Dawn of Fog and Glass

Chapter Sixteen: Dawn of Fog and Glass

It's funny how easily something can become old news. It takes about a week and a half for everyone to adjust to me, and another week after that for me to get used to the jagged scar running along my neck. It stands out white, cut through with stitches, a crisp reminder to protect myself.

I realize now that I may be a clingy person. And it was okay with Orion, because he's clingy too, so we sort of cancelled each other out. We closed our walls to everyone else. But here, in 503A, I feel childish. I want to clutch onto Draco's arm and let him guide me through the school day as I did with Orion, but it's not the same.

I linger in the hallways when the officers are speaking, when they talk outside my door. Still, no mention of an alliance or of the mysterious X. How it's connected to anything going on here, I don't know.

Draco is the one patient here apart from me who can run. He has speed, endurance. Sure, Beth may have super-speed, but that won't get her far if she tires quickly.

I join Draco on his mid-morning runs now, something he's grateful for. Half a dozen officers aren't the best running company, especially not when they're panting through thick gas masks. It's even funnier now all of my officers have to join us. We lead the pack, the two of us in our uniforms leading them like out-of-breath ducklings.

Ever since humiliating Barrett before his friends, the officers, Mr. Wilkins, and the rest of the Chemistry class, Barrett has taken pleasure in making my time here awful. I've come close several times to giving him a kick where it hurts after his endless jeers, catcalls, and insults. And because Barrett is a leader, because students seek to impress him, others try to follow in his footsteps. Until they get to know me well enough and realize they should stop if they don't want death by sarcasm.

November grinds on, and the air drops, layered with a thin veil of cold that seeps into my bones and numbs my fingers. My breath comes in puffs before my face. It's strange after only being outside a handful of times in the past eight years.

This morning, we run at a faster pace, just for the fun of it. Fun, because the officers have even more difficulty than usual catching up with us.

Few patients spend their mid-morning recess outside. The grounds, paved roads curving through fields cursed with winter frost, disappear in the Fog. Because of the institute's protective force field, the Fog isn't nearly as bad. Outside the bubble, the Fog would be thick enough to swallow up my feet underneath me, but here, I can see enough to follow the path accurately. To distinguish the shapes of other patients and guards around us.

Draco exhales, wiping perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. "I thought cold weather would make this less sweaty, but here we are."

"You just sweat like a freak when you exercise," I comment, though I'm not one to talk.

He punches me playfully on the shoulder. "Shut up."

"No, you shut up. I'm trying to run, dingus."

He sticks out his tongue at me. "You're a dingus."

"Quiet up ahead," Asshat calls from behind us, who looks—even through his gas mask—as though he'd rather a ten-foot spear impale him. I throw him a very polite middle finger. It's met with his grunt and Adams' laugh.

We slow down as we approach a jog interval. My legs burn, but in that satisfying way that only comes from stretching out a muscle. My breath comes in short pants. I take longer, deeper breaths, gulping down the crisp air.

The next area we pass is the most populated. Our path runs through a wide, flat expanse of field and a circle of stone benches dotted with outdoor heaters. A group of people, silhouetted by Fog, watches as we pass. Their words come in brief snatches of conversation.