A woman in a white uniform with gold buttons rose from the pit of bodies. Her eyes were dark, terrifying holes. She lifted a single finger to point at the necklace around my neck, her anger wrapping around my throat like a vise. No matter how I tried to speak, to explain I was only a Z, no words came from my mouth. My legs refused to move, and when I looked down I found white, bony hands pulling me deeper and deeper into a pit of writhing bodies.

Terror brought me awake, fingers clenched, heart skittering.

Just a dream. Not real. You're safe here.

An absurd thought. I was a Z. I was safe nowhere. But now even my dreams were no longer safe.

Four days had passed since I'd found the woman in the Chute, and instead of returning to normal, things had only gotten worse. Guards had begun to patrol the Chute, scanning engineers at random, patrolling parts of the Beast I'd never seen them enter before, asking questions about quotas and machines and manpower. Xyla was sequestered in a group of the highest performing engineer pairings, where they questioned her for hours about the minutiae of our everyday duties—stressful enough without having to conceal the secret that Xyla and Yaneli's success as a pair was actually because a third unlettered person, me, helped them.

By the second day, Yaneli forbade me to leave our room. I'd spent two agonizing days deconstructing and rebuilding my arm, sharpening the knife embedded into the middle finger till it gleamed.

Now Xyla slept beside me. She's spent an hour singing and stroking my hair, her voice a far better balm than any I'd been able to provide to my so called patients. I wanted to snuggle back into her warmth— instead I sat up straighter.

The dim light of the hallway gleamed in a golden strip beneath the door, the soft rumble of the machines beating like the Beast's heartbeat, but below all that, like a small red light blinking on a machine, the sound of raised voices came from further down the corridor.

Our section should all be sleeping. Why are people up?

The light fixed above our door, that flashed red and gave off a shrieking siren call when an emergency required all engineers on duty, lay silent. And Yaneli still isn't back. She had opted to spend a few extra hours during our night shift to help a friend reach her quota. I didn't often worry about Yaneli, but the fact she wasn't back suddenly felt like a bad omen. I should have waited up for her.

A distant scream.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I reached over to shake Xyla awake. "Get up," I whispered. "Something's wrong."

Footsteps pounded down the hallway, and instead of going pounding by, they stopped outside our door. Xyla and I both flinched as the thud of a fist hit the door. "Open up! It's Wesson!"

Normally I would have tortured him, but now I sprung out of bed and tore open the door. The fluorescent lights of the hallway framed Wesson's large form: his eyes went straight to me. "The K-guards are running a surprise inspection in every sleeping block. They're tearing apart cells and scanning chips. Z needs to hide. Now."

Shit.

I was already pulling on my clothes and boots, my fingers shaking with adrenaline, before I turned to the stack of books beside the bed. "We need to hide the books— "

Xyla shoved me out the door. "I'll do it. Go! Now!"

I took off after Wesson, sprinting down the dark hallways after him. Through the panic, I realized I'd been wrong about Wesson. He was risking his life to help me; maybe he would be a good match for Xyla if I were gone. Stop thinking like that. Only half the lights were on, so we ran from light to darkness and back. Voices called and echoed deceptively down the long hallway, as if I'd woken into a different, darker world.

Wesson turned the corner. "I have a place we can—"

His voice died on "hide." An entire squadron of K-guards occupied the next corridor, kicking in doors, and throwing blankets and mattresses out into the corridor. Bleary eyed men stood backs hunched, arms pressed against the wall, as the guards tore apart room after room.

Wesson swore under his breath, and then threw a heavy arm around my shoulder, slowing our run to a walk. "We can try the East corridor," he whispered, "but if they stop us, you're my girlfriend and spent the night with me. We're trying to get you home."

We turned back down the corridor we'd just run. Panic tightened my throat. I wanted to take something apart, or to fold into so tiny a space no one would ever find me. Instead I thought of Xyla— the ball of tension only grew. There's nothing to link her to the woman in the Chute. Nothing to link either of us.

I nearly stumbled when I realized that wasn't true. There was one thing tying me to the dead woman. And it was hanging around my neck.