The Girl Who Dared to Think by Bella Forrest (best novels of all time TXT) 📗

because she turned back to the shelf to pull out another manual, and flipped it open.

I made my way back to my bedroom, shutting the door and taking a deep breath. I needed to get out of there—which meant I needed to get dressed. I looked around the room for my uniform, trying to figure out where Prim had put it, and it finally dawned on me. The closet.

I threw the doors open, and sure enough, a fresh suit was right there—hanging from a hanger, all nice and proper. I glared at it, mentally condemning it for being complicit with Prim. It now felt like it was hers and not mine. I grabbed it and quickly put it on, though, eager to get out. I tucked the Medica pills into my pocket, took a small bite of the nutrient bar and sipped from the water, then made sure to say goodbye to my mom before I left. That was probably something Prim would do.

I made my way to the lashway, and didn’t hesitate, just flung my lash as I raced through it. It hit one of the arches with a plink, and I swung out, using the momentum to launch myself higher. As I flipped, I felt something of my old self returning. The sheer drop, the trill of my heart as I lashed through the air, made my problems fall away, if only for a moment.

One lash. Two. I felt my body respond to each cable I threw, as though it was waking from a deep sleep. I threw in an artistic flip at the end, and landed gently.

Bet Prim doesn’t do this, I thought as I added a little flourish at the end, looking around and expecting, even hoping for, the level of dismay that had always appeared when I got too fancy with the lashes. It would make me feel like me.

“Nice landing,” a passing Knight called, flashing a thumbs up.

The smile slid from my face. I had made landings like that over the years, and the lower my rank was, the more people looked at me like I was wrong for doing it. Now, they appreciated it, and the only difference was the stupid five on my wrist. That just made the compliment feel fake.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed for the nearest footbridge that connected to the shell, moving fast. The Tower was in dawn mode, the artificial light brightening. I looked over at the east wall as the lights changed, starting off low and rising as the sun did. I paused to watch it, closing my eyes when the light reached the footbridge, the rays pure and warm. I let them heat my face for a moment, taking pleasure in the feeling, as well as the knowledge that it was mine and not hers. Eventually I left, heading into the shell and moving through the service tunnels and access hatches, going nowhere in particular. Everywhere I went people waved, greeting me, asking how I was doing. While I had once been seen as diseased, I was now seen as normal.

Once again I felt Prim’s presence, a stain on my mind, and moved deeper into the passages, taking less-used halls to avoid running into anyone. I ducked back as I stumbled into a group of six men wearing orange uniforms and wielding massive tools, prying up a bit of floor, and forced myself to stop and reconsider how I was going to get around the Cog work party.

“This is madness,” I muttered under my breath as one of them gave a cheerful wave in my direction. How could one little pill affect me so much? More importantly, how was it able to make me work if it wasn’t even me driving? Was this how everyone on Peace felt? The irony of it being called “Peace” was not lost on me, in my current war-torn state, but I let it pass as I headed deeper into the shell, finally finding access to the plunge to get some solitude.

I jumped through the doorway and let my first lash fly, using the plunge to shut my restless mind off and force it to focus on the task at hand. I spun in the air, losing myself to gravity and relying solely on my wit and reflexes to guide me in and around obstacles. When my fall came to a sudden halt, I swung into a doorway, throwing lash after lash at the beams across the ceiling to propel myself forward. The tunnel opened into a huge collection of beams and girders—a section of the shell designed purely to brace and hold the weight of the Tower.

I spotted the glowing green arrows painted on the sides of the beams, following their directions up and to the next access shaft. When I spotted it, I immediately swung myself over it, tumbling in the air and then righting myself so that I was falling feet first. I’d judged the distance correctly, and was now falling through row after row of beam walkways, perfectly positioned in the middle so that I wouldn’t have to adjust my position. My eyes caught a splash of glowing blue paint, and I threw a lash, angling toward it and through the door right underneath, landing on my feet in the middle of a hidden Water Treatment hatch.

My breathing came in sharp pants for a few moments, and sweat was beading across my forehead and the back of my neck. That had been a stiff workout. I waved my hand across my hot cheeks, trying to cool them, and my eyes caught the number on my wrist, instantly grounding me.

Five. Just like that, my problems were back, pressing down heavily in my thoughts to remind me that there was no way to escape. The five flickered, battling with a four, and I shut my eyes and lowered my arm, trying to calm down.

I looked around the room for the designation number so I could