8

"They used to call it the Big Apple," Matthew tells us, looking out the window. There are huge towers everywhere. It is just after dusk, and the lights twinkle in this city like a million tiny stars, placed in rows and columns and lining the streets.

"Why?" Christina asks, her voice ringing from behind me.

"No one knows anymore."

The car we're riding in is long and slick and black, the windows so dark from the outside that they're like the surface of a pool of dirty water, mirroring reflections, showing nothing inside. The streets here aren't winding or confusing or messy, they seem to all run perpendicular to each other, a city with streets neatly in rows, a corner every few meters.

I see a girl with blue hair that stands on spikes, as if she was shocked by electricity. She's wearing nothing but black from head to toe, her lips dark and her eyes ringed too. She seems like a character straight out of the Dauntless compound, except that she's listening to music casually and doesn't walk with the taut wariness associated with a Dauntless.

It's night, but so many people are out, hordes streaming, pushing and laughing and I see couples with strange clothes and strange hair kissing out in the open. It's strange and yet still familiar, a city I've lived in before but never been to yet. There is grime and grit but I can see beauty all around, in the street lights and the old facades of large buildings that were surely glamorous in their day.

I suddenly see a huddled body in the shadows, curled up against the wall, wrapped in blankets. For a second, he raises his head, his dark eyes meeting mine. I know he can't see me through the windows, but it's like he's telling me something. I wish I knew what.

The building rises up into the lit night sky, its crown seeming to graze the sky. "The Empire State Building," says Matthew. "It's been a symbol of American power ever since it was completed." I don't disbelieve it. Even though the building is still, it seems like a living creature, alive and stirring within.

We step inside, through doors that let us in with a hiss. Inside it is clean and sunny from the windows, and cool from the stone. The lobby is abuzz with people dressed in black, scuttling back and forth. There is chatter and phones ringing and the clack of shoes hurrying across the tile.

Suddenly a man with dark, oiled back hair steps towards us. His eyes are blue and piercing, like ice in winter. "Are you the people from Chicago?" he says. Johanna lifts her chin, extending her hand. He smiles and shakes it.

"Johanna Reyes. Representative of the City of Chicago." She lays a hand on my shoulder. "And this is my assistant, Tobias Eaton."

The man looks at me. "Cal Foronda. Very pleased to meet you, Four. We have heard of your movement since your first stop in Milwaukee."

One by one we introduce ourselves, and then Cal says, " I've been instructed to show you around here, so you can see how some of the innerworkings of New York. You'll be staying here, in one of the upper floors."

Christina says, "I thought this entire building served as just offices."

Cal laughs. "It serves as a venue of operation to one of the most important figures in politics nowadays. It will accommodate anything that she needs it for," he tells us.

Johanna nods. "Well, we are grateful for your hospitality."

"We are grateful for your presence. We have anticipated the powerful impact your arrival might cause, and I wouldn't be alone in saying that I've looked forward to it." this startles me, because I would never have thought that in such a metropolitan where no doubt anti-GD propaganda has been spread, our appearance would be looked forward to. Christina catches my eye, wrinkling her brows slightly. I tilt my chin. We'll talk later.

The elevator takes us up, up, up, my stomach flopping at the ascent. The interior of it is roomy enough, so riding in it only puts one of my fears into play.

The tour of the building was certainly impressive. It seems that every floor has a purpose to serve, no wasted facilities. There are state-of-the-art media equipment, and people sitting at computers monitoring maps. It's never really explained what they're doing or who the head of this whole establishment is, but it seems to be very important, because in every room we pass there are people scuttling, arranging papers, tapping on screens.

Cal explained that the channels are clearer are night, whatever that means. Caleb probably knows what he means the second he utters it.

The door dings open, and Cal shows us our rooms. Mine has a view of the hazy skyline, defined by a smattering of lights in the dark. I sit down on a chair, elbows on thighs. Although it's late, almost midnight, I don't feel sleepy. Tiredness is not a question, since I'm tired every day anyway. I stare out at the sea of lights and darkness, losing track of time. Finally I rise from my seat and walk over to the door, opening the knob.

I walk down the hallway. A small shriek hits my ears and I freeze, trying to sense the direction it comes from. Then Christina's voice giggles, coming from around the corner, and I hear her say it, sing-songy and like the crackle of a wet candle's wick – "Caleb…"

It is noon, and Cal comes to tell us that we have a meeting on the top floor. My stomach turns just at the thought of it.

"Will we be meeting her, this political figure you've been telling us about?" Cara inquires. Cal shakes his head.

"She's in another city. One of her subordinates heads the headquarters here in her absence."

"You never mentioned her name," I tell him.

He shrugs. "I'm not sure if she has one. She asks to be called Larkin though. Larkin Wright."

Christina's eyes whip to me, and I know she's dying to talk to me about all this. How could someone not have a name? Cal senses our silent exchange and speaks. "I'm sure her subordinate would be willing to answer your questions. It is not really my place to tell you these things."

He leads us towards the elevators once more.

The chair has its back turned to us, but I glimpse a head full of dark hair, and even as Cal greets him, before he utters his name and the man in the blue suit swivels to face us, I know it's him.

"Peter," breathes Christina. For an eternity there is a deafening silence in the room.

"They moved me here to New York. A sort of promotion, I suppose," he explains, his green eyes shifting to me as he speaks. "I took it willingly. To get away. I still don't exactly from what."

Christina sits beside me, still as a statue. But then she slumps.

"We heard in Milwaukee that you murdered someone and got thrown in prison," she says lowly.

Peter's eyes adopt a hard expression. "There are some necessities in life," is all he says.

Cara sits near me, and even she, normally kempt and composed, looks undeniably shocked. "What happened?"

"I found that the man who called the shots around my company – and other companies he owned – was doing terrible things to some people. He called them genetic mutations – GDs. He was using them for testing. I have a suspicion that he may have been funding that establishment before – the Bureau of Genetic Welfare." Matthew, George and Amar sit up at this news.

Peter continues. "He was ordering for this one girl – he called her a subject – to be tested over and over. It went on for quite a while. She was very weak. But I kept talking to her and every day she got better and better, until one day she asked me for a favor. And I did it."

"You killed him." I say, and I can feel my face contorting into anger.

Peter almost looks guilty. "She was powerless. She'd been abducted and subjected to intense and frequent testing, so much that for a long time she couldn't coherently remember anything about herself, not even her name. We changed many things together. Of course, I was behind bars, but she worked for change, and now you see the fruit of it. This building may not seem like it, but it's a refuge. Nearly all our workers are GDs. But we don't let the public know that. Our establishment is one of the largest contributors to the city's economy. She got me out after a few months, and already then there were so many people behind her that all it took was just one more little push. And now here we are." He looks proudly at the small but clean and well-furnished space he has, and at the view from his desk.

"You've risen to power," Johanna observes. Peter nods slowly.

"She's risen to it. The world fears and respects her. And slowly, she's changing the country. People used to ask her why she sympathized with GDs despite her genetic purity. Now they're asking how they can help. She's in a very prominent position. The public's eyes and ears are directed at her. Wonder why the politicians in the cities you've visited haven't been hostile? That's been thanks to us."

"That's why Cal said you were expecting us eagerly," Christina says.

"We're all working for the same thing." Peter tells us, and I can't find myself to over how little malevolence is left in his face.

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