Page 60 of The Last Love Story

It’s only as I approach the bed that I notice the cream-colored duvet has been curled up in one corner, revealing the white belly of silken sheets.

The book.

My heart sinks as my hand shoots out and flips my pillow over.The Lord of the Ringsis gone.

Someone found it. The best-case scenario is that they know I have contraband. The worst-case scenario is that they know about Lyceum.

A knock sounds at my door, and I yank it open without taking my eyes off the bed, like I can get answers from it if I stare long enough.

Becka leans on the doorframe, her eyes glittering with something I can’t place.

“We need to go,” she says, looking over my shoulder like she needs to confirm I’m alone.

“Go where?”

She pushes off the doorframe and cocks her head as she strides off down the hallway. “Cute that you think I’m going to tell you.” When I don’t follow right away, she cuts me a glare over her shoulder. “Now, Hart.”

The bed beckons. Safety, security.

But I was almost killed today. I want answers. So I follow Becka to the end of the hall, down a set of unfamiliar looping steps, and into the back of a black hovercar waiting in the shadows behind the White House.

“Don’t worry about your little boyfriend,” Becka says.

“But if he stops by—”

She raises a brow. “For a sleepover?” When my cheeks burn, she laughs, low. “He’s been in briefings ever since your little stunt.” She says it like we wanted to be almost blownup. “He’ll be with the president until dawn. You won’t be missed.”

It’s not exactly a comforting thought as we dart through the streets of New Washington.

I should be following the turns, but my head feels like it’s been crammed with cotton. Finally, we come to a rocking stop and Becka leads me out into a pitch-black stretch of road.You won’t be missed.My toe impacts metal and I almost fall, tripping over the loose manhole cover. Becka glares as she latches me into some sort of belaying getup and shoves me into the darkness.

I should be scared, but my body seems to have run out of adrenaline. It’s a slow descent into blackness, and then Becka lands behind me, light on her feet like a cat, as lights click on, bathing the tunnel in a warm glow.

“Well, well. Out of my sight for a few days and you’re getting married and blown up.”

I look up, feeling my face crumpling as I recognize the voice.

Nef.

She rushes to me as I hold out my arms. Her hug feels like home. A lump rises in my throat.

“I’m so sorry,” Nef whispers. “Uri said I couldn’t say anything about it. I didn’t know they were just going totakeyou.”

Nef knew.

I wish I could control how my body reacts to the words, but I stiffen automatically. This whole time, I assumed Nef was as much in the dark as I was. We’re best friends, after all. I thought we told each other everything.

“Ripley?” Nef asks, her arms rigid around me in response.

“I get it,” I lie. I don’t. I don’t get it at all, but that’s a hurt to examine later.

She squeezes back, gusting out a sigh. “You ready for this?”

“Ready for what?”

When we pull back, light races down the tunnel as safety lamps illuminate above. How had I not heard them before? The tunnel is packed with teenagers, all of them shouting and talking over each other. There’s a break in the crowd down the middle where the third rail would be, and Becka motions for Nef and me to follow her. We walk a rickety ladder onto a makeshift scaffold that raises us above the crowd.

A hush falls over the crowd as I step out onto the wooden plank, keeping my eyes locked on my feet. The scaffold is about five feet wide and seven feet up; the ground seems to swim. On one side, Uri and Lena each stand with their arms across their chest. Uri has the decency to look embarrassed, as he should. Lena is expressionless, and it stings. I didn’t think we werefriends, but I thought we were allies, at least.Members of the same cause. And they sold me out without a second thought.