Free Ashes of Twilight by Kassy Tayler Page A

“Them.”
    “Oh.” He shakes his head in understanding.
    “What is it exactly that they think I know?”
    “They think you know everything. About other plans for escape and about where your friend made his escape.”
    It doesn’t make sense. “They’re the ones who know where,” I say. “They were the ones who caught him. Why would anyone want to escape after what happened to Alex?”
    He puts his hand up. “Like I said before, things are not always what they seem.”
    I want to stamp my foot in frustration. I turn away, take a step, and then turn back to him. My patience is wearing thin. I am tired of him being cryptic. I want answers; no, I need answers to everything that has happened. “What does that mean?”
    Once more he looks around. The streets are much busier now. People are hurrying around us, as if they are late. A few give us looks and I know they are marking us, a shiner and a cadet, hiding in the shadows, deep in conversation. It is not an everyday occurrence. There will be talk of it. The filchers will hear of it. They have spies everywhere.
    “I can’t explain it just now. If I’m late they’ll want to know why. Can you meet me somewhere? Somewhere where we can talk?”
    “Why?”
    “I need to know if there’s going to be another attempt.”
    “Why would I tell you if there was? Why would someone want to escape if all there is out there is fire?”
    “You don’t believe that, do you?” He moves closer to me. So close that I can see each and every one of his incredibly long and dark eyelashes. His eyes are upon my face, intent. The blue iris of his eye is outlined with black. It gives his eyes an unsettling depth. What does he see when he stares at mine? Does he see the shine? Can he tell that beyond the shine my eyes are brown?
    “Isn’t Alex proof of that?” I ask.
    He looks upward. We can’t see the dome from where we stand because the overhang of the roof shelters us, but I know where he’s looking. It’s full day now and we are surrounded by light. He keeps his eyes upward as he speaks. “If there are flames why can’t we see them? Why is there night and day? Why is it cool to the touch?”
    “You’ve touched it?” I look at him in awe. It has always been my wish to touch it, but I do not know of a place where it is reachable. Only the cleaners with their long-handled mops have any contact with it.
    “I have,” he says as he looks into my eyes once more. “And I wonder, after all these years, what else is out there that’s left to burn?”
    I study his face and his eyes in the hope that somehow I’ll see the answers there, but all I see is his questions and realize that he’s searching my face for the same.
    “I have to go,” he says. “If I’m late they’ll think something is wrong. Will you meet me, Wren?”
    The mention of my name frightens me. “How do you know my name?”
    “They have ways of knowing everything.”
    “They? Who are they?” Everything he says is more confusing than before. “How do I know it’s not a trap? How can I be sure that you won’t turn me over to the filchers?”
    “I won’t.” His blue eyes are intent, willing me to believe him. “You decide where and when. You pick out a place where you can see that it’s not a trap.”
    My mind spins. I should walk away. I should never come to the surface again. I shouldn’t talk to him, ever. Yet he has answers, he knows something …
    “What’s your name?” I look at his jacket and his name badge. P. Bratton.
    He smiles, fleetingly, so quick that I would have missed it had I not looked up at that exact moment in hopes of finding some sort of sign to point me in the right direction.
    “Pace. My name is Pace.”
    “The roof of the library. At dawn tomorrow.”
    Pace chews on his lower lip as if he’s thinking. “I will be there. Tomorrow at dawn.”
    I step by him, anxious to be gone. I feel vulnerable, as if I am a target. My spine quivers as I am certain the filchers will