Phantom Touch | Minho |

Chapter two

My plan was already formed by the time we were eating.

It must have been close to sundown, or dark, or whatever they called night here. The day was different, the sky itself felt off, wrong.

I managed to make it through the day without speaking, which didn't prove to be too difficult. Most boys grew bored of me once they realized I wasn't going to cry or piss myself. The worst part was having to bite back every question that boiled up in my throat, threatening to spill out, exposing me.

I didn't answer when Winston asked for my name, though it was the one thing I could actually remember. I held onto that memory like it was sacred, some treasured remnant of a life I couldn't remember. He avoided asking me anything after that.

I'd spent the day observing, constantly paranoid every time any of the boys met my eyes for more than a second, convinced that I would be found out. Mostly, I spent my time pocketing information I might need like where the food was kept or the medical supplies.

And the only exit, a giant gaping entrance on the far wall. Winston wouldn't even take me near it during the tour, suddenly deciding that showing me where the bathroom was located was the most important thing in the world when he caught me staring.

By midday I was on the brink of slipping, nearly considering grabbing Winston and demanding him to give me answers, to take me to the exit. The distraction that kept me at bay came when my guide paused mid sentence, his eyes darting between me and the sinister stone door.

A deafening metal churning echoed off of the surrounding walls, so thunderous I thought the sky might be cracking open. I had to brace myself against a table as I watched a monstrous door slide inward and shut, entrapping the space, and everything inside of it. The people around me barely flinched, no one looked even the slightest bit startled. What was wrong with these kids?

Bits of food filled the deep pockets of my cargo pants as I left for what they called "homestead". I planned to steal as much as I could in the morning before I left, and tried to ignore the slight guilt I felt in my chest at doing so. The cook, a friendly round-faced boy named Frypan, had been kind to me, giving me second helpings "for my first night". First and last.

The waiting was torture. Night fell, and I laid in my sleeping bag by the garden surrounded by ten kids, staring up at the blinking stars, knowing I would have to run when morning arrived.

For a moment, it almost felt like a shame to leave this place. The stars were beautiful here.

When the time came to make a break for it, I barely had time to think it through.

The breakfast table wobbled under my elbows as I stared out over the Glade. That was what I had learned to call the place I currently found myself in, though I didn't plan on knowing it for long.

I had watched the walls reopen with the same earsplitting, grating noise that nearly had me shitting my pants when I heard it for the first time the day prior. A group of boys jogged through without a glance at anybody. I didn't let my eyes linger too long on Minho, who was recognizable even from across the wide plane.

Winston and Frypan sat at the table with me, no doubt just to be polite, 'don't let the new kid sit by themselves' type thing. I almost wished they wouldn't have bothered. I couldn't have been fun to be around.

"'you going to actually eat something, or are you just going to shove your whole damn breakfast into your pocket?" An unfamiliar, prickling voice approached me from behind.

The question had me out of my seat in a second, the feeling of being trapped sending sparks of adrenaline surging through me. I held up my fork like an idiot, backing away.