BENEATH THE SURFACE

THE GARDEN

I'VE SEEN HIS FACE BEFORE.

Not in person, of course, but in the midst of sleepless nights, when all I could think to do was go through my old files. Files that told me about every single person in the bunkers. Come to think of it, their pictures look more like mugshots, biographies containing intricate details about their physical attributes and candidacy for the PROJECT. All of that instead of something as simple and trivial as their favorite color, or anything that makes a person themself.

I wonder how many people he believes he's lost in the war. How many people he believes he lost in the lie I fed to him all this time.

At this moment, I would rather have another nightmare than have to watch Ezra's life crumble before his eyes. The red glow mocks me from where I stand, a warning sign to remind me that the bloodshed that's coming is without a doubt my fault.

I will myself to run the rest of the way—to demand that the guards dragging two teenagers into a hall stop and take me instead. But my feet feel glued to the sleek floor beneath me, a subtle nod to the prison I just escaped. Ezra's cries of protest echo around me, time slowing to a halt.

And now I'm all alone observing a scene crafted by my own selfish hands. Alexander's words remind me again of my guilt, and I push the thought aside, taking advantage of the chance to admire the boy who chose me as the recipient of his letters. Letters that bled hope and optimistic daydreams.

I'm so sorry, Ezra Grey.

I start with his hair, slightly disheveled curls creating waves that frame his face. His jawline is striking, the stubble lining his chin and lip adding to his mature appearance. His fair skin is paler than those living on the Surface, a testament to his life underground. A testament to the boy who dreams of sunlight on his hungry skin.

And finally, I meet his eyes, the color congruent with his namesake. Cool grey pools look past me in anguish, their striking hue evident even in the red glow around us. A single tear is frozen on his supple cheek, the urge to wipe his sorrow away overwhelming me.

But time teases me yet again, the seconds lost catching up to me. Before I can gain my bearings, the floor beneath us shifts, a harsh stream of sunlight from above cutting through the crimson light like a blade. A platform descends into the heart of the bunker, a lithe figure standing in the center. One that I know all too well.

Alexander True.

Without a second thought, I shield Ezra, forcing myself to stand my ground, a poor attempt at hiding the fear coursing through every fiber of my body. Alexander's lips curl into an amused smirk, a look of disdain painted on his face for the very place he's forced innocent people to live in.

As if on cue, all the commotion and screams in the halls beyond us stop, presenting Alexander with a soapbox on a silver platter. He claps slowly, dragging out his theatrics in an attempt to get under my skin. To convince me I've chosen the wrong side.

"I knew you'd figure out my little puzzle," he chirps. For a moment, there's a hint of authenticity in his tone. A hint of the boy I used to know who's been devoured by the wolf lying dormant inside. "I'll admit, I thought you would've taken a little longer to solve the code, seeing how we haven't been close for some time now."

I steady myself, quick with my response. "I was the one who came up with it, remember?" The code was my idea, allowing us to communicate in secret.

His jaw twitches at that and his eyes grow colder than they've ever been. "What you didn't know is you walked right into my little trap. Let the games begin, shall we?" Two Authority guards step out from behind him, advancing toward us.

"These people are innocent." My declaration sounds desperate and I clench my teeth to keep from crying out in frustration. I'm sure he's loving every minute of this. Watching me squirm underneath his grasp. The snake finally caught up with its prey. "Do what you want with me. Just don't hurt—"

He rolls his eyes in annoyance, an abrupt wave of his hand cutting my words short. "Start Project Bunker in 3...2...1..." Before he gets the chance to give the green light on the revenge he's been planning for years, I'm yanked toward the hallway leading back into Bunker 17.

Ezra's pulling me along with him, eyes deadset on the path ahead of him. I follow him without a word. Even though I've been a part of the operations behind the scenes, he's lived down here all his life. He knows the bunker better than I do. And probably better than Alexander, especially since he's been occupied fiddling around with microscopes in his lab.

I allow myself a sigh, releasing my hold on the fear and anxiety propelling me forward. I focus on the boy in front of me, taking in the little details to distract myself from the danger closing in just a few feet behind us.

His hair flows as if he's underwater, every movement calculated and careful. His presence is almost ethereal, a quality that should've been extinguished long before he reached adulthood. I can't imagine living underground my entire life. And helping the one person who helped reinforce the lie it was built on.

My focus shifts to the feel of his skin against mine. He's grasping my hand tightly but I don't mind the contact, willing myself to continue extracting the details despite the chaos violently unfolding around us. His palm is warm, the hair on my arms standing in response to the sensation.

It reminds me of when Alexander and I were close. How I used to shy away from allowing myself to truly feel for him. To truly fall. And it seems my intuition was right. All our friendship ever was to him was a means to an end. He used me as a stepping stone to help accelerate Project Bunker beyond what he could've ever done on his own.

I was always the better chemist, the periodic table stored in my brain a catalog he often borrowed. That's why the clues were so specific. He wanted to see how I'd do under pressure. If I was the perfect catalyst to set everything into motion. My heart sinks at the realization that he's been pulling my strings all along.

He's been hunting me from the start.

I push any thoughts of him out of my mind, deciding that it's time to completely let him go. Let go of the memories, the moments, and the plans. I no longer know him.

A shout of surprise yanks me back to reality and I have to steady myself to keep from running into Ezra. Two Authority guards are standing in the middle of the hallway, preventing us from going any deeper into the bunker. From here, the symphony of agony from the other residents echoes off the rusted walls around us.

And once again, the floor beneath us shifts, followed by a deafening horn. I cover my ears upon instinct, Ezra dropping to his knees next to me. The red glow around us fades, giving me a clear glimpse of the fear in his eyes. The guards pull us to our feet, herding us back toward the room we just left. Where Alexander waits.

The barrels of their white guns held against our backs are the only thing that makes me rethink planning an escape just yet. As we round the corner, I notice something new that wasn't there moments before. Rows of clear glass cells fill the room, carefully positioned with the platform in the center.

Ezra shifts uncomfortably beside me, the expression on his face only validating my feelings. In all the conversations I'd had with Alexander about his project, there was nothing mentioned about capturing anyone. As if they weren't already in captivity.

"An experiment" was the closest I'd ever gotten to truly discovering what he had planned, and maybe this was why. He knew my moral compass wasn't held together by shards of glass. That I might eventually relinquish my role as a war reporter and actually tell the innocent people in the bunkers the truth.

A guard pushes Ezra ahead of me, forcing him to climb inside one of the cells in the first row. I can tell he's holding back the urge to fight, the scene playing out before us completely foreign to him. I'm next, grateful that I can still keep an eye on him from here. The size forces me to bring my knees to my chest, a chill rippling throughout my body at a few observations.

Two sides of the glass are frosted, obscuring my view of what's going on beyond my cell. Of what Alexander's next steps are. The second observation confirms what he'd said to me only moments ago. That I walked right into his trap. A silver plaque screwed into the glass panel beneath me holds a six-letter word, sealing my fate in his plan. 

LACARU.