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

“It is,” Grey said smoothly, moving to stand up. “But I’m sorry; you don’t qualify for it.”

I gave him a sharp look, and his answering one was thunderous—enough to give me pause. Biting my lower lip, I started to get up as well, but Silvan’s question brought me up short.

“Why not?”

I looked at Grey and saw him frozen, alarm radiating from his features. “I...”

Silvan craned his head up so he could look at Grey from his seated position. “As I said, I’m loyal to the Tower. Shouldn’t the Medica wish to give a devoted Diver the chance to improve?” His eyes shifted over to me, burning with intelligence. “Or is it illegal? Is that how you got your nines?”

A moment’s hesitation held me in place, but once I realized it was too late to backpedal, I nodded. Grey, looking uncomfortable, glanced at me.

On the stove, the kettle had begun to boil in earnest, the soft whistle from earlier now a howling shriek that reverberated around the little room. Silvan stood automatically, brushing past me on his way to the kitchen, and grabbed the kettle to move it. The screaming died to a burbling hiccup.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” I said. “I was just like you. I fell to a three and sought Medica treatment... but it was awful. I couldn’t remember anything from when I was on the drugs. Any sense of myself was gone. But with Paragon, I can be me. I don’t have to change in order to please the Tower. And we’d like for you to—”

With a feral howl, Silvan spun, the kettle coming around in a crushing blow toward my head. The motion came so fast that for a second I sat frozen, watching the container filled with boiling water arcing toward me. I was just starting to move, already knowing it was too late, when Grey darted over me, his hand pushing me even farther to the side as he flowed past me to take my place as target.

There was a loud noise as the kettle connected with the flesh of his forearm, a soft, sizzling sound, then a gasp of pain. I could smell something burning as Grey brought a fist around and jabbed Silvan in the side, under the ribs. Silvan wheezed as the air was forced from his lungs by the force of the blow, and Grey used his other arm to sweep the kettle out of his hand, sending it flying into the cushions. Silvan staggered back and then lunged at Grey, his hands coming up and together, fingers outstretched as if to throttle him, and I finally got my feet under me.

I threw myself at him, using my legs to push off, and caught him around the waist in a full tackle. We both went down, my shoulder radiating pain as I bounced off him and onto the floor. I rolled onto my side, gasping at the pain, and suddenly fingers were grabbing my hair, gripping me painfully. I reached up with my hands, trying to pry Silvan’s fingers out of my hair, but he jerked my head up and slammed it down on the ground, so hard that my vision grayed out as pain exploded from the back of my skull.

“You’re dissidents!” he screamed. “You threaten the safety and well-being of the Tower!”

He slammed my head down again, and the pain grew even worse. My thoughts were sluggish and disjointed, and I couldn’t remember how my hands worked so I could stop him. My head was jerked up again, but then I felt some of my hair tear free as the hold on me was viciously jerked away.

I blacked out for a second, and came to with my hands on my head, trying to contain the agonizing pain radiating from the impact site. I looked up to see Grey’s fist flashing up and back down, connecting with Silvan’s face. Once, twice, a third... It was too much, but Grey didn’t show any sign of stopping.

“Grey,” I managed, my voice coming out a hoarse croak. His fist fell again, and I cleared my throat and started to pick myself up. “Grey.”

His fist froze in midair, and he turned back to me, the fury on his face morphing into complete concern. He let go of Silvan’s uniform, dropping the dazed man to the ground, and crossed over to me, his hands going around my waist to help me right myself. I leaned heavily on him, more heavily than I cared to think about, and looked at where Silvan lay groaning on the floor.

“What happened?” I asked, still groggy. “Why did he—”

“Later,” Grey said, his hand going into his pocket, and I looked down to see violent-looking red and brown flesh on his forearm where the kettle had caught him.

“Your arm,” I managed, and he looked down at it, his face an angry mask.

“Later,” he repeated, withdrawing a blue pill that looked identical to the one he had been playing with in Sarah’s quarters. I remembered asking him about it, and realized I’d never gotten an answer. He helped me over to lean against a wall, then moved to where Silvan was slowly getting onto his hands and knees.

“What are you going to do?” I asked as he approached the man, and then watched as he put his arm around his neck—in a move I recognized instantly. “Oh.” I looked away while Grey cut off the blood flow to Silvan’s head—not because I couldn’t watch, but because the room was spinning. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing and not losing the contents of my stomach, and heard Silvan’s brief moment of struggle before he blacked out.

When I peeled my eyelids back, fighting through the sudden tightness in my skull from the bright light of the room, I saw Grey rolling the man over and checking his pulse. After a moment, he pushed the pill past Silvan’s slightly opened lips