feels sorry for me.

      That’s enough to straighten my spine.

      I spin around, my panic transforming quickly into anger. I home in on Warner, sitting in the corner like a useless sack of meat. “What about you?” I say to him. “What do you think about this? You’re okay with letting your own brothers die?”

      The silence is suddenly suffocating.

      Warner doesn’t answer me for a long time, and the room is too stunned at my stupidity to interfere. I just broke a tacit agreement to pretend Warner doesn’t exist, but now that I’ve provoked the beast, everyone wants to see what happens next.

      Eventually, Warner sighs.

      It’s not a calm, relaxing sound. It’s a harsh, angry sound that only seems to leave him more tightly wound. He doesn’t even lift his head when he says, “I’m okay with a lot of things, Kishimoto.”

      But I’m too far gone to turn back now.

      “That’s bullshit,” I say, my fists clenching. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’re better than this.”

      Warner says nothing. He doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t stop staring at the same spot on the floor. And I know I shouldn’t antagonize him—I know he’s in a fragile state right now—but I can’t help it. I can’t let this go, not like this.

      “So that’s it? After everything—that’s it? You’re just going to let James die?” My heart is pounding, hard and heavy in my chest. I feel my frustration peaking, spiraling. “What do you think J would say right now, huh? How do you think she’d feel about you letting someone murder a child?”

      Warner stands up.

      Fast, too fast. Warner is on his feet and I’m suddenly sorry. I was feeling a little brave but now I’m feeling nothing but regret. I take an uncertain step back. Warner follows. Suddenly he’s standing in front of me, studying my eyes, but it turns out I can’t hold his gaze for longer than a second. His eyes are such a pale green they’re disorienting to look at on his good days. But today— Right now—

      He looks insane.

      I notice, when I turn away, that he’s still got blood on his fingers. Blood smeared across his throat. Blood streaking through his gold hair.

      “Look at me,” he says.

      “Um, no thanks.”

      “Look at me,” he says again, quietly this time.

      I don’t know why I do it. I don’t know why I give in. I don’t know why there’s still a part of me that believes in Warner and hopes to see something human in his eyes. But when I finally look up, I lose that hope. Warner looks cold. Detached. All wrong.

      I don’t understand it.

      I mean, I’m devastated, too. I’m upset, too, but I didn’t turn into a completely different person. And right now, Warner seems like a completely different person. Where’s the guy who was going to propose to my best friend? Where’s the guy having a panic attack on his bedroom floor? Where’s the guy who laughed so hard his cheeks dimpled? Where’s the guy I thought was my friend?

      “What happened to you, man?” I whisper. “Where’d you go?”

      “Hell,” he says. “I’ve finally found hell.”

       ELLA

       JULIETTE

      I wake in waves, consciousness bathing me slowly. I break the surface of sleep, gasping for air before I’m pulled under

      another current

      another current

      another

      Memories wrap around me, bind my bones. I sleep. When I sleep, I dream I am sleeping. In those dreams, I dream I am dead. I can’t tell real from fiction, can’t tell dreams from truth, can’t tell time anymore it might’ve been days or years who knows who knows I begin to

      s

      t

      i

      r

      I dream even as I wake, dream of red lips and slender fingers, dream of eyes, hundreds of eyes, I dream of air and anger and death.

      I dream Emmaline’s dreams.

      She’s here.

      She went quiet once she settled here, in my mind. She stilled, retreated. Hid from me, from the world. I feel heavy with her presence but she does not speak, she only decays, her mind decomposing slowly, leaving compost in its wake. I am heavy with it, heavy with her refuse. I am incapable of carrying this weight, no matter how strong Evie made me I am incapable, incompatible. I am not enough to hold our minds, combined. Emmaline’s powers are too much. I drown in it, I drown in it, I

       gasp