Page 28 of Evolved

“I did do those things,” I say, following and then wish I hadn’t when my voice echoes hollowly down the tunnel in each direction.Things … things … things.

An endless void yawns like a cliff face.

I move closer to Knox and the beam of his flashlight, fumbling for my own, the dark closing in all around. “You … you know these tunnels?”

“Some. Not this one, but I know the maps. This will fork. Left for the Capital and or right for the White House.”

I find myself moving closer to him, and all on its own, my hand finds the back of his pants, grabbing his waistband, my knuckles grazing warm skin.

I shine my light behind me and wish I hadn’t when the beam reveals nothing but that endless pit of a tunnel behind me.

Looking backward in a tunnel is like looking down on a ladder.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine, just keep going.”

I don’t breathe easily until our light settles on a door, and I breathe much easier when said door is open, and I am through it.

I sag standing against the wall in what I assume is a basement utility room in the Capitol Building.

Knox steps close to me and closes the door, but doesn’t back away. The room is entirely dark except for the light he’s got angled against the concrete floor, and mine angled at a dusty set of shelves.

Friends don’t stand like this. The tips of my sneakers are between his boots.

And friends don’t look at me the way he’s looking at me.

Or probably the way I’m looking at him.

And they don’t think incessantly about lips. His lips. And my lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Ottilie?” he asks quietly.

I blink in surprise, shifting focus from his beautiful lips up to his dark eyes. “Should I?”

“I’d like you to.”

“Why don’t you kiss me then?”

“We established a while ago that it was possible for me to scare you. I don’t want to scare you.”

“We also established that I’m not scared of you.”

“Still.”

“Still?”

“Still.”He straightens up, pulling his lips out of reach. “If kissing’s going to happen between us, you’ll have to start it.”

“I’ll … keep that in mind.”

“See that you do.”

Our hands find each other on their own—truly, I’m not aware of either of us making that move, but it happens, my right inhis left, and it feels so normal as we climb more steps and find ourselves in the Cox Corridor. We were here not so long ago, and yet everything was different then. I couldn’t write, and we definitely weren’t holding hands.

We go over very familiar territory, past theTimucuan Villagemural, past deserted rooms, until we stand under the massive rotunda, facing George Washington and his shiny boots and the neon post-it notes.

There are new words.

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