LITMIR.BIZ

       One

      The first time I tried to kill Adam, I tasted sugar.

      We weren’t alone. We never were. A tightly-wound shadow flinched behind my left shoulder every time I moved my arm, threatening to make itself fully known, but I couldn’t give it a name, so I ignored it, even though it made my ribs shake and my fingers cold.

      Adam rolled a chair from behind the desk, remaining seated, and I could only stare. Clean brown hair, like he’d combed it twice. Dark eyes on pale skin, like his sister. I blinked. Something was different.

      “Chew, Char. Maybe next year, I’ll let you blow the candles out.”

      I looked down. A mountain of pink icing covered the plate in my lap. A cake stood between us, tall and bright, and missing two slices. The world was obscured behind a thick pane of hazy glass, with only Adam in focus.

      So I stared at him instead, trying to figure out where I was, and why.

      We were in a control room, I decided, judging by all the shiny panels, and it was someone’s birthday. My good arm, as I thought of it, held a fork. My wrist on my good arm had light bruises, like I’d been yanking it against a handcuff.

      My bad arm had no bruises. But then, it had no wrist, either, since it ended below the elbow. At least they couldn’t cuff it. I frowned. That wasn’t much of a silver lining.

      I was pretty sure I’d been here before. I knew, for instance, that this wasn’t the first birthday I’d celebrated with Adam, that the door was behind me, and that I didn’t care about anything on the console to my immediate right.

      Or maybe I’d just figured that out a moment ago. I couldn’t tell.

      The twitchy shadow-person stepped around to see why I wasn’t chewing despite having a mouth full of cake, and we squinted at each other as she came briefly into view. She looked to be around thirty, with amber skin and short black hair untouched by streaks of gray. There was a sour tension around her mouth. She didn’t like me.

      No, no. That wasn’t it. I wrenched myself around to inspect her again. She stepped away from my line of sight without catching my eye.

      She didn’t like Adam, I decided. Me, she didn’t think about at all.

      “She’s fine. A little tired, maybe,” she said.

      “Let’s wake her up some more,” said Adam.

      “Too dangerous, unless you want to cuff her. Remember last time?”

      “No cuff. I want her to eat the cake.” He looked disappointed, but returned his attention to me. “Give me that napkin.”

      I will not. I want to throw him out an airlock. Why would I—

      I extended the napkin toward him, and he snatched it with an appraising glance. “Not feeling too feisty today, huh? I can live with that,” he said. “Long as you behave. Have some more.”

      I had an overwhelming urge to stab him. It was related to the story he was telling, but I knew I wasn’t supposed to think about that.

      What was I supposed to do? I bit a lip, confounded, and tasted blood. It wasn’t enough to wake me up, so I pressed the tines of the fork into my thigh. The urge to stab grew stronger. I needed to wake up a little more. I had to. I wasn’t sure why, though.

      Maybe it would help if I went ahead and stabbed him?

      No, no. That wasn’t it. I shook my head, but it didn’t clear.

      Maybe I was supposed to eat the cake, and then stab him? Or maybe I should give him another napkin. It was kind of a toss-up, honestly.

      “Hey, don’t look so down. It’s your birthday, after all. Why d’you think we got pink icing? The Lieutenant prefers chocolate.” He laughed, as if it were a joke.

       I’m not eating his stupid cake. I don’t even want cake. I hate strawberry.

      To my surprise, I lifted my fork. It was indeed covered in bright pink icing, and I shook my head a little harder. Birthday cakes should be blue. Like West’s.

      I worked my mouth around the load of frosting. It was sweet—too sweet—and I forced myself to swallow. Fine: cake first, then stab. Surely that was a solid plan.

      Wasn’t it?

      “That’s better,” Adam was saying. “Now. Where were we? Yeah, your family. ’Fraid it’s bad news, Char. Let me see if I can remember exactly where we left off last year.” He shifted comfortably, and I got another look at his face. “Oh, right. It was the part where you let my sister die.”

      I blinked. He was different. Not how I remembered him. The soft, round parts of his boyish face were now angular. Angry. “I didn’t kill—”

      “Hey, hey. Cut it out. Every year, it’s the same thing. But Aah—dam!” he whined, imitating my voice. “I didn’t kill her! Blah, blah, lightning clouds. Blah, blah, mutiny. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet!” His eyes flashed, and he waved at the woman. “Wake her up a little more. I need her to remember this one.” They exchanged a glance. “Do it, Lieutenant.”

      “Yes, sir,” she said, a touch of strain in her voice. A sting spread through my right bicep, and I felt my heart speed up. I started breathing faster.

      My mind began to clear.

      I was in Central Command, and Adam was the Commander. He was in league with An Zhao, who had recently blown a hole in the Ark, destroying the Remnant, the group of free thinkers who’d built a city and organized a government in the bowels of the ship. And I had disarmed us to prevent her from doing worse. I had made us helpless. My fingers tightened around the fork. I had to get out of here.

      Every year, we ate cake.

      Every year, he woke me up to hear the story.

      Every year, I had ten minutes to work on my plan. Tick, tock.

      If only I could remember what it was.

      I couldn’t remember much of anything, to be honest. “Are—are we there yet?” I asked.

      “Where? Eirenea?” Adam laughed, but there was steel in the sound. “No. Don’t interrupt.”

      He had the relaxed posture of a person in control, but he wore it uneasily, as though he were copying something he’d seen another man do. My head rolled around slightly while I tried to think. There was nothing easy in his face. His teeth were clenched so hard that he had to move his jaw around before speaking. “And so my sister died in your arms,” he was saying. “And I’m not sure whether we covered this last year, but she was all I had. And she needed me.” He leaned forward. “And you let her die.”

      If I had made us helpless, Adam had returned the favor tenfold. I spent my days in a cloud of confusion, blindly following any instructions I was given. I wasn’t dizzy, exactly, but I had a hard time getting my bearings. Every so often, I came to my senses, and Adam would be there. Sometimes he just wanted to talk. Sometimes he didn’t speak at all.

      But sometimes, he taunted me. On these occasions, there was cake. Always pink.

      And I had to eat it. And he told me a story I shouldn’t hear while I plotted ways to kill him. Usually with a fork.

      Not everyone on the Ark was drugged. Eren, as far as I knew, spent most of his days in InterArk Comm Con, sending and receiving transmissions related to the Ark’s operations. The last time I tried to contact him had not gone well. I stumbled into the amphitheater, stupid from the drugs. I saw Eren, his eyes wide, his head shaking

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