Find Me

by Tahereh Mafi

  I won’t let that happen.

  I have no idea how anyone—even one of Anderson’s men—was able to penetrate the Sanctuary, but if that’s where we are, then this is a matter of life and death. I have no idea what happened while I was half-dead in my room, but things must’ve escalated in my absence. I need to catch this piece of shit, or all our lives could be at risk. And if Anderson gets what he wants tonight, he’ll have no reason to keep James and Adam alive anymore. If they’re even still alive.

  I have to do this. It doesn’t matter how weak I feel. I have no choice, not really.

  I steel myself, pushing harder, my legs and lungs burning from the effort. Whoever this is, they’re perfectly trained. It’s hard to admit my own shortcomings, but I can’t deny that the only reason I’ve made it this far is because of the hour—it’s so eerily quiet right now that even delicate noises feel loud. And this guy, whoever he is, knows how to run fast, and seemingly forever, without making much sound. If we were anywhere else, at any other time, I’m not sure I’d be able to track him.

  But I’ve got rage and indignation on my side.

  When we enter a thick, suffocating stretch of forest, I decide I really, really hate this guy. The moonlight doesn’t quite penetrate here, which will make it nearly impossible to spot him, even if I get close enough. But I know I’m gaining on him when our breaths seem to sync up, our footfalls finding a rhythm. He must sense this, too, because I feel him power through, picking up speed with an agility that leaves me in awe. I’m giving this all I’ve got, but apparently this guy was just having fun. Going for a stroll.

  Jesus.

  I’ve got no choice but to play dirty.

  I’m not good enough to shoot, while running, at a moving target I can’t see—I’m not Warner, for God’s sake—so my childish backup plan will have to suffice.

  I chuck the gun. Hard. Give it everything I’ve got.

  It’s a clean throw, solid. All I need is a stumble. A single, infinitesimal moment of hesitation. Anything to give me an edge.

  And when I hear it—a brief, surprised intake of air—

  I launch myself forward with a cry, and tackle him to the ground.

  TEN

  “What . . . the hell?”

  I must be hallucinating. I better be hallucinating.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

  I try to push myself up, but I threw myself forward with everything I had, and I nearly knocked myself out in the process. I’ve barely got enough strength left to stand. Still, I manage to shift myself a little to the side and, when I feel the damp grass against my skin, I remember that I’m not wearing a shirt.

  I swear loudly.

  This night could not possibly get worse.

  But then, in the space of half a second, my mind catches up to my body and the force of understanding—of realization—is so intense that it nearly blinds me. Anger, hot and wild, surges through me, and it’s enough to propel me up and away from her. I stumble backward, onto the ground, and hit my head against a tree trunk.

  “Son of a—” I cut myself off with an angry cry.

  Nazeera scrambles backward.

  She’s still planted on the ground, her eyes wild, her hair loose, coming free of its tie. I’ve never seen her look so terrified. I’ve never seen her look so paralyzed. And something about the pained look in her eyes takes the edge off my anger.

  Just the edge.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? ” I cry. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she says, and drops her face in her hands.

  “You’re sorry?” I’m still shouting. “You’re sorry ? I could’ve killed you.”

  And even then, even in this horrible, unbelievable moment, she has the audacity to look me in the eye and say: “I doubt that.”

  I swear to God, my eyes go so wide with rage I think they split my face open. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with this woman.

  No fucking clue.

  “I—I don’t even—” I flounder, fighting for the right words. “There are so many reasons why you should be, like, shipped off on a one-way ticket to the moon right now, I don’t even know where to start.” I run my hands through my hair, grabbing fistfuls. “What were you thinking ? Why—why—” And then, suddenly, something occurs to me. A cold, sick feeling gathers in my chest and I drop my hands. Look at her.

  “Nazeera,” I say quietly. “Why were you in my room?”

  She pulls her knees to her chest. Closes her eyes. And only when I can no longer see her face—when she presses her forehead to her knees—does she say: “I honestly think this might be the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.”

  My muscles go slack. I stare at her, stunned, confused, angrier than I’ve been in years. “I don’t understand.”

  She shakes her head. Just keeps shaking her head. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” she says. “I thought you’d sleep through the night. I just wanted to check on you—I wanted to make sure you were okay because it was all my fault and I felt—I felt so awful—”

  I open my mouth. No words come out.

  “—but then you woke up and I didn’t know what to do,” she says, finally lifting her head. “I didn’t—I didn’t—”

  “Bullshit,” I say, cutting her off. “Bullshit you didn’t know what to do. If you were really in my room because you were worried about my welfare, you could’ve just said hi to me, like a normal person. You’d say something like, ‘Oh, hello Kenji, it’s me, Nazeera! I’m just here to make sure you’re not dead!’ and I’d say ‘Gee, thanks, Nazeera, that’s so nice of you!’ and you’d—”

  “It’s not that simple,” she says, shaking her head again. “It’s just— It wasn’t that simple—”

  “No,” I say angrily. “You’re right. It’s not that simple.”

