My resolve is set, a firm line that leads me straight to Marisa's office. I walk with deliberate steps, not glancing back at my room and the journal inside that seems to have all the answers. I know this is what I must do to protect Asher—and myself.
"Marisa?" I slide open the door to her office and find her reading through a stack of files on her desk. Her lips are curled, her eyes boring a hole through the paper. When she sees me, she softens.
"Hey, Gabi. Thought any more about this morning?"
"Yeah." Swallowing my pride, I cross the room and sit down in the chair opposite her desk. "I want to do the mission. I read through the file."
She sets down the folder, concealing the words inside. "What changed your mind?"
"Asher. I need closure. I think this will help."
It's a lie, but barely—it resonates too close to the truth. I wonder if she can see my real intentions past the nervous flickering in my eyes.
She doesn't say anything, lacing her fingers together as she studies me. I want to squirm under her piercing gaze, but I sit on my hands and force myself to stare straight back into her steely blue eyes. Finally, she breaks the connection and says, "All right. You'll leave tomorrow. You'll have to redo the weapons test."
"Of course."
Marisa quirks up an eyebrow at my lack of hesitation. "We can go do that in a few minutes. I want to talk to you first, though." She stands, crossing the room and sliding her door shut again. When it connects with the wall, the cracking noise resonates. "I'm worried about you."
"Worried about my connection with Asher? I swear that won't be a problem anymore. I can detach myself emotionally."
"No. I understand your feelings towards Asher, and I'm confident you'll do what's right soon enough. I'm worried about your powers."
Of course she is. Everyone knows my powers aren't developing at the same speed they should. Even after all my time in the simulation room, I have trouble using them on command, and it's even harder when I'm not sleeping. I still don't see any way they could be helpful.
"Soon, your powers will develop to their full potential," Marisa continues. "I'm worried about what will happen when your powers are maxed out. You'll be able to alter reality, and I'm afraid you'll become confused."
"Confused about what I should do?" I ask. "It's easy. I'll make Asher good again. I'll end this whole stupid struggle."
"It doesn't work like that." Marisa reaches inside her desk and pulls out a file. Written on the tab, in black marker, is my name. "As far as we know from gauging your potential during these tests, you can't change people. You can change what happens to you, but that will be it. But I'm getting off-topic. You'll discover what you can and can't do soon enough."
She leans towards me, her elbows pressing into her desk. "Your biggest battle isn't going to be with guns or knives or hand-to-hand combat," she says. "It won't be confronting Asher. It will be with yourself, when it comes time for you to face the truth."
"The truth?"
"Yes. Your powers can lead you in the direction you need to go. They can guide you, but you have to listen. And you have to keep a clear picture of what isn't or isn't true. Gabi, people with powers like yours can go insane, trying to figure out where the line between dreams and reality is drawn. You need to be careful."
Am I going insane already? I think about what Ryan told me earlier. Coupled with Marisa's warning it seems like everyone's worried I'll go crazy. Is there something about me that makes people think I'm more susceptible to danger?
"Thanks for the warning," I say. I mean for it to sound genuine, but it comes across forced.
Marisa presses her lips together and slides my folder back inside her desk. "Let's go take your weapons test. Then, I think you should make up with Emery. I'm not letting two people who are fighting with each other go on a potentially deadly mission."
What if I do die tomorrow? I'll never be able to see what my powers can do. I'll never make up with Asher. Will he be the one to kill me? Or will it be Willa? What if it's an accident, and that's what it takes for Asher to snap out of his haze?
Am I even ready to die?
I follow Marisa out of the room, trying to focus on what I need to do to move forward. Pass the weapons test. Fake an apology to Emery. Get a good night's sleep, even though I know that will be impossible with the possibility of seeing Asher tomorrow.
"All right, Gabi," says Marisa. "I'm going to have you shoot the gun you'll use tomorrow a few times. Then you can practice throwing your knife. Those are the only two weapons you'll be equipped with tomorrow, so we'll worry about other defense mechanisms later. Your instincts should kick in if you need to use any nontraditional weapons—for example, a chair or a lamp."
"It sounds like you expect there to be a struggle," I say as she slides open the door and hands me my pistol.
Marisa steps back so I can shoot. Under the harsh light, I can see dark circles shadowing her eyes. "It's always good to be prepared," she says. "Start shooting."
I raise the gun and aim it towards the target again, gritting my teeth so they don't chatter. Over and over again, I remind myself that this is for Asher. So I can protect him. So I can save us.
