***
As I sink into sleep, I'm resolved to my fate. There's little hope of surviving long-term, but if we ally with Matt now, then maybe we can last until a better opportunity comes up. We'll change as we go. Adapt. Whatever happens now, it's only for a while. We can be on Matt's side. It can be OK. I can be OK. But the panic comes for me even as I drift into the darkness of sleep.
I stand on the street. I am dreaming of this street. I am dreaming. Dreaming. I am dreaming, I repeat, but I'm not sure what that means. My view zooms off to the distance, where a white spire stretches into the sky. As my eyes touch it, my heart bursts into a pounding rhythm. My feet start running, moving toward the tower. It's all I can see. White. If I can just get there, everything will be OK. White. White. White. I run faster. There's nothing under me, but I run. I run, and this time it moves closer. A small cry of delight escapes me. Delight, urgency, and surprise. The three feelings blast into me so hard that suddenly I'm lying in bed, blinking up at the dark ceiling. I try to breathe. Slowly. Breathe.
As I calm my body, I realize that Jonas' arm is still thrown over me. As much as it makes me feel safe, right now it also holds me back. I need to move. I carefully pick up his wrist and move his arm aside, then slide from the covers and off the end of the bed. I open the door slowly, quietly, and close it behind me with the same careful stealth. Around back, I'm pacing, fighting down this need to leave. Right now, it says. Leave everything. Just go. Do it.
It makes no sense, but it's powerful, and I'm only just holding on to reality when I hear his soft steps.
"Nightmare?" asks Jonas, rubbing his arms to keep warm.
I stare at him, shake my head. I can't find my voice. The moonlight washes across his face, and from this angle, emphasizes the lines of his nose, his jaw. His face is so perfect, so strong, I think it must belong to an angel.
He looks into the darkness, huddling against the cold. A breath wisps away from his mouth, warm mist hanging on the cold night air.
"I..." I say. I follow his gaze to the darkness, even though there's nothing to see. Suddenly, I want to tell him everything. "That place," I say, looking at him again, hope rising inside me. Somehow, meeting him here in the darkness is so different than speaking to him the rest of the time. Here, we're secret friends. He understands me. I know he'll understand me now. "It's a tower. A white tower. I think I have to go there."
His head turns toward me, and for a moment his eyes wander over my face. "You think it is real."
I nod. Now that he's said it, I know it. And I need to go. Now. "I have to—" I start, but in the time it takes to come out of my mouth, he closes the steps between us and seizes me by the arms.
"No," he says. His voice is soft— so much softer than his grip. His fingers on my arms are grounding me, keeping me from blowing away on the wind, but his words are gentle enough that I don't want to fight against him. I swallow hard, and look up at him. He whispers to me, "Not yet."
A moment passes, and the tension leaves me. His fingers drop to his sides. We look at each other.
Finally, I say, "I feel so crazy, sometimes." I turn away from him. "How did you know... I mean... You made it go away."
He walks to my side, and we look toward the concrete wall. His right fingers play with the hem of his left sleeve. "Sometimes I feel that way, too," he answers after a while. Then he's quiet, still playing with his sleeve. And then he says, "We are going to leave, Eden. Soon."
I look at him in alarm, wanting to protest, but something stops me. Maybe it's his expression— passive, but confident. What he has told me is a simple fact.
"How...?" The question trails off.
He shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits, tension rising in his voice. "But we can't stay. And as for Matt..." His eyes move to my knife, then back to my face, "If anyone is forming alliances, it's not going to be you."
"You can't," I stutter. "Grey. You can't."
"Don't worry about that," he says. "I've got this."
A little quiver makes its way from my chest into my throat. At the last second, I feel it coming, and I try to bury it, but it emerges into a choked-off whimper. I'm so embarrassed by the sound that I start to turn away, but Jonas' hand on my cheek stops me. His thumb strokes my skin softly as he looks into my eyes. I gaze up at him, and I would give anything just to know what he's thinking at this moment.
But all of the best moments are brief, and soon his hand drops and he moves away from me. "It's cold out here," he says. "We can figure everything out later."
Without speaking, I follow him inside.