Ellucid (Ellucid #1) ★

Ten

I feel well-rested the next morning when I finally find the cafeteria for breakfast. Any signs of the last few days' struggles are gone: the dark circles under my eyes have faded, my hair is secured into a sleek high ponytail, and I'm wearing an outfit from the thorough selection Marisa left in Ryan's and my closet. Sunlight's probably pressing at the windows, but it's blocked off by the opaque black curtains.

I think the curtains are what I hate most about this place. My tie with New York City is personal: the traffic hums and the crowd bustles to the rhythm of my heartbeat. It's hard now that I can't look out and see the skyline or the taxis honking and screeching past each another. I feel far away from home, tucked away underground. I'm actually only a subway ride away from my doorstep.

I scoop eggs onto my plate and add a croissant, watching the stream of workers and teenagers working their way through the line with me. There's so few of us we look out of place in such a large space. I think back to what Emery said last night—about how the base's population will expand soon. Will all these tables be full? Chatter echoing through the lofty ceilings in the lobby? Will I stick around long enough to see it?

"Gabi?"

I set down the serving spoon for the grits and turn around, my ponytail slapping my face. Carolina stands right behind me, her dark eyes especially intense in the harsh fluorescent lights.

"I thought that was you," she says. "How'd you sleep last night?"

I think about her stony expression when I met her yesterday and wonder if she was just having a bad day. She seems perfectly nice now. I wait for her to put some grits on her plate before I keep walking, her soft footsteps a breath behind mine. "Fine. I have testing in like an hour."

"Good luck. It can be brutal, but they've got to figure out where your powers are before you can start working for Marisa."

We're at the end of the line, and now I'm the one following Carolina. I feel like one of the tourists I see on the streets, hesitating before they cross in front of traffic. Everyone sitting at the tables and milling around the floor looks like they belong here. Do I? It's like starting at a new school, but the stakes are so much higher. Life or death.

I set my tray down and stab some eggs with my fork, asking around my mouthful, "What are the tests like? I have no idea what to expect."

"They're intense. It's basically other people using their powers against you to see how much you can fight them. The procedure didn't fix that part of your brain—it only worked to strengthen your own power. So the test will double-check both. It'll also check how you fight physically. The procedure did that, too."

Why would two groups with inconceivable mental powers bother fighting each other with knives and punches? It's s illogical, but I don't question the status quo. I'm new, so new that I haven't even figured out where all the hallways in this facility lead. I'll be lucky if I can find the testing room on my own—it's not my job to doubt how things are done around here.

Carolina and I finish our breakfasts in silence, each of us too busy thinking to carry on a conversation. When she's done eating, she gets up and leaves without offering to show me to the testing room. I guess her friendliness extends only so far that it doesn't inconvenience her.

I throw my food in the trash can and stoop down to retie my combat boots. Marisa provided me with a few other shoe options in the closet—a pair of jet black sneakers caught my eye—but I stuck with the boots. In this crazy new world, it's reassuring to have something from my old life with me. These are the boots that meandered down the hallways at school with Asher, that covered the dirty sidewalks of New York City as I walked a block every week to get groceries. They feel comforting if nothing else.