  I get to my feet, dust off my hands. “You want to know why? You want to know why it’s not that simple? Because your story doesn’t add up. You say you came into my room to check on me—because you claim to be concerned about my health—but then, the first chance you get, you kick a sick man in the back, knock him to the floor, and then make him chase you through the woods with no shirt on.

  “No,” I say, rage building inside me again. “No way. You don’t give a shit about my health. You”—I point at her—“you’re up to something. First the drugs on the plane, and now this. You’re trying to kill me, Nazeera, and I don’t understand why.

  “What happened? You didn’t finish the job the first time? You came back to make sure I was dead? Was that it?”

  Slowly, she gets to her feet, but she can’t meet my eyes.

  Her silence is driving me crazy.

  “I want answers,” I cry, shaking with fury. “Right now. I want to know what the hell you’re doing. I want to know why you’re here. I want to know who you’re working for.” And then, practically screaming the words: “And I want to know why you were in my goddamn room tonight.”

  “Kenji,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this. That’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry.”

  I’m so shocked by her gall I actually flinch in response.

  “Truly, I’m sorry,” she says again. She’s backing away from me. Slowly, but still—I’ve seen this girl run. “Let me just go die of humiliation somewhere else, okay? I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop. ”

  She goes suddenly still.

  I try to steady my breathing. Can’t. My chest is still heaving when I say, “Just tell me the truth.”

  “I told you the truth,” she says, anger flaring in her eyes. “I’m not good at this, Kenji. I’m not good at this.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course you’re good at this. Murdering people is, like, your life’s work.”

  She laughs, but she sounds a little hysterical. “Do you remember,” she says, “when I told you that this could never work?” She makes that familiar motion, th
at gesture between our bodies. “Do you remember that day?”

  Something unconscious, something primal I can’t control, sends a sharp needle of heat through my body. Even now.

  “Yes,” I say. “I remember.”

  “This,” she says, waving her arms around. “This is what I was talking about.”

  I frown. I feel like I’ve lost track of the conversation. “I don’t . . .” I frown again. “What are you talking about?”

  “This, ” she says, fury edging into her voice. “This.  This. You don’t understand. I don’t know how to— I just don’t do this, okay? Ever. I tried to tell you that day that I don’t— But now—” She cuts herself off with a sharp shake of her head. Turns away. “Please don’t make me say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “That you’re—” She stops. “That this—”

  I wait, and wait, and still, she says nothing.

  “I what ? This what ?”

  Finally, she sighs. Meets my eyes. “You were my first kiss.”

  ELEVEN

  I could’ve spent years trying to figure out what she was about to say to me, and I never would’ve gotten it right.

  Never.

  I’m beyond stunned. Beyond dumbfounded.

  And all I can come up with is—

  “You’re lying.”

  She shakes her head.

  “But—”

  She keeps shaking her head.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I like you,” she says quietly. “A lot.”

  Something flashes through me—something terrifying. A rush of feeling. A lick of fire.  Joy. And then denial, denial, fast and hard.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Not bullshit,” she whispers.

  “But you’ve been trying to kill me.”

  “No.” She hangs her head. “I’ve been trying to show you I care.”

  I can only stare at her, bewildered.

  “I gave you a slightly stronger dose of that drug because I was so worried you’d wake up on the plane and get yourself murdered,” she says. “I was in your room tonight because I wanted to make sure you were okay, but when you woke up I got nervous and disappeared. And then you started talking, and the things you said were so beautiful that I just”—she shakes her head—“I don’t know. The truth is, I don’t have an excuse. I stayed because I wanted to stay. I stayed and I watched you like a creep, and when you caught me I was so mortified I nearly killed you for it.”

  She covers her face with her hands.

  “I have no idea what I’m doing,” she says, her words so small and quiet I have to step closer to hear them. “I’ve been prepared for literally every single other high-stress situation life can throw my way, but I have no idea how to properly reciprocate positive emotion. I was never shown how. Never taught how to do it. And, as a result, I’ve avoided it altogether.”

  Finally, she meets my eyes.

  “I’ve always avoided doing things I know I’ll be bad at,” she says. “And with this— Relationships? Physical intimacy? I just . . . don’t. Ever. With anyone. It’s too messy. Too confusing. There’s too much code, too much garbage to filter and decipher. Besides, most of the people I meet are either assholes or cowards or both. They’re rarely genuine. They never say what they’re really thinking. And they all lie to my face.” She sighs. “Except for you, of course.”

  “Nazeera—”

  “Please,” she says softly. “This is so humiliating. And if it’s all right with you, I really don’t want to drag this conversation out any more than I absolutely have to. But I swear—after today—I won’t come near you again. I’ll keep my distance. I promise. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I never meant to kick you that hard.”

  And she leaves.

  She turns on her heel and stalks off, and I’m seized by something, something that feels a lot like panic when I say—

  “Wait!”

  She freezes.

