Page 125 of Resist

I hesitated and then glanced quickly at the document in my hand, skimming the words. It all clicked. I had agreed to make my brother sign the treaty that gave the North control of Telvia. I sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the mess I had gotten myself into. The worst part was, it was never supposed to come to this. And now that I was here, I didn’t know what to do or how to get out of it.

“Mara?”

I glanced back at Giza and nodded. “Yes, it’s true.” He kept a steady gaze on me, trying to read between the lines. But I had nothing to offer him.

“There, you see? Now in you go, de la Puente,” Bynes ordered, turning around and undoing the five different locks and bolts securing my brother. The door opened into a damp, concrete square room with nothing but a bucket and a measly, disgustingmattress—no sheets—that I assumed was white at some point in its existence. But I surely hoped not, because its current shade of brown and gray left me nauseous. And, sitting in the opposite corner, was my brother.

“Jacob,” I breathed out, rushing to him and crouching down on the floor to hug him as the door was closed behind me.

“Mara?” He pulled back a second to see that it was really me, and then scooped me into his arms, hugging me forcefully. “Mara! I thought you were dead! I thought the reason they wouldn’t let me see you was—oh, it doesn’t matter. You’re alive!” He pulled me back again, running his hand through my hair and cupping my cheek.

“I’m okay. I would have come sooner, but I’ve been in the hospital recovering.” I pulled back and looked at him. His gray clothing was grimy, just like the rest of his cell, with pitiful gray shoes that looked hardly better than socks. Someone replaced the bandages on his head, which was good, but he was still mottled with bruises—an array of colors from yellow to deep purple—all in different stages of healing.

“Have they hurt you?” I asked.

“No. But the accommodations are less than delightful,” he added with a half-hearted laugh.

I smiled at him, touching his cheek. “Oh Jacob, I told you this would happen. I told you we couldn’t come back.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I knew what I was doing. But we’ve got to talk, Mara. Dad…what he’s up to…they don’t stand a chance.”

Fear needled in me. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

He exhaled sharply, as though he was trying to muster his strength but failing. “It’s bad, Mara.”

“Jacob,” I said more forcefully. “What is it?”

He closed his eyes, turning his face away from me. “It’s my fault. I…I created the technology. I designed it. But I—” He shook his head, body shivering.

I ran my hand down his cheek. “Shh, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sorry, Mara. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.” Tears began to stream down his face. “I’m so sorry.”

I tried to take his shoulders in my hands, but he wouldn’t let me comfort him, pushing me away. “Jacob, it’s—”

“Stop telling me it’s fine,” he snapped. “You don’t know what I’ve done. And if we don’t do something, it’s over. The Dissenters, the North, the East…it’ll all be gone”—he snapped his fingers—“like that.”

A shiver ran down my spine. Jacob was always the calm one. Steady, solid, secure. Seeing him so upset caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. I swallowed and then took a deep breath, trying my best to ease my nerves.

“Okay,” I whispered. “What is it? What’s Raúl planning?”

Jacob stayed quiet for a moment, closing his eyes as he took several calming breaths. The seconds ticked—one, two—and then he opened his eyes, fire burning deep within him. “Do you remember the processing plant? The one in the forest? The one where we cap—” he faltered, turning his head away from me for a second as if collecting his emotional reserves before returning his gaze to me. “Where we captured Chelsea?”

Oh god, where was this going? “I remember.”

“Did you ever see what we were building there? What we were making?”

Memories of the explosion, of the soldiers firing at Chelsea, Wes, and Matias, all flooded my mind. “I never saw it, but the others said there were these microchips.”

“Nanochips,” Jacob corrected. “That’s right. Did they ever figure out what they did?”

I narrowed my eyes. “No.”

“Then you better call a meeting with all the big players of this rebellion, because none of us are going to stand a chance the second those chips are activated.”

“Why? What are they? What’s going on?” The questions came flying out of me faster than I could process them.

And when Jacob finally told me, the panic attack I had been pushing back since the hospital took over as the realization of what was coming collided with my reality. We were all about to be royally screwed.

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