Free Meridian by Josin L. McQuein Page A

definitely human before he was Fade. They’re both dressed in fatigues similar to the ones our security personnel are assigned.
    “What do they want?” I ask Marina as they fall into step on either side of us.
    “They didn’t say,” Marina says, cocking her head like she’s listening to something. “I think they’re escorting us in.”
    “What’s with the silent treatment?” Maybe the ones born out here have trouble with words, but someone who started off human should be able to speak. Honoria’s brother can.
    “They didn’t say that, either.”
    They urge us onward and set the pace. If I fall off cadence, one pushes me so I’ll keep up.
    Once we’re at the Dark, they show us where to enter through the trees and vines, cringing away from a burst of light that ignites the sky behind us.
    The Arc’s back on full power, burning across the short side. A moment later, there’s a siren wailing in the distance, calling everyone to safety while the alarm on my wrist and Marina’s flash red.
    She looks at me, and I nod.
    Honoria knows.

CHAPTER 9
MARINA
    W E’VE moved fully into the Dark, walking shoulder to shoulder with the unnamed Fade on either side.
    Are they a good thing or a bad thing? I ask Cherish.
    Guard, she says, but is that a warning, or does she mean they’re a guard detail?
    Why would we need guards? I ask, but she doesn’t have an answer for that.
    Instead she says, Home .
    That’s all she cares about—getting home.
    She wants to be here. She wants to stay.
    The moment I pressed my toes into the Arc, Cherish was pushing me to leave so hard, I could feel hands at my back. Other hands were reaching out for me the way they do in my dreams of belonging, promising to pull me home.
    Home, Cherish says again.
    Not for me, I say back.
    It’s chilly here. The Dark’s always cool because of the shade, but this is more. Tobin’s hand is a block of ice inside mine. The heat flows off my body, siphoned away so I’m left shivering. The leaves and branches rattle, but there’s no wind. They’re shivering, too.
    The Dark’s afraid.
    “They’re scared,” I whisper back to Tobin, casting a wary glance at the male Fade beside him. Even if they don’t want to answer us, they can still understand us.
    “Because the lights came on?”
    “I don’t think so.” The Arc has kept the Fade away for decades. Crossing it is painful for them, if not outright lethal, but the lights don’t reach this deep.
    What’s wrong? I ask Cherish.
    I expect her to answer the way Rue would, by allowing me to touch the hive’s mind, so I brace for the flood of noise and emotions that comes with it, but it never happens. She might as well have plugged her ears.
    “She’s locked me out,” I say.
    Cherish is doing this on purpose. She’s hiding something.
    “You try,” I suggest.
    “Try what?” Tobin asks.
    “To talk to them. Try to hear.”
    If Tobin is turning, he’ll be able to.
    “I don’t know—I mean, how?” Tobin asks uncertainly, but he never suggests that he might not be able to hear them. Our shared nightmares, and Trey’s drawings, are coming from somewhere, and the hive is the only source out here.
    “Act like you’re trying to get someone’s attention in a crowd. Pick someone you know and then shout.”
    Tobin stops, bringing us all to a clumsy halt as he closes his eyes.
    “I feel like an idiot,” he says. His face draws up more like someone in pain than attempting communication.
    “You look like an idiot,” I say, and he scowls. “Did you hear anything?”
    “Does my spiking blood pressure count?”
    Sigh. I’ll take that as a no.
    “It was worth a shot,” I say.
    And, if nothing else, there’s a renewed sense of peace to Tobin’s demeanor. The hive didn’t answer him. They don’t answer humans.
    Maybe that’s why they aren’t answering me. I chose a human existence; this is the cost.
    Continue.
    As if to prove me wrong, the male Fade speaks.
    I’m not an outcast, I’m a