Cormac grabs my shoulders, squeezing them until my fingers start to tingle. “Do. Not. Question. Me.”

Each word is a threat, spoken in a low tone that registers only in the shiver running up my spine. He drops his hold on me and steps away, opening and closing his fingers in rapid succession as he stares into the void.

There is more wrong here than an altered reality. No one is safe under the authority of Cormac Patton.

A placid gray washes across the vacant sky and the stars reappear. As I watch, the world changes into a calm, still scene, erasing the violence that preceded this moment. Water ripples into place, flooding the space below the cliff. It is born of nothing, and it rushes in gentle waves until it reaches the edge of the precipice. Now I stand on a rocky beach instead of the end of the world, but the ocean is a lie. Now there are three sectors instead of four. Now I see Arras in a new and terrifying light.

We can destroy the world as quickly as we can build it.

SEVEN

BY THE END OF MY FIRST WEEK back at the Coventry I’m smiling, but only for the surveillance feeds that watch me. By the end of the second week, I begin placing orders from the catalogs left for my perusal. I learn patience as I try to forget what I’ve given up.

My freedom.

My destiny.

And Erik, who I force from my waking mind, but who haunts my dreams.

Days pass mechanically inside the walls of the Western Coventry, because I’m a prisoner here—despite Cormac’s assurance that we are partners. It’s not the same compound I remember coming to as an Eligible. The walls are still programmed with false windows that display relaxing settings, but the actual composition of the Coventry has changed. Now the threads that comprise the walls are knit tightly together and bound through with strange, artificial strands. Strands I can’t penetrate. I wouldn’t have tried if I hadn’t been left to my own devices for so long that I’m sure I’m losing my mind.

My quarters are more lavish than when I first came here. Two of the walls in my bedroom are programmed to look like a window overlooking the Endless Sea. I’m not sure if it’s meant to relax me or remind me I can’t escape. There are five more rooms in my apartment on the top floor of the high tower, all decorated in shades of yellow. They’re probably meant to boost my spirits, but the yellow is driving me crazy. There’s a sunny bathroom, a buttery living room, a golden dining room, a lemony closet that could fit a small house inside it, and a second powder room, small, gray—the only contrasting color—for when Cormac comes to visit me.

I’m not allowed out among the other Spinsters, as though my rebellion is catching—a communicable disease without a cure. I suppose Cormac believes giving me a large cage to fly around in will convince me I’m free.

My staff is always changing and always silent, obviously instructed not to speak to me. Even the aestheticians who arrive each day to curl my hair and line my eyes won’t chat with me. They go about their work without a word. Given what happened to my last aesthetician, my mentor, and my valet, I guess it’s understandable that no one trusts me. I tried to talk with them at first, hoping they would have the information I need to break Cormac, but no one in the Coventry is interested in helping me. Cormac has made sure I have no allies or friends here. No one to help me find out the one piece of vital information I need: where Cormac stays when he comes here. Catching him asleep may be the only element of surprise I have in my favor.

I’m made up in case Cormac comes to call. It’s the only information I’ve been given about my strange daily rituals. He’s already preparing me to be the perfect wife: neat and fashionable and out of the way.

But I can tell when he’s coming because my whole day shifts. Valets appear with decanters and freshly cut flowers. Maids scurry in and out, checking my supply of toilet paper and sweeping the pristine floor. New dresses arrive for my already stuffed closet. My only job is to pick one and stay out of the way of the gaggle of servants making way for the lord and master.

“Lord and master” is my new nickname for Cormac. I want to say it to his face with a sneer. I fantasize about it, but I’m starting to learn the value of some advice I once received from an old friend. I’ll get more out of him if I play dumb.

By the time he finally arrives, I’ve had to reapply my own lipstick. Cormac bursts through the door to the apartment with the air of a man who owns the place.

He does, but it doesn’t make it any less rude.

I watch as he loosens his bow tie, leaving it to hang askew against his unbuttoned collar. His fingers press into his temples as they often do these days. If I was meant to be a wife, I would be waiting with a cocktail poised in my hands, but I let the valet pour it. Cormac drinks longer draughts with each visit, a sign that his stress level is rising. We never talk about Arras or his job. I tried at first, but it became clear he no longer intends to utilize me or my skills. Now I’m left to play the role of the dutiful wife until I can gather the information I need to truly effect change in Arras, beginning with Cormac himself. The more secure he feels, the closer I can get to him.

We sit across from each other at a mahogany table too long for two people. The salad arrives and I spear the tender spinach leaves with unnecessary force. He doesn’t notice.

“Headache?” I ask him. I focus on sounding concerned, even though the question unnerves me. I can almost see the edges of him fraying away and I’m not certain if it’s actually happening or it’s my imagination.