The Elementalists

Chapter 16

Rai

I can barely look at myself.

Because of my stupidity, André is dead. Because of my weakness, Kass got hurt. And because of me, someone was blown to bits because I told Sammi to do it.

I couldn't save them. I didn't even try. I'm pathetic. A Futurist right to the core.

The more I think about it, and believe me, that's all I'm doing—none of it makes any sense. The visinium capsule is a person. Maybe, possibly, a guy called Major Briggs, whoever he is. Was. But how? Whether it's him or not, how had they turned into . . . whatever the hell that was? Are the other capsules people too? And if Ra provided the visinium . . . what's their part in all this?

The questions tumble around my mind, and no matter how hard I shake, the feelings aren't going away.

Instead, nausea swirls in my stomach, threatening to bubble up at any moment.

There's something else too, another question gnawing away at me. We're supposed to be the Elementalists, the four Elementalists. Two physical, two ethereal.

But we aren't, are we?

We're two physical and one ethereal . . . so where is the last Elementalist? Why do I get the feeling they don't want us to know? Dr Keller brought it up, once. And Eldred changed the subject.

Why?

As the days pass, I try to focus on fixing Henry. Something tangible, something I can fix. Too much time in the toxic water fried his motor, and without him buzzing around me, the silence is overwhelming.

Unbearable.

Meanwhile, Cotton and her lead tactician, Văn, hide away, plotting. Their secrecy seeps through every part of HQ, clandestine meetings quick becoming the norm, and not just with the senior staff. The soldiers, medics, engineers—everyone seems to be hiding something. Or am I just being paranoid? All I seem to notice these days are hushed whispers in empty corridors, meaningful glances following Sammi and I wherever we go, and worst of all, the cheerful claps-on-the-back from Labelle whenever our paths cross.

Like, come on. I'm a Futurist. I can tell a fake smile from a real one any day of the week.

His eyes are windows to his shattered heart. The pain behind the glass makes me want to curl  into a ball and howl. The pretence just makes it worse. A thousand times worse.

Is this how people see me? These people, real people, who walk around with their emotions hanging from their sleeves. People like Kass, so giving with their feelings, hurling them around like hand grenades. Is this how he sees me?

A fake?

I shake my head with a small derisive snort; all eyes turn towards me and I flush. 

Oops. I forgot that I'm in a meeting.

We finally got invited to one, and by the looks of it, it's big. All the important Resisters are here: Cotton, Văn, Eldred, Labelle, Brie, Dr Keller. Sammi sits next to me with Musa behind her, his arms stretching down so his hands intertwine with hers in her lap. His protectiveness looks almost threatening, as he glowers at anyone who dares catch his eye.

Kass, sitting on her other side, is . . . different. The ache in my chest that's plagued me since I removed my filters intensifies. The bandages around his mouth and chin have been removed, the newly exposed skin dark pink and sore, scarred by blisters. But from the nose up, he's still bandaged; his sharp eyes pierce the room through gaps in the fabric, looking everywhere . . . but at me.