  I run after her, grab her by the waist and spin her around, and she looks surprised, and then uncertain, and I say:

  “Why me?”

  She goes still. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean— That day, when you kissed me. You chose me that day, didn’t you? For your first kiss.”

  After a moment, she nods.

  “Why?” I say. “Why’d you choose me?”

  All of a sudden, her eyes go soft. The tension in her shoulders disappears. “Because,” she says quietly, “I think you might be the best person I’ve ever met.”

  “Oh.”

  I take a deep, uneven breath, but it’s not getting me enough oxygen. Feeling is flooding through me, so fast and hot I can’t even remember that I’m freezing.

  I think I’m dreaming.

  God, I hope I’m not dreaming.

  “Kenji?”

  Say something, dumbass.

  Nope.

  She sighs, the sound filling the silence. And then she looks down, at the ground between us. “I’m really, really sorry I kicked you like that. Are you okay?”

  I shrug, and then wince. “I probably won’t be able to walk in the morning.”

  She looks up. There’s something like laughter in her eyes.

  “It’s not funny,” I say, but I’m starting to smile, too. “That was horrible. And— Jesus,” I say, feeling suddenly sick. “I tried to shoot you for it.”

  She laughs.

  Laughs, like I just made a joke.

  “I’m serious, Nazeera. I could’ve killed you.”

  Her smile fades when she realizes I’m serious. And then she looks at me, really looks at me. “That’s not possible.”

  I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but crack a smile at her certainty.

  “You know,” she says softly, “I think there was a part of me that was really hoping you’d catch me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “Otherwise—why didn’t I just fly away?”

  I take a second to let that sink in.

  And then—

  Damn.

  She’s right. I never stood a chance against this girl.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re completely insane, you know that?”

  “Yeah,” she says, and sighs.

  And somehow, impossibly—

  I’m smiling.

  Carefully, I reach out, grazing her cheek with the tips of my fingers. She trembles under my touch. Closes her eyes.

  My heart stops.

  “Nazeera, I—”

  A wild, piercing, bloodcurdling scream brings the moment to a halt.

  TWELVE

  Nazeera and I share a split-second glance before we’re running again. I follow her through the woods, toward the source of the scream, but almost as quickly as it came—the world goes quiet. We rush to a sudden, confused stop, nearly falling over in the process. Nazeera turns to look at me, her eyes wide, but she’s not seeing me, not really.

  She’s waiting. Listening.

  Suddenly, she straightens. I don’t know what she heard, because I heard nothing. But I’ve already realized that this girl is way out of my league; I have no idea what other skills she possesses. No idea what else she’s capable of. But I do know that there’s no point doubting her mind. Not when it comes to shit like this.

  So when she starts running again, I’m right behind her.

  I realize we’re heading back toward the beginning, to the entrance of Nouria’s camp, when three more screams pierce the night. Then, suddenly—

  At least a hundred more.

  And then I realize where Nazeera is headed.  Out. Out of the Sanctuary, into unprotected land where we could too easily be found, captured, and killed. I hesitate, old doubts asking me if I’m crazy to trust her—

  “Stealth, Kenji— Now—”

  And she disappears. I take a deep breath and follow suit.

  It’s not long before I understand.

  Outside of the protection of t
he Sanctuary, the screams intensify, rising and multiplying in the darkness. Except that it’s not dark, not here. Not exactly. The sky is split, darkness and light melting together, clouds falling sideways, trees bending, flickering, bending and flickering. The earth beneath us has begun to pucker and crack, divots forming midair, puncturing nothing and everything. And then—

  The horizon moves.

  Suddenly the sun is underneath us, searing and blinding and fracturing light like lightning as it skids along the grass.

  Just as quickly, the horizon swings back into place.

  The scene is beyond surreal.

  I can’t process. Can’t digest. People are trying to run but can’t. They’re too overcome. Too confused. They make it only a few feet before something changes again, before they’re screaming again, before everyone is plunged into darkness, into light, into darkness, into light.

  Nazeera materializes at my side. We’ve pulled back our invisibility. It seems obvious now that there’s no longer any point in stealth. Not here. Not in this.

  And when Nazeera turns abruptly and starts running, I already know she’s heading back to camp.

  We have to tell the others.

  Except, as it turns out, they already know.

  I see her before we’ve made it back. Right outside the entrance, backlit by chaos:

  Juliette.

  She’s on her knees, her hands clamped around her temples. Her face is a picture of pure agony, and Warner is crouching beside her, pale and terrified, his hands on her shoulders, shouting something I can’t hear.

  And then—

  She screams.

  Not again, I think. Please, God, not again.

  But it’s different this time. This time, the scream is aimed inward; it’s an expression of pain, of horror, of travesty.

  And this time, when she screams, she says a single, unmistakable sentence:

  “Emmaline,” she screams. “Please don’t do this—”

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Restore Me, the fourth book in the SHATTER ME series.

  JULIETTE

  I don’t wake up screaming anymore. I do not feel ill at the sight of blood. I do not flinch before firing a gun.