The first bullet hits the center of the target. Then I shoot two more, in rapid succession, and they hit the same spot. Each gunshot sends a chill to my gut, but I keep my jaw locked so it doesn't shake.
"Good," says Marisa, and I set down the gun. The sharp gunpowder stings my nose, and when I swallow a lump in my throat goes down funny.
She reaches over to the table and rifles through a few knives before selecting a short, fat one. "Try throwing this."
I run my fingers along it, feeling the cool metal in contrast with the heat of the gun. If I squint, I can make out my blurred reflection, my wide blue eyes and wisps of hair falling out of my ponytail. I look wild, deranged. Maybe it's just the reflection, or maybe it's who I become when I hold these weapons.
Taking a deep breath, I grip the handle of the knife and focus on its weight. Then I throw it. It spins and spins, and I'm surprised when it sticks to the target. My aim isn't as accurate as when I used the gun, but it must be enough because Marisa nods in approval.
She has me throw a few more knives, until my aim is precise and my fingers cramp from clenching onto them. I'm becoming used to the monotonous routine of throwing the knives, of watching them sink into the rubber of the target and quiver. After the sixth one slices into place, she says, "That's enough for now. Good work. You're almost ready for the mission tomorrow."
"Almost?"
"Go make up with Emery. I'm not compromising on that."
She puts the gun and knives back in their cabinets, dismissing me. Rubbing my hands against my t-shirt, I slip back out into the hallway. Alone, I'm able to register my fear.
I have no idea where Emery is, so I wander down hallways, letting my feet carry me wherever they want. I pass a row of offices on the first floor and then the testing room and library, where I imagine Adrienne is sitting with her nose buried in her laptop. Then I turn right and walk down an unknown hallway, which looks deserted.
I keep going for a few minutes, until all the closed doors start to look the same and I'm bored. I try using my powers a few times, changing the paint color on one of the doors from white to a faded pink. It's a small improvement, but I know I need to do better.
There's an empty wall across from me, with no door in it. Facing it, I squeeze my eyes shut and focus as hard as I can. I don't know what I'm looking for or what I expect to happen, but the switch in my brain turns naturally. When I open my eyes, a door has materialized there. It blends into the wall, just like all the others, but I can make out the faint outline of the handle and crack.
I cross the hallway and slide the door open. It's not bright and airy like the rest of the doorways—instead, it's dark, and a chill nips at my face. I fumble with my phone and turn on my flashlight, illuminating a rusted metal staircase.
One thing I do know about my powers is I can't make things happen that don't exist. I can't cause a unicorn to appear in Times Square, and I can't bring back someone dead. That means this staircase exists, somewhere in this building, and I've just made it accessible to me.
It likely leads to an empty basement with a leaky ceiling, where old machinery whirs and cobwebs line the beams stretching above the walls. But there's also another possibility, and that's why I go down the stairs. My hand grips tight against the cool rail and I hold my phone out straight in front of me, illuminating the path in front of me. I can see the base of the staircase: there's boxes stacked higher than I am tall, a few open with papers spilling out of them. They could be old, unused records, or they could be something else. Excitement courses through me, and I pick up the pace.
"Gabi?" I freeze at the familiar voice calling out my name. One foot hovers above the step below me, and I debate continuing to walk and ignoring Emery. I should have shut the door behind me.
"Gabi, what are you doing down there?"
Emery jogs down the stairs, moving effortlessly in the darkness behind me, and tugs at my arm. "Get out of the basement."
"But—" I shut my mouth. It sounds stupid to tell him that I'm looking for answers. Just because a room is dark and concealed doesn't mean it's hiding something devious.
Emery pulls me until we're back in the hallway, and he shuts the door behind us. I expect it to disappear into non-existence, but it remains there. A crazy part of me wonders if it had been there all along, and I hadn't willed it into being after all.
When I turn around I see Emery studying me with his arms crossed. It seems like he doesn't know what to say, but he doesn't want to leave, either. Our unresolved argument hovers, seeping the air out between us.
"I'm sorry," I say, tugging my hair out of its ponytail. "I overreacted at the meeting with Marisa."
"She told me you're going to do the mission after all."
He doesn't look mad at me, just confused and a little disappointed that we've been fighting. The softness is back in his amber eyes.
"Yeah," I say. "I changed my mind."
"Why?"
"Because." I'm sick of explaining, and I hate lying to Emery more than I hate lying to Marisa. "I don't feel like talking about it. I'm just confused. I don't know what I'm doing half the time."
He cracks a smile. "Is that why I saw you descending into our ancient basement with a flashlight like you were in some spy movie?"
