Page 57 of They're Watching You

At my side, Gavin bristles. His hand releases mine, and my heart sinks; he’s repulsed by me. But I turn to check, and it’s something else. He looks like someone just threw his favorite box of explosive devices into one of the academy ponds.

“She must’ve planned this the second she saw us getting close,” Remington continues. “You know she has this twisted desire to separate us.” He moves nearer, and Gavin stands, pushing himself between us.

Remington cranes his neck to look at me. “Please, can we talk about this withouthimlistening in?”

“Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “Gavin stays.”

Remington sighs, running a hand through his curls. “Annabelle’s getting exactly what she wants.”

“She didn’t slide the photographs under my door, Remington. I found them myself.”

“And when’s the last time you truly made a choice on your own—one Annabelle didn’t plan out for you in advance?”

“That’s absurd,” I whisper, tugging his coat up higher. “She didn’t know I’d come down here.”

“Didn’t she? Did she not tell you that Polly was being kept somewhere off the map? Did she not leave this envelope dangling in front of you?”

“But I—how?”

“Shh,” Gavin says without looking at me. “Don’t listen to him.”

“And who should I listen to?” I ask, turning on him. “You? You’re a part of this society that”—I brush a loose strand of hair out of my eyes—“will doanythingto get what they want. The way Pelops did.”

His gaze snaps to mine.

“Did you know what they were planning to do with Polly and Jane?”

“I told you,” he says, frustration curling the words, “this is the Gamemaster messing with you. There’s no one down here.”

And suddenly, I see it.He doesn’t know. Gavin and who knows how many society minions actually think they’re playing a bunch of games, when in reality, they’re helping the Gamemaster plan a murder. “It’s a cult, Gavin. They worship Pelops. And I think they’re planning a human sacrifice.”

Gavin’s head wrenches back. “Human sacrifice? No.” He shakes his head. “Pelops is a figurehead. Like a Batman-themed birthday party. It’s a story they tell at every initiation, meant to rile up the masses and get them pumped up for the Games.”

“Look around you,” Remington spits. “The décor’s a little much for a birthday party, don’t you think?”

“It’s an old society,” Gavin says with a shrug. But his eyes are unfocused in the bleary wash of torchlight.

“It’s a cult, Gavin,” I say, witnessing the new mix of horror and grief in his expression. He really believed he was close to discovering a cure for his sister. A path that trampled over ethical boundaries, true. But nothing like murder.

“The question isn’t whether or not Annabelle has Polly and Jane,” I add. “It’s whether or not they’re even down here.”

Remington shrugs. “According to her newest clue, we’re only a few corridors away.”

“I still don’t get why she’s trying to turn us against each other.”

“Because if we’re isolated, we may never be able to rescue the girls. I’m so sorry, Maren. I should’ve told you everything when you asked about my task. I…was worried you’d hate me.”

“I do hate you. Stay away from me tonight.”

“So then,” Gavin says, slouching against a pillar, “we’re staying down here? To search for Polly and Jane?”

“We’ve come this far. We have to try.”

Remington nods, body sinking in relief. He removes the torch from its post, studies me for a moment, and resignedly starts checking the corridor ahead.

“Can you even get up, Maren?” Gavin offers me a hand, but his posture is rigid and withdrawn.

“I’m fine,” I say, taking it. “I just got freaked out by my encounter with a two-hundred-pound rat.”

---