The Sky is Everywhere

Chapter Thirty-Six

I just have time to knock the bag of bugs to the floor before he sees it.

Fletcher stops in the doorway, an oily smile spreading across his face. He doesn't look surprised to see me, and my stomach hardens into a cold ball.

"Caia," he says, and I hate how my name sounds in his mouth. "What are you doing?"

I resist the urge to look down, at the bag lying by my feet. Fletcher can't get his hands on that.

Fletcher closes the door behind him, and I'm suddenly very aware of how small this room is, and how much space he takes up. I'm pretty tall, but Fletcher towers over me.

My mouth goes dry.

Cole said that Fletcher would do whatever it took to keep me quiet but perhaps I hadn't fully absorbed that until I was alone in a room with him.

"I asked you a question," Fletcher says, and his voice is pleasant enough, but there's something lurking underneath – something nasty.

There's no lie I can think of, no way I can talk myself out of this.

"I saw you break away from the others. Seems to me you're snooping around somewhere you shouldn't be," Fletcher says.

He's moving closer now, and I realise he's about to come around the side of the desk. I quickly turn, shoving the bag under the desk with my foot at the same time. Fletcher won't see it now, but that doesn't help me.

I had been so sure no one had seen me.

"I've got to be honest. I didn't think you had it in you to be a rule-breaker. Let me guess, you were trying to find out something about the Trials? Trying to give yourself an advantage?" Fletcher says.

It doesn't bother him that I'm not saying a word; of course not. He doesn't need his girls to talk.

Bile rises in my throat.

"Now, we have a problem, don't we, Caia? You're not supposed to be in here." He's using the same voice he did with Cole, that patronising, reprimanding tone with a hint of menace underneath.

"Then I guess I should leave." I try to back away, but he moves faster than I'm expecting, grabbing my waist and pulling me close.

When Roan does this it makes my skin tingle and my bones melt and my heart fly to the sun.

When Fletcher does it, it's a threat. It makes every fibre of my being shudder.

"You broke the rules. I really should report you to Ripley," he says, and looks expectantly at me.

What is he waiting for?

Does he want me to beg him not to?

Actually, that's probably exactly what he wants.

I won't give him the satisfaction.

His eyes darken when I don't cooperate.

"She won't be happy with you. She might even ban you from the Trials."

That would only be a threat if I was still ignorant as to what they were, but I can't let Fletcher know that.

"But I'm a reasonable guy. I'm sure we can work something out." He lifts a hand and touches the side of my face, trailing one finger down the length of my scar. There's something really ugly in his eyes now, some kind of sick fascination. My scars aren't putting him off; he's looking at them like . . . like he's enjoying them.

"I don't think we can," I say, leaning back, away from him.

His mouth flattens into a hard line. "You should reconsider that."