"I guess. You can't blame me, can you?" I rub circles into my temples, trying not to look back at the basement door. "I've been thrown straight into this mess. Half the time I don't know what's real and what isn't."
"What do you mean?"
It feels comforting to be able to confide in Emery again. "I feel like I'm still stuck in a dream a lot," I say. "Like that staircase. I thought I used my powers to cause the staircase to exist, but I obviously didn't because it's still there now. And when we went to Asher's apartment and watched him from the fire escape. That felt surreal, like it wasn't reality."
"That's because you didn't want it to be true." He takes my hand and leads me away from the door and the empty hallway. "Gabi, everyone's been warning you about how hard it is to figure out what's real. You just have to learn along the way. But you can't make the happy things your reality and the bad things your dreams. Life doesn't work like that. You don't get to pick and choose."
"I wish I could," I grumble.
He stops and turns to me, his hands pressed up to the wall I'm leaning against. "I hated fighting with you. I didn't want that to be real. But it was, wasn't it? And it sucked. But we're here now, and we're not trying to tear each other's eyes out." He cracks a smile and adds, "Once you figure out what's real, you can try to change it. Like this. I'm sorry, too."
I match his hesitant smile, and he reaches a hand up to tuck my loose hair behind one ear. Shards of my dream seep back into my consciousness. "Gabi, we're going to go into that apartment tomorrow and start a fire, and you're going to hate yourself after. But you have to accept that as your reality right now. And if you want Asher back, the first step is to destroy anything that's keeping him on the bad side."
"Unless we kill him in the process."
Emery's fingers move from my hair to my cheek, warm as they slide down to my neck. I imagine him with a gun tomorrow, ready to shoot, and the contradiction confuses me. "You can't blame yourself for that," he says. "If Asher dies, it won't be your fault."
"It will be yours," I say. "Ryan won't kill him. You know I won't. If he dies, it will be you who shoots him. And I'll hate you for doing it."
The smile on Emery's face tightens, and his hand falls to his side. "If I spare him, we'll be back in this situation all over again. At some point, either he dies or we do."
"I refuse to accept that as true."
"I don't want to fight with you about this," he says. His body is pressed up against mine, and part of me wants to push him away but a stronger part wants him to stay. "We have a fundamental disagreement about ruthlessness. Let's accept that as true and move on."
I don't know where these feelings are coming from—they feel new but also completely natural. Like that dream. His eyes are intense, and they refuse to drop from my gaze. It's hard to stare at them for more than a few seconds at a time, the same way it was always hard for me to watch Asher for too long. I don't remember feeling this way about him—it's something that happened all of a sudden, like a button has been pressed. "That's it?" I whisper. "We don't talk about this anymore until you kill Asher tomorrow and we're standing like this having this debate all over again?"
"First of all, I have no objections to standing like this." His hands snake around my waist, gripping my hips. "Second of all, I won't kill Asher. Not tomorrow. We'll wait, until you have more time to cope with this reality. More time to adjust to him being the villain. Okay?"
"I don't want you to be the one to kill him. Not ever. I don't want to have to look at you and know you were the one who murdered him."
"I'll talk to Marisa about it," he says, dropping his forehead down to meet mine. Anyone who walks by right now would see us in this embrace and would never expect us to be having such a serious conversation. "It's not like I'm his designated assassin."
"Promise?"
His lips hover over mine, and I can feel them move even though they don't touch mine. "Promise."
I squeeze my eyes shut. I realize I want this to be real. But at what cost? The further I become from Asher, the more connected Emery and I become. Is he right? Will I wake up one morning and stop caring about what happens to Asher? Will he become a faceless villain to me, just like he is to everyone else?
Emery's lips move up and kiss each of my eyelids, one after the other. His body weight is pressed against mine, pinning me against the wall. I've never felt so good about being trapped in one spot.
"Emery?" I ask.
He draws away so I can look him in the eyes again. "Yeah?"
"Tell me this is real."
"I swear it is." His hand cups the back of my neck and pulls me closer. "I swear."
He's still uttering that last syllable when he kisses me, absorbing every one of my senses into him. He's all I can hear or taste or touch, and if I open my eyes I know he'll be all I can see, too. It's like my dream, all over again.
I kiss him back, so hard I think I'm bruising my lips. I don't care if this moment lasts for one second or infinity—I want to feel like it's forever. Deep, deep down, I know that the mission and the guns and Asher could all be imagined, but this would be constant. I'm in the middle of a tornado, and everything spins around me so fast I can't put my finger on anything.
But now I know. At least